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Well, that about does it. The Hummel figurines are buried securely in the backyard. I’ve left out a week’s worth of food and water for my Chia Pet. And my collection of World War II era erotica remains, as always, strapped to my chest.

I’m ready. Take me, Jesus. And don’t bother to be gentle about it. This is the rapture, not some namby-pamby theme park ride.

In case you hadn’t heard—and really, I don’t know how you could possibly avoid it—Family Radio has announced that the rapture is coming on Saturday, May 21. Now, before you start tossing back Kool Aid shots, give me a moment to dispel these obviously crazy assertions.

If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I was gifted with a scientific mind. So, I turned to my trusty Hello Kitty detective kit—containing the Bible, a copy of The Secret, and some old chicken bones I dug up from the backyard three years ago when I was trying to find my Hummel figurines after the last rapture prediction. Scooby Doo ain’t got nothin’ on me. And Nancy Drew? Amateur.

Relying mostly on the chicken bones, I did some calculations of my own. And I realized those Family Radio boobs had it all wrong. Jesus is, in fact, arriving on Monday, May 23. And he’s foregoing the traditional fiery chariot in favor of a Prius to make a statement about the dangers of global warming. The chicken bones never lie. Except that time they told me to lather myself in essential oils and cartwheel naked down Marsh Street.

Saturday’s no good for me anyway. That’s the day I whittle down those court-ordered volunteer hours. This week I’m giving tattoos to blind people.

There have been other signs, of course.

Last month, French oil giant Total SA bought a majority stake in SunPower Corp, the green-energy company responsible for the California Valley Solar Ranch project.

I’m sure the endangered kit foxes and kangaroo rats will all sleep more soundly at night knowing that Total SA’s going to be calling the shots when it comes to their welfare. Oil companies have a strong track record when it comes to the safety of defenseless wildlife, right? At least that’s what I assume based on the photos of birds luxuriating in oil. Throw in some candles and Enya, and you’ve got a Saturday night that might just lure Jesus down two days early.

And quoting directly from what I imagine the Bible sounds like: “Behold, there will be unto you, around the time that I decide to mosey on down to Earth and knock some heads together, humans that make you want to smacketh your head against a wall. And behold! Lo! The people responsible for punishing these knuckle-draggers will instead form committees in order to feel useful.”

That’s straight out of the Gospel of Genesisicus. And it clearly references the situation in Arroyo Grande, where the City Council has committed to solving racism by committee. In response to the fact that a pack of the aforementioned knuckledraggers burned a cross on a family’s lawn, the City Council voted on May 10 to form a “Diversity Coalition.”

Now, I’m not one to pooh-pooh the idea that hateful acts are indicative of a more systemic problem. But, in my experience, people without answers schedule meetings because they have no real course of action. Most meetings are just a good way for a gaggle of nitwits to get together and schedule another meeting.

Don’t get me wrong. I love meetings. I schedule no fewer than 18 meetings with myself each day just to feel important. My Chia Pet, Roger, is allowed to sit in on three of these meetings—four if he fetches my slippers and doesn’t wet the carpet. And I’m president of four committees, treasurer of three. We discuss very important world issues. Whether we actually accomplish anything, well, that’s a whole other discussion now, isn’t it? One that could possibly take place at Frog & Peach on Tuesday at 11 a.m.?

Damn. I forgot about that whole rapture thing. I guess the meeting will have to take place in the afterlife. So, heaven’s gate, Tuesday at 11 a.m.? I’ll be the one with the vintage erotica strapped to my chest.

The final sign that the rapture is approaching—besides the alignment of the Lucky Charms in my cereal bowl this morning—was the showdown between San Luis Obispo County Supervisor Adam Hill and COLAB’s (that stands for either the Coalition of Labor, Agriculture, and Business or Calling On Local Anonymous Board members, but I forget) director of governmental affairs, Mike Brown.

It’s a complicated issue, folks. See, COLAB was, ostensibly, created as a business advocate and government watchdog. And what do government watchdogs love more than transparency? That’s right, anonymity.

So Brown, nobly advocating the principles of honesty and forthrightness, was forcibly giving Hill the shakedown for refusing to disclose important … wait a minute. My fact-checking monkey tells me I have that backwards.

Apparently, Hill was trying to shake down Brown, who was speaking on behalf of COLAB’s board of directors but refused to reveal who sits on the group’s board. When Hill thrust with his sword of transparency, Brown parried with his boffer of … squeamishness. Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?

I’m with you, Brown. Transparency is for suckers. Hell, I’ve been writing this column anonymously for decades, and I’d say I’m almost certainly adequate in the role. And if you can find a way to demand truth from the government while your board of directors quakes beneath a trench coat like a half-dozen little rascals stacked on each other’s shoulders, more power to you. What say we throw some tighty whities over our heads and engage in some late-night rapture looting on Sunday?

The Shredder is enraptured with the rapture. If you want a post-apocalyptic nightcap, hit me up at

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