It's the end of the world as I blog it.

I guess they're not just a metaphor for communism anymore, are they, society?

No.

There are none outside. I'm actually surprised. In New Jersey, most densely populated state in America (it still is, I guess?), so far there are none. Which is why I think it's okay to make a fucking blog entry, apparently. There's nothing at all outside.

Honey, if you're reading this ... well. I suppose it would probably be too much to ask for you to come and get me. It would be rather horrible if you made it all the way up here only to have me eat your face. Romantic? Possibly? But in all practicality it's probably not a good idea. I won't be here anyway. I do wish I had a gun, though, so, you were right. Fucking zombies! Speaking of which, though, YOU HAD BETTER FUCKING LIVE. Seriously, I will find a way to get back at you if you don't. Even if there is no afterlife I will still fucking manage it somehow. I love you. ... We probably should have had more sex.

If anyone else is reading this, I just want you to know that you were one of the ones I didn't hate. Even if I may have, at some time, said otherwise. I didn't, really.

Of course I guess it's possible that the only ones reading this are the marine mammals. After they've grown thumbs and found our artifacts and unlocked our technology. Obviously. Many thousands of years in the future. I hope it's the orcas, and not the dolphins. They were on our side. Well, to you I say, humanity definitely went out like a bitch. But when you tell our story on whatever your version of television is, be sympathetic. And get someone attractive to play me. For the orca-interest aspect.

Or I guess it's possible that no one will read this. Probable.

I have to go.

I don't know what to do about the cats. Neither of them will make it.


Oh. Here they come.