It wiped them all out. All but three. Jake Sullinger, Martha Smart, and myself were the only ones it chose to spare. And despite what you may have seen or read about the end of mankind in movies or magazines, it actually wasn’t half bad. Jake did a hell of a Sally Field impression and Martha had big ole fat dumpy tits. Like two bags of sand. During the day, Martha and me would sneak away to the abandoned gas station and chug Starbucks Frappachinos and fuck like we were ten again. Jake never asked questions. He was content as long as we came back with his two favorite things, a Citrus Cooler Gatorade just like MJ#23 of the Toon Squad drinks and some Mentos. The Freshmaker. Keepin’ it real fresh in here. Gotta stay Fly-y-y-y til I di-i-i-i-ie. I never told Martha, but I used to open up Jake’s Gatorade and spray fart in it and the screw the lid back on real tight before giving it to him. That’s the stuff you have to do to make life worth living in the post-apocalyptic world. Jake would open it up, slowly put it to his lips, and chug like Vin Diesel swallows cock. So naive to the subatomic doo-doo particles floating inside. He sure loved those citrus coolers. You know, when the world swallows itself up, it’s the little laughs along the way that keep you going.
The virus began when Keith Richards finally overdosed on bug spray in 2089. They buried his body in a grave in Dartford and that is where it remained until June 8, 2093. On this night, two slutty lesbian fans of The Stones unearthed the casket containing Keith Richards’ corpse and savagely cut off his Goldilocks and the Two Bears. They took it home where they proceeded to shove Keith Richards’ decomposed meatstick in and out of each other’s stinktank. And that was that. They started fucking all over town, spreading what we now know is K.R.D., to everyone. And taking all of mankind with it. Businessmen, construction workers, high ranking officials, Kobe Bryant, all the women Kobe Bryant rapes. From that point on, it just became a waiting game.
Jake, Martha, and myself were obviously immune for some reason, probably because God liked us more than everyone else. We would stay up at night and talk about the bad old days. When the world was full of shitheads, and having money mattered. A world where I didn’t get to unload shotgun shells full of my pearly white into Martha all day, everyday. A world where there were dictators, terrorist attacks, and Cracker Barrell. That ain’t no world I wanna be apart of. No sir. No thank you. I’m happy right where I’m at.
The End.
