Hello, it is I, Cizin, Mayan god of death and major stockholder in R. J. Reynolds Tobacco. Wait. Is that Mayan or Maya? I know that Mayan is the language, but the people are just the Maya, so I'm ... Screw it. Death god. Grammar is not my area.
Anyway, as you know, I'm planning to wrap this world up in just a few more days. First you get a couple of asteroids whipping between the Earth and the Moon, then comes the monkey in a fur coat. These are the signs of my coming. So ... mark your calendar for Friday. Say about noonish. I like to sleep in.
A bit after that, it's off to Xibalba with the lot of you. No Christmas. No New Years, and no one ever gets to see if The Hobbit gets better in episode two. On the bright side, all that fuss over the fiscal cliff thing is going to look pretty funny in the rearview as you're dragged screaming into the caves of fear.
Once in beautiful Xibalba, you'll meet your camp directors, Flying Scab and Pus Demon (hey, I'm not making these names up) who will take you on a tour of our facilities. River of blood. River of pus. River of scorpions. River of rusty razor blades and lemon juice'we just got that one installed.
There will be some tests. Mostly algebra and current events, so bone up. After that we'll hold a brief welcome ceremony (cash bar), then we'll be assigning everyone to their new homes. Now that Disney has bought out the rights to the underworld, things have changed a little, but it's still your basic Jaguarland, Fireland, Knifeland and Iceland. And no, I don't mean the Iceland with Eyjafjallajökull. Who uses names like that? Finally, there's the crown jewel of the Mayan underworld: Cuchumaquiccamapotoniliztli. The land of clotted blood and bad breath.
Also known as Limbaughland. Your new home.
(The apocalyptic finale after the jump.)
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