It’s hard not to feel like we are approaching the end times. With the world on the verge of a global pandemic, life seems more like a science fiction film than reality. And if this is the Apocalypse, you need to start calling me by my true name, Motoraxe.
You might say I’m overreacting, that maybe this most recent perceived epidemic isn’t as bad as we all think it is. You might say it’s killed less people than the flu. But how many people has the flu killed? No really, how many? Trillions? Has the flu killed trillions of people?
Sure, I could invest my time and energy in studying about communicable diseases or learning how to bathe. OR, I could learn how to do a sick back-flip off a motorcycle while firing a sawed off shotgun with one hand and swinging a katana with the other. Oh, and a hot babe on my other arm. Oh you think all my arms are busy? Not in the apocalypse baby! Three arms motherfucker. Ooo, maybe I should go by “Three Arms.”
The point is, I won’t sit and wallow about how the world around us is about to be decimated by a communicable disease that our current socio-political infrastructure is ill-equipped to handle. I don’t care that anti-intellectualism has brainwashed us into being skeptical of science to the point where even if we had all the facts and evidence, we would still ignore them. If you wanna be a baby about it, fine. Me? I’ve already started stockpiling Surge and canned clams.
People are wasting too much time trying to save the world we currently live in. I’m preparing to conquer the world that’s fast approaching. Sure, I’ve never done a full pull up, but in the wasteland I will crush all those who defy me. When they hear my name they will tremble. And that name will be Motoraxe. Or Three Arms. It won’t be Cody anymore, that’s for damned sure!