Diaries of The Disaster

Look, I can’t say whether or not to call it a natural disaster or a man-made disaster, or an alien-made disaster. I don’t think anybody knows why the Earth exploded with essentially zero warning. I just want to survive. The DoubleTree Hotel Over The Equator survived the initial blast by some miracle, although it lost about half its solar cells and its orbit… well, can I call it an orbit anymore? Whatever, I gotta get outta here. A few of us have collected what we can aboard the Earth-to-orbit shuttle that was still docked to the station. Everybody else? Fuck them. I want to survive. We’re sneaking out, heading for the Moon. I don’t even know if the shuttle has enough fuel to make it.

So here you go, fat woman lounging by the pool all day, fat man sitting at the bar all day, fat kids bugging the piss out of everybody because your parents were ignoring you. This is my, Arnold Benedict’s, last Diary entry that I leave to you at the airlock. Fuck you. You eat too much food, anyway, and I need it.

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