This is the Year of Living Embarrassingly. Just ask Charlie Sheen.
From Bin Laden’s blue (and I don’t mean ray) movie collection to Arnold’s revelation that, despite immigrating to the US more than 40 years ago, he has maintained European mores regarding domestic retainers, the famous are wallowing in public scandal. Unlike IMF chief Dominique Strauss-Kahn, Arnold at least had a consensual misadventure with his housekeeper.
As the males elevate the scandal sweepstakes, the perennially embarrassed Lindsay Lohan may yet be able to rehabilitate her image. Drew Barrymore’s example proved more than 10 years ago that F. Scott Fitzgerald was as mistaken as Harold Camping when he proclaimed, “There are no second acts in American lives.” Given the right role (and a cosmetic surgery or two), Lohan can rebound in Scream 6: Laryngitis Kills.
Speaking of California seer Camping, he in fact wants a third act, as he has now twice staked everything on prophecy and then missed the date. He offers the following interview to the Kronosphere in hopes of procuring yet another curtain call.
The Kronosphere: Good morning, Mr. Camping. Thank you for sitting down with us.
Harold Camping: Thank you for giving me this opportunity to clear my good name.
K: Wrongly predicting the end of the cosmos must fling just about the worst possible egg on a prophet’s face.
HC: Yeah. But egg is still better than enormous stones flung in your face. That’s what they did in the old days to prophets who were wrong as big as I was. Ouchy.
K: This is the second time you’ve blown it. What gives?
HC: Turns out, I’ve been using a bad source to calculate the end of the world: the Bible. Both Matthew 24:36 and Mark 13:32 say no “man” knows the day—which rings the clue phone right there.
K: And the clue is?
HC: I should have been asking a woman.
HC: Right-o. Or Macbeth not being killed by anyone born of a woman. Prophesies are slippery little suckers with a lot of metaphor and a vinaigrette of the extremely literal.
K: I see. So what’s your new method?
HC: Instead of continuing to use numerology and the Bible—which doesn’t have any books written by women—I started casting about for a female source. And Rebecca Black’s video “Friday” just spoke to me like it was coming straight from Baalam’s ass. Its apocalyptic vision is rather obvious, but I’ve been too lost in Zechariah’s myrtle trees to heed it.
K: So you’ve studied the video. What’s your conclusion?
HC: The world is going to end on a Friday. Duh.
HC: Note all the references to “Friday” and how critical the day is to the song’s message. Creating the earth may have taken seven days, but you need only one extreme weekend to completely trash it. Like a party at your parents’ house. Because time ceases with an everlasting paradise of one Friday after another. Something “everyone is looking forward to” and doesn’t “want…to end.”
K: I never thought of that way.
HC: You wouldn’t, but predicting is my business. Just. What. I. do. You probably never thought to count how many times she says “partyin’” either.
K: No, I can’t say that I did.
HC: The word is repeated an auspicious 17 times. As I explain in my book, the number 17 represents heaven! Could anyone reasonably conclude, therefore, that Black’s seventeen-fold description of a heavenly “party” is meaningless pop babble?
HC: Of course not. But let me go on. The video opens with Black’s more contemporary, grittier form of the celestial “alleluia” as she drones “oo-ooh-ooh, yeah, yeah.” Pages of the calendar fly off to show the days quickly shortening to the end times. Prophetically, we see that Thursday—the day before Friday, as Black reminds us—is judgment. Because judgment must come before paradise.
K: How do you know Thursday is judgment?
HC: Rebecca has an all-important essay due. Translation: The sheep and goats are about to be graded, and no doubt some of her goat peers will be gnashing their perfect goat teeth—and, I might add, ruining years of expensive orthodontistry. She herself is a safe sheep, however, because the calendar says she is “Thursday’s child”—Thursday being named after the Norse god Thor.
K: What are we to make of that?
HC: Obviously, as the son of Odin, Thor is the son of a god, so Thor’s Day is code for the Son of God’s Day. In another timely portent, “Thor” happens to be the name of a very successful movie out right now. You might say we’re living in the days of Thor—Thor’s Day.
K: The end times.
HC: In Viking talk, Ragnarok. The video sketches Black facing a sun and a dark, downward spiral. Look closely at that spiral and what do you see?
K: The kind of doodle bored, talentless middle schoolers make?
HC: To the untrained eye perhaps, but no, it’s a tornado. Or as I prefer to call it, a Thor-nado. Do you know Thor was the god of lightning and storms? And have you noticed how the recent plague of Thor-nados started after Black’s video and the Thor movie were released. It just makes my gray hair stand on end how all these things are coming together. Or it would if there wasn’t so much Brylcreem plastering my hair down.
K: Back to Friday.
HC: On Friday’s calendar page the young lady has written “I’m in love.” And the three keywords are “hooray,” “yes”, and “finally”—all words my followers and I naturally associate with the death and destruction of Armageddon. The key image is a digital clock that has counted down to midnight, the witching hour. Just like a time bomb in a James Bond movie.
K: Except no secret agent arrives with one or two seconds left to defuse the bomb.
HC: Game over, man, game over.
K: The calendar is important, but what about the lyrics of Black’s actual song?
HC: Songs are written in verses, just like….
K: The Bible!
HC: Precisely. In her first verse Black awakens early, looking fully made up and ready. Precociously nubile, too, which all called to my mind the five wise virgins of Matthew 25. Black knows you “gotta be fresh”—i.e., not stale, moldy, or defiled by the world. That bowl she’s “gotta have” is likewise a metaphor for the lamp in which the wise virgins placed their oil.
K: And that would make her cereal—perhaps Pops—the oil itself. Gotta have that, too. Right?
HC: Hey, who’s the prophet here?
HC: Little Becky prepared ahead, so she can stand and sing serenely while her family—representing the foolish virgins—rushes around, facing their certain doom.
K: Best not to dwell on that.
HC: No, because now is when the promise of Friday is realized in all its glory. Lo! It’s not a bus at all that arrives to spirit the young lady away. Rather we see a Sebring convertible filled with Rebecca’s friends. They joyfully invite her to join them on the journey to the land of Friday, where exams are forgotten and the only challenge is deciding which seat to take.
K: The seating arrangement does seem to be a critical question.
HC: Wisely, Black remembers Luke 14. Rather than seizing the front seat for herself, she sits in the back and waits to be elevated.
K: Good call, Rebecca!
HC: Once in the car, the friends and lighting are changed in the twinkling of an eye. Becky no longer needs a driver or even to stay in her seat as the hour of “7:45” has arrived. Did you get that?
HC: Read my book. Seven signifies the perfect fulfillment of God’s plan. Discerning the eschatological meaning of forty-five is more difficult, but as I wrote, 23 signifies God’s wrath. And 45 is two times 23 minus one. Quite obviously the meaning of 45 is double-plus bad wrath. We’re talking Old Testament.
K: Minus one?
HC: Yes, because the young lady will be spared the outpouring of the giant tub o’ wrathfulness. Also, 43 symbolizes judgment, so 45 derives from adding the number of Black’s friends (two) to 43. Prophetic numerology works on soooo many levels.
K: We’re almost out of time, but I have a couple of questions about the video. Things that have puzzled viewers that perhaps you can clear up. Why does Black reference her one friend—“my friend is by my right”—and not the other?
HC: Because not everyone who calls Rebecca Black “friend” gets to go to her party. See Matthew 7:21. The right hand represents her mercy, the left—
K: Everlasting darkness. So the second friend is going to be thrown under the bus.
K: Got it. What about the bobble-headed random rapper who shows up driving all alone, singing to himself?
HC: Notice his ominous color: black. He is in fact the dark horseman of Revelation 6:5, who comes to judge those left behind—those still on the purgatory school bus. Although he’s been “chillin’ in the front seat” and “chillin’ in the back seat” a bit like an alpha and omega ice cube, the “tick tock” of the bus ends his frozen placidity. With a “scream”—his word—he drives like a bat out of hell and announces it’s his time. He shouts to his victims, “We gonna have fun, c’mon, c’mon, y’all.” But I don’t think they will like Mr. Black Horseyman’s idea of fun!
HC: The important thing to remember is all will be well with Rebecca and her friends in perfect-skin paradise. All tears, acne, and evidence of bulimia have been wiped away. Standing on a heavenly elevation, she leads them in continuing cheers of “fun, fun, fun” now and throughout all eternity.
K: Any final thoughts? Like when is this all going to happen?
HC: I’m not going to be trapped again into a specific date, but I can tell you I’m 100 percent sure it will be a Friday. And soon. We-we-we so excited.
K: The excitement shows in your eyes. Thank you, Mr. Camping.