Seven Days of Sin

Well, it’s about that time. Our world leaders can finally stop arguing over which strain of government is most effective, how to disperse the world’s wealth, and whose god has the biggest dick. Citing irreconcilable differences, each nation will be launching their reservoir of missiles, torpedos, warheads, and chemicals in exactly seven days. This will put an end to the great creator’s Petri dish experiment called humanity.

I, for one, welcome the complete and utter evisceration of our species. Bring on the nukes! That being said, you’re damn right I intend on living it up during this final half fortnight. And what better way to live it up than in observance of the seven deadly sins? What fun! I will devote each 24-hour cycle to one of the seven, a sin for every day. I still haven’t decided the order. I suppose I have some thinking to do.

Day 1: Lust

This was a no-brainer. And a decision I certainly do not regret. In short, my day was spent fornicating: women, men, transexuals, transgenders, non-binaries, pansexuals. I fucked them all. And let me tell you, it was quite liberating. Disregarding all preconceived notions, all inhibitions, all judgements.

If not for this doomsday declaration, I never would have experienced such a smorgasbord of stimulation. With a plug for every orifice, a clamp for every growth, I have never felt so fulfilled or so close to my fellow man. Speaking of, here’s another one. I’m afraid I won’t have any more time to write today.

Day 2: Sloth

After a day of much energy expenditure, this seemed like the logical follow-up. My morning began perfectly; noon had long passed by the time I awoke. In my early atrophy hours, I ordered a grease clusterfuck delivery pizza, which was fed to me by a helper monkey (God bless you, Juju). And then I slipped into a vegetative state for several hours.

I don’t want to give the impression that this day was wasted. Not in the slightest. Everyone needs a day to unwind, to free his or her mind from all worries. The world was nothing more than a speck in my rearview mirror. My stars, I. Am. Refreshed.

Day 3: Envy

I was never covetous of the traditional red, white, and blue-blooded pleasures: luxury cars, three-tiered mansions, my neighbor’s wife. Instead, I envied those who could stir emotions with nothing more than globs of paint or molded hunks of clay. It is for this reason that I lifted several pieces from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. (I was met with little resistance, as art holds virtually no value since the news of our impending destruction.)

However, as I gaze at the Van Gogh self portrait hanging from my wall, the burning pangs of envy subside. I scribble these last phrases through a misty haze, as I have been moved to tears. For the first time, the overwhelming splendor of artistic creation has taken hold of me. I don’t mean to get so weepy; I will spare you from any further details.

Day 4: Pride

Void of anything resembling pride, I decided to exact revenge on those pitiful creatures of hubris. After much reflection and research, I set off for the homes of various local politicians (in my estimation, the greatest offenders of the titular sin) armed with such humbling artillery as rotten eggs, piss-glutted water balloons, and overripe tomatoes.

But my mission veered in a decidedly different direction when I met her at the corner of Jefferson and Ash. Her hair was a splindly dirt labyrinth, her hand clutched a corrugated cardboard sign. “Homeless, anything helps.” What better symbol of humility than this fallen angel? Off to my credit union we embarked, where I named her the heiress to half my fortune. I wish I could have given more, but funds are necessary for the waning stages of my plan.

Day 5: Greed

All my charity was undone in a day, a day that started with the most fitting ode to greed: on a flight to Las Vegas. The winged beast had barely touched down before I found myself basking in the sickly neon glow of the nearest shit-hole casino. Now, I’ve witnessed my share of heaters, but nothing like this. It was as if I could read the roulette wheel’s 666 mind, as if my sleeve was packed with unlimited aces. I held up countless one-armed bandits; slot machines vomited jackpot payouts, those never-ending hordes of money-sick contraptions.

It wasn’t long before my winnings exceeded the casino’s bankroll. And so we came to an agreement: I was to be the new casino owner. This was perfect, as I was no longer satiated by any amount of personal gain. Now I needed to consume the riches of others. Unfortunately, this too became monotonous. What I desired now was the complete destruction of the ravenous greed pit itself. And so I sardine-packed the casino with explosives and reduced the flashing and whirring breaker of dreams to nothing more than rubble. At last I was satisfied.

Day 6: Gluttony

Popular opinion would say to save this vice for last, to gorge oneself with unholy goodness and leave a powder keg of cholesterol creams, doughy crusts, and baked diabetes to explode with the rest of the world. Not me. As this is my last day in Las Vegas, the land of buffets, I could think of no better time or place to partake.

And partake I did. I won’t get into details, other than to say that my appetite was so vociferous that I mistook an employee’s finger for a cocktail weiner and made a bit of a mess. I wish I could say there was some great philosophical revelation my penultimate day, but I just ate a shit-ton of food. After being knocked temporarily unconscious by a heating tray for refusing to leave in a timely manner, I found myself on an airplane back home.

Day 7: Wrath

There’s nothing I can do with this one. No anger remains in me. I appreciate every moment I’ve breathed on this earth. I told loved ones that I loved them, apologized to those I wronged, and forgave those who hurt me. The remainder of my day was spent reading and sipping cocoa.

If there is any wrath to be doled out, however, let it be by the one worthy entity: Mother Earth. Humankind has failed this idyllic land-and-sea sphere and will commit the ultimate crime within the hour. I will not be around to see it, for the raging waves of the Atlantic will have welcomed me to eternal sleep. Peace out, bitches.