The worst case scenario
“Is it getting hotter in here?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckety fuckin' fuck. There's a reason why they call it the worst case scenario. Well, two actually. One is because it's one of the scenarios. There's loads of fuckin' scenarios, enough to feed a goddamned orphan for a year. Enough to make you shit your pants and go bat fuck insane. Hell, that's probably one of the scenarios. Anything could happen. A fuckin' rainbow pig could come in and rip out your liver, I dunno. I'm not a goddamned gynecologist, you know.[1] But the point is that there's loads of scenarios, infinite possibility, and this is one of them. Out of fucking all of them, this one is happening to you. And that brings me to my second point. It's the fuckin' worst. The motherfucking worst one out of all of them. That one that's worse than a rainbow pig biting out your liver. Yeah, that one.
Nuclear war[edit | edit source]
Yeah, it was kinda inevitable. I mean, it's gotta happen some time. Politics has kinda already taken a shit on itself, and the economy hanged itself back in '09. But this feels a bit... much? Nuclear war? Well, you're all for the explosions and you're not the greatest pro-lifer but... eh, utter armageddon in the hands of the cold, unflinching military can wait for another day. NO IT CAN'T! This is the worst case scenario, motherfucker! Tomorrow's best case scenario day, and everyone will pick dasies and win the lottery and la-di-dah, but not today! Today is the day that nukes made of puppies and kittens whizz through the air and fall slap-fucking-bang onto the new house you're moving into. And they were launched by Adolf Hitler. And Adolf Hitler fucked your girlfriend.
At a missile silo in some remote corner of the States, a twenty second meeting via Skype, which then goes bust, ends with fifty bajillion nukes being launched into the heart of Russia, killing women and children, setting your good shirt on fire because you had it shipped off to Сергея Химчистки that morning, ruining the president's credibily (and the fucking president is George W. Bush), EVIL! MURDER! NUKES! If you are well prepared, you are already in your underground bunker with a select group of friends. Regretably, your water supplies will be contaminated by radioactivity, transforming your friends into zombies or some such.
Raptor zombies[edit | edit source]
You know what? Fuck it. The worst case scenario has some crazy shit, but fucking raptor zombies? One of the missiles is probably gonna open up a hole in the fabric of time, what with this being the worst case scenario and everything, and BOOM. Out come thousands of fucking velociraptors into the present day. I don't know about you, but today is shitty e-fucking-nough without goddamn raptors watching me. With my own fucking binoculars. Which I got for my eight birthday.
And of course, it's only a matter of time before they are turned into zombies by the zombies that were spontaneously there in the first place. Probably because of a virus released by UMBRELLA CORP. Which would be shit for you cause they'd sue the creators of Resident Evil over copyright charges and the game would become illegal and your high score would be wiped. Like regular zombies, the raptor zombies can only be killed by removing the head or destroying the brain, but unlike normal zombies, they can run and jump and kill people raptor style. Which just sucks for fucking everyone.
Pure fucking evil, and demon raptor zombies[edit | edit source]
Another missile will open a portal to Hell — this is one fucking trippy scenario — and everyone in a ten mile radius will be sucked in. Oh yeah, and not just people. Fucking everything. Porn stores, strip malls, your pet chihuahua, everything. They're off to spend an eternity of flames and dominatrixic rape with Satan. Yeah, and what comes out will be even worse. Every demon in the Legions of The Demons Astaroth, Eligos, and Grendel's Mom will be released into the world to wreak havoc on the people who are not already dead. Pissed off dead guys and reanimated F-22s will fucking find you and fucking impale you on their nose. No, too awesome. They will ass-rape you with their landing gear. Thank you artificial intelligence.
The other guys will probably start their insane unquenchable destructive rage by possessing every single fucking raptor zombie in the world as of yet and turning them into demon fuckin' raptor zombies. Yep, they'd do that. It does feel like a pretty good icebreaker, but that's not the point. The point is that it would be pretty fucking hard to find a worse scenario than this. You know what? The demon raptor zombies make you fucking do that, and whatever you thought of comes true. And you have no choice. Demon raptor zombies are just like raptor zombies but they are invincible, they can fly, they breath fire, they shoot lasers out of their fucking eyes, they bleed nitroglycerin, their gaze causes erectile disfunction, they have all of Superman's powers and they all have the face of Martha Stewart. Yeah, it's gonna suck.
Your favorite song is used in a Easy Cheese commercial[edit | edit source]
Of all the things so far, this just takes the fucking biscuit. There are fucking evil batshit raptor actor zombie ducks or whatever out there, and all you want to do is relax. Let the worst possibilities wash away. Watch some television, read a book... relax. Since a nude Bill Gates has run in and replaced all your books with copies of the Gay Karma Sutra, it's gonna be TV. But just when you reach past the cannibalistic midget you've caged and grabbed the remote, carefully dodging the last arrows fired by Anti-Robin Hood from that damn time hole, and press the somewhat feces-like on button, you get this:
You, quite frankly, don't give a shit, just like you don't give a shit about the hired assasin constantly ringing your doorbell and posing as the man delivering the Pizza Hut extra-cheese pizza you could never have ordered since your telephone turned into a rabid squirrel half an hour ago, but... no! No! No no no no no! Not... that song! Not your song! MOTHERFUCKERS! Bastards! That song is the ultimate damn song! A perfect blend of touching instrumental, roaring beat and suggesive lyrics! A perfect metaphor for the insanity of the eighties and the madness of the nineties! And yet this commercial has... soiled it! Used it as the tacky backing track to what? A thirty year old loser putting on a faux happy voice and plugging some fucking easy cheese? How did they even secure the song? It's a popular song for God's sakes! Surely it costs more money that the director of an easy cheese commercial can afford? Damn public domain.
It's raining[edit | edit source]
Right. That's... just perfect. On top of goddamn everything, it's raining. You've dodged raptors, babies with guns, puppets with knives, manic Easy Cheese salesmen, who knows what else there is. But, well, heh heh, IT'S FUCKING RAINING! YOU'LL GET WET! Fuck! Shit! Of all fucking things, this?! Motherfucker! God damn it! Why? Sonofabitch! Who keeps doing this? Is all this just to prove a fucking point? Everything! Everything, and then it just has to rain! My wife died when it was raining! You fucking know that? No you fucking don't! What I'm saying is this is is just stupid and... gay... and stupid and... IT'S RAINING! You left the washing on the line! The toilet window is open! Damn! Damn damn damn! The car'll rust! The sewer'll overflow and... ohh... it'll be like when you stayed over at Auntie Muriel's house. God, that was a disaster.
It's raining sulfuric acid![edit | edit source]
Please just shut the fuck up.