RYAN BROMSGROVE
The Gateway (University of Alberta)

EDMONTON (CUP) — It’s time to get your shit in order. Oct. 21 was supposed to be the end of the world (again), but there’s been some sort of delay (again). Who knows how long that delay will last, though?

It seems like only yesterday Harold Camping, the world-renowned prophet, predicted the rapture would happen and the faithful would ascend to heaven, leaving sinners to suffer in anguish. Or to party, depending on who we’re talking about. But when May 21 passed with embarrassing mundanity and not — as he’d hoped — full of fire, earthquakes, plague and disease brought by shadowy figures riding skeletal horses, Camping was at a loss. Maybe it was because skeletal horses tend to fall apart in an unimpressive pile of bones. Whatever the cause, the apocalypse didn’t arrive.

He revised the date to Oct. 21, assuming those shadowy figures had to resort to Python-esque coconut-shell steeds. That tends to increase travel time significantly. Oh, and this time the non-believers would be annihilated quickly and painlessly; that kind of wide-spread divine euthanasia takes time to plan.

But Oct. 21 came and went. No dice.

With four failed predictions now behind the poor guy, we have a choice to make. By far, the easiest reaction is to gloat about what a dumb failure the idea was and how smart we all are for not falling for it.

But there’s another way. I say we throw this guy a bone and at least pretend that the rapture has happened — that he’s just a few measly days off in his prediction. I mean, the man is 90 now and he doesn’t have a lot of time left. Can you imagine making such high-profile claims and becoming a household name, only to again and again have God smack you down by not following through on His promise, making you look like a total ass in front of the entire world? We can’t let Camping go to the grave a total failure.

So have some heart and listen up. Here’s what we’re going to do. The coconut-shell horses didn’t work, and the horsemen have given up and gone home instead. But we won’t fail Camping. We’re going to start by waiting outside his house.

There’s going to be a lot of media there too, so I’m going to need a decoy. Fake Camping, you’ll ride on up on a Segway and draw the pesky journalists away while everyone else slips into the house unseen.

Now, Camping is very old, so chances are he’ll be having a nap. I’ll have a guy out back waiting in a car. The rest of you must smuggle the old man out without waking him. Then we’ll all drive to Fake Heaven.

Regarding that, I’ll need you artsy types to basically string up a hell of a lot of cotton balls around an empty warehouse. Instant clouds. While we’re at it, we’ll paint the whole thing gold and white, too. My friend Steve owns a linen store, and he can supply us with some silky white bedsheets that we can turn into heavenly robes. We can use curtains to hide the corners of the room. If anyone could bring a harp and gently pluck a soothing melody, that would complete the illusion.

And when he wakes up? Bam. We’ll be ready with an old guy with a flowing white beard ready to welcome Camping to heaven at last. I can pull off a mean Jesus, but everyone else, don some robes and make it look natural. Bonus points if you are able to pose as his friends and family. If we handle this thing in shifts, I’m pretty sure we can keep the hoax alive until he finally isn’t.

There you have it. A complete plan to save this guy from one more round of horrifying embarrassment and instead give him some well-deserved closure. And the best part? When we’re on the outside, that’s one fewer person bugging us about the apocalypse. This is a plan we can all get behind, people. Roll out, sweet chariot.

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Image :Dan McKechnie/The Gateway