LAST CALL

It's Last Call on Planet Earth, which means Closing Time is right around the corner. For some it will come quite unexpectedly, while others have been eyeing the clock on the wall all along. God-- the Father, Son, and Holy Bartender-- flicks on the lights, and hundreds of shadowy little souls vanish in the fluttering apocalyptic glare. He rings the large bell (bearing a Secret Inscription and the Meaning of Life), which hangs behind the bar, and the booming tone rings out across the cosmos, pushing a mighty wind before it. Stars are extinguished in its wake. When it finally reaches us, frightened mobs of people-- confused, crying, wide-eyed and terrified-- will pack the streets of every city in every country, their hands clamped over their ears in desperation. Some will simply shrug and move towards the door. Others will remain smugly seated on their stools, assured of their Special Position.
"Okay, let's go. Closing time. Time to go home. I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here. Take your drinks and go. Get out. Let's go. I want to go home. I have a life, too, you know," God says, clapping His hands and herding the crowd towards the door. Fear now enters the eyes of those still seated; they thought they had it all figured out. They spent their lives doing just as they were told.
"But you said! You promised! It isn't fair!"
Prayers and plaintive pleading fall upon deaf ears; all tabs are due. If you're gonna tip, you'd better do it now and make it count. But you still have to leave.
When the last soul has been ushered out, he locks the door behind them. He begins to wipe the counters and the forests disappear. He dumps the volcanoes and mountains into the trash. He vacuums up the plains and the deserts, scrapes the trashed remains of our greatest achievements into the trash. He mops the bathrooms clean of our mistakes and counts the till. Finally, he turns the jukebox back up while he restocks the beer in the cold polar caps, humming along. I bet God likes Ozzy, too.