Editor’s Note: Due to unforeseen, but currently being reported, circumstances, the “lede” will not appear in this story.

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and most of America gets high, which has nothing to do with life or this particular story.
“Yeah, punk,” said Scrombo Joe. “This particular story!”
Joe has no affiliation with the University in any official capacity whatsoever. But he goes to parties and reads Dr. Date and wishes his parents were together and had the money to put him through school.
But they don’t. And the fact that the world is doomed ain’t helpin’ none.
Speaking of Armageddon, Joe plans to survive and lead the survivors to a new paradise — a Golden City behind the mountains with benevolence and prosperity for all whose hearts pump blood.
“If you have to ask, you’ll never know,” Joe said.
Indeed. Joe plans to attribute the pending success of his survival plans to major drug companies — like Pfizer and Merck — with links to the erstwhile Nationalist Socialist Party in “demaligen” Germany, the AIDS virus, lab monkeys and the polio vaccine.
“Without their hard work, the world would still be headed toward overpopulation and diversity,” said Chuck Jones, a professor emeritus of mother’s science and shoe plate tectonics.
In order to stay alive while man-made viruses unleashed by a consortium of old white businessmen scrape the planet bare of excess humanity, Joe intends to stay underground for up to six months.
“I got a woman, some booze and a few appliances,” said Joe. “I ain’t trippin’.”
Quite right.
“I’ve got a sign, my line and a set,” added Jones. “Read the writing on the wall.”
The Golden City is a projection of life sans industry, copyrighted years ago by the Fringe, a small corporation outside of Eugene, Ore.
The city was the brainchild of Cassius Marcellus Sayhey-Clay.
“Cassius Marcellus Sayhey-Clay,” exclaimed Jones. “You have to be bad with a name like that.”
“Yeah, only Mohammed Beatyoass-Ali could top that,” chimed in Brenda Sams, Joe’s woman.
Clay devised a panopticon of such magnanimous proportions that even the Man falls under its sway.
The good part is, a computer program — designed by underage drinkers and all-around moochin-a$$ chumps Buck Samuelson and his partner Small Backslap — enables binary double-wire fiber-optic transmissions to bypass the main node in the requisite channeling vector.
“Whew, that’s a relief,” said Sams.
Through the capture and subjugation of the Man, Joe, Jones, Sams and Clay hope to uncover the conspiracy to flood the black community with crack, use Africa and the gay community as Guinea pigs for the AIDS virus, stigmatize the Latino population through immigration and drug coverage, and systematically set each part of the population — women, men, blacks, whites, “Americans,” foreigners, etc. — against each other, so that we may be easier ruled.
“This sh*t is no joke,” said Clay. “We’re on a mission, see, and until the truth is found — until justice reigns and love conquers all, this world will continue in one direction and one direction only: the path to hell, with cities covering our beautiful planet, smog casting shadows over our beautiful sky and cubicles separating our wonderful souls.”
Ramses Abadaya is too dope for your comments. Yo. ‘Nuf said.