The end of Taylor Swift

The year is... Well, sometime in the future.

I find myself in an arcade with several friends and The Boyfriend. Well, they aren't so much with me, as they are existing in the same building. I'm failing at a claw game, or a racing game, or a combination of the two. The frustration leads me to leave the arcade and go to a nearby supermarket to buy candy.

That's where the news hits...

Taylor Swift is dead.

I read and reread the newspaper headline before hurling it in the face of the cashier and running outside. I promptly board the waiting helicopter and set off towards England or Africa. Possibly both.

The ride is short, and soon the wreckage of Taylor's plane is in sight. Our copter lowers and my team of scientists and archeologists approaches. There are burnt bodies and debris covering the ground. What's happened hear?

We set out to understand what has caused this horrible tragedy when the sounds of vicious monkey-lions carries onto our camp. Quick! Who's the most useless member of our team? We decide to sacrifice the blonde woman and threw her to the monkey-lions where she met a horrible demise - more horrible than that of Taylor Swift.

Although, after more hunting, we find that it was not Taylor Swift, but her mother (two weeks pregnant) who has been killed. Was she pregnant with Taylor? If so, how do the newspapers realize that a future pop/country star is dead before reaching her fame? It just doesn't make any sense!

The excavation continues.

Days later, the monkey-lions have returned. I run. I run as fast as my legs can carry me through the deserted suburbs. My team follows, but they have no sense of urgency, and a few of them are picked off.

The world is becoming more and more deserted, and I think I'm truly in England now. There is a McDonalds across the street from a big red barn, but the freeway-bridge behind it is collapsed. What kind of place is this?

I hide in the barn, peeking out through the windows to see if the monkey-lions are chasing us. Several of my team members have made it, and we stay still and silent. But a mob of people is running towards us! We panic, unsure of how everyone is going to fit in this barn! Surely this isn't to fire code.

A ladder drops from the ceiling and Kellan Lutz summons us to the rafters above the barn. We climb the ladder and manage to raise it to the ceiling and hide before the mob of crazy people and monkey-lions enter the barn and prowl around. People are dying below us, but it's okay because we're safe.

The rafters aren't really rafters, but a stadium with an open roof. It's beautiful out. Somehow, being up here makes the world look like a less catastrophic version of itself. There are fireworks, even! Kellan and his friends are singing the Star Spangled Banner, and we all celebrate our country's independence... From the country we are in.

No one seems to know where they are in this strange, post-apocalyptic world.

The nun the got away...

Recently, I was almost involved in an act so dreadful that it would have guaranteed me a one-way ticket to Hell.

My current ticket is round-trip. But it's also invalid.

I almost killed a nun.

Well, technically, I wasn't driving the death-machine, so maybe my hands are clean. But my friend and I were driving through a parking lot trying to find somewhere to shop. You see, we were going to an Adam Lambert concert, so we needed crazy clothes. Somehow, crazy clothes turned to crazy minds. And crazy minds should not be driving.

Well, as we're both staring out of MY window at this store, trying to decide whether or not to approach, I turn back to the road to see a woman in the cross walk.

"OLD WOMAN!" I screamed.

My friend glances back and slams on her breaks, at which point, the woman glanced at us.

"NUUUUUUUN!" I yelled.

We stopped.

This woman. This nun! She had an insane face. One eye was just a little bigger than the other, and her nose was clearly the king of her face-kingdom. And she just stared at us. Stared as she shuffled across the road. It's like she was damning us to Hell.

I have a thing about yelling short phrases when I'm in distress. Once, my freshman year of college, I almost died in an elevator.

These elevators were KNOWN for eating backpacks and extremities. Well, as I was walking through the door to board the hungry elevator, the doors began to close on me. Quickly, too. We're not talking hungry like a venus fly trap. Hungry like, maybe, a jackal.

So I stopped, raised my left leg, scrunched up my shoulders, turned partially around to look at my roommate behind me, and yelled...

"ELEVATOOOOR!"

Fortunately, I survived.