Whether you believe it’ll happen before the Great Tribulation or after – or maybe cold, hard science is your thing – everyone agrees: the Apocalypse is on its way. (November 13th, 2026 to be precise!) Sure, we’ve been through tough times as a species before. The resurgence of Bennifer was no picnic. But if all the forecasts hold, what’s coming is like nothing we’ve ever seen. And unless you pre-tribbers are right, then every last human, animal, and paramecium will have to endure all of the literally hellish shinola that’s on tap.
So, how to prepare? Well, you’ve come to the right place. What follows is a series of do’s and don’ts, tips and tricks for weathering the End Times as comfortably as possible.* We’ve partnered with chief biblical prophesier John (last name elided) to sort out which pestilences and freakish climatological events are most pressing. And since seals, plagues, and heads atop dragons all seem to come in groups of seven in the Book of Revelations, so too do our evasive tactics. So kick back with some fragrant ointments for your aching temples and toes and let’s get started!
1. Hydrate
There is no easy way to say this: it appears that all of the seas, rivers, and »inland waters » will eventually turn to blood. (We assume »inland waters » includes wells, reservoirs, and that sputtery drinking fountain at the office that tastes like pennies.) So you’re gonna want to stock up on Evian. And keep an eye on where you’re getting your wine from. According to prophecy, this one angel says to another angel,
»Hey, it’s harvest season! Let’s gather up all the grapes.«
But then they pile them all into a wine press and stomp, stomp, stomp, churn, churn, churn, and you know what comes out of the tap? BLOOD! Besides which, if you’re drinking wine to try to hydrate yourself… that’s so badass! Can we hang out with you?
2. Get to the Grocery Store NOW
When the ocean turns to blood, guess what? It’s not gonna be awesome for everything living in it. Turns out all aquatic life dies and all of the ships floating on it too. At first, we thought it was gonna stop at a third of the boats and fish, but that was just when the second angel sounded his trumpet. Ultimately, everything goes belly-up. No more spicy tuna maki. On the bright side, there’ll be no more supply chain issues, because there’ll be no more supply chain. You get our drift. Cashews don’t grow on trees. They’re brought here in container vessels from Vietnam where they… fine, they grow on trees! That’s not the point!
3. Consult a Meteorologist
Remember in 2020, when the worst wildfires on record swept across huge swaths of California? Pretty soon you won’t. Right now the outlook is cloudy with a 1,000% chance of
»AUUUUUUGHHHHHH!!!«
We’re talking whole cities collapsing due to an unprecedented earthquake. Also »lightning, rumblings, peals of thunder.« (We’re not sure if the »rumblings« are due to the »peals of thunder« or the earthquake but maybe that’s getting too into the weeds.) Then there’s the hail. Hailstones weighing a hundred pounds, it says. Falling on people. It goes on to say that »people curse God on account of the plague hail,« which… those must be some hearty folks if they can still say anything after a chunk of ice the size of a baby hippo marries them to the sidewalk. We suggest buying an umbrella made of the Empire State Building. Better yet, figure out how to break into a restaurant basement where they keep all the non-perishable canned goods and just stay there.
4. Make Sure Your Air Conditioner Works
You think climate change is bad now? Wait until the fourth angel pours out his pestilential bowl (or vial, it’s unclear) onto the sun. Whew! Like a furnace! No, like an actual furnace. People’s skin is gonna scorch. Also, all of the plant life on the planet burns up, so if you like grains and vegetables, you’ll be out of luck. Oddly, this is not long after the sun becomes
»black like a sackcloth made of hair,«
which you think would make the world colder. And kind of depressing? Like a Morrissey album. In short, you can think of the Apocalypse as akin to listening to a Morrissey album on the hottest California day in 2020 times a billion – and when you go to take a shower to cool off, blood comes out.
5. Do NOT Worship the Beast
We know it’s tempting but there are a lot of great reasons to resist stanning out on El Diablo. Just to avoid confusion here, we’re not talking about the first beast, who rises out of the ocean with seven, count them, seven heads with ten horns sprouting out of each, scaring the tar out of everybody. That guy’s just the opener. No, we’re talking about the second beast. The one with all the media attention. Mr. 666. (Alternate translations say it’s 616 but who’s counting?) He may seem pretty cool at first but, at the end of all this, his followers end up with »noisome and grievous« »boils and carbuncles.« What is a carbuncle, you ask? It’s way more uncomfortable than that case of scabies you got from your study partner in the eleventh grade. »Noisome« means smelly.
Yuck.
6. Keep It in Your Pants
Just like with the beast, you don’t wanna get taken in by the Whore of Babylon, aka Mother of Harlots – or as she’d be called these days, the Esteemed Sex Worker of the Levant. You’ll know her when you see her. She comes riding in on the back of that beast with the seven heads that have ten horns sprouting out. Yeah, that guy’s everywhere. Anyway, we know she’s hot and all, with her scarlet robes and pearl earrings and golden cup filled with »the filth of her adulteries.« But a bunch of nations will drink her wine and go mad. Wait! It also says here that she is »drunk with the blood of God’s holy people.« Where did she get that wine?! Hopefully not from the aforementioned wine press that made The Shining look like Kung Fu Panda. It’s all starting to make sense now. Except it isn’t. Turns out this lady is, herself, »the great city that rules over the kings of the earth.« More like the Metaphor of Babylon, if you ask me. Symbolic girlfriends are the worst kind.
7. You Only Live Once
But you die twice, we’re sorry to say. So after you suffer hunger and thirst, get clobbered by a falling boulder, practically burn alive before being covered in pustules, and go nuts from drinking the blood-wine of an extremely high-profile courtesan, you ultimately perish. And still, you have to suffer judgment. Basically, the sea, the earth, hell, and any other place that contains dead people will puke them all up so that an angel can cross-check whether their names are in the Book of Life. If you have a reservation, you get to enjoy a new and improved heaven and earth. Sort of like Brooklyn after it gentrified. If you’re not in the book, well, then you get thrown into the lake of fire and die all over again. It’s not great! Our advice? Stand as close as you can to the podium with the book on it so you can peek at it before they ask you your name. That’s what we do in Brooklyn. Make sure not to tell them you’re Timothy Chalamet or anything. Unless you are, in fact, Timothy Chalamet. In which case, welcome to paradise!
*It will not be in any way comfortable no matter what.
