The apocalypse.

Topic of human discussion since the beginning of recorded history, the apocalypse has taken many forms.  Some think that it’ll be the return of Jesus, others believe it to be to be the Four Horsemen, still others think it’ll be the acerbic, tantric infant we’ve somehow allowed into office.

It is my unfortunate duty to inform you all that it’s none of these.  We’ve created such a special brand of apocalypse in this, the height of our stupidity, that we will not be able to escape.

That’s right.

The artisanal apocalypse.

The earth will be scorched by piping hot pumpkin spice lattes, crisping children, cooking trees and melting our known buildings.  Millenials will Instagram their own demises, tagging friends and family in their own personal #deathmemes.  Baby boomers, falling into the bottomless pits (sponsored by Sobe Lifewater,) will dream up new, fantastic ways to blame this unfortunate occurrence on avocado real estate or whatever the fuck those idiot millenials (us) have come up with.

Every Starbucks will release pestilence faster than anyone can say “grande soy three shot frappuccino with low fat whip, sprinkles and shaken instead of stirred.”  This is mostly because millenial Starbucks orders take so long to say that a snail could run the New York Marathon twice before the millenial is done with the third word of their order.

After the rumbling (sponsored by Target) has ceased, the few survivors will emerge, making clothing from shattered public art, liberal snowflakes, and pieces of standing desks.  PC will stand for Proper Clothing, which no one will have anymore.

This world will be reborn from the flames of our farmers’ markets and bodegas.  I hope to see you on the other side.