Right on their tails was a raucous group of young “scientists,” with mockery-infused signs trumpeting science’s superiority over religion. (Of course, it was quite apparent just from looking at them that not a single one of them knew the difference between a proton and a quasar; by “science,” I presume they meant “secularism” or something along those lines.)
They paraded in a circle, trying to draw attention away from the nihilists, comedians, gays, Christians and hipsters.
When that didn’t work, they turned on a loud boombox and started doing the spastic dance in front of the assembled camera crews. (I especially like the expression of the Christian woman on the far right, which seemed to hover somewhere between “You have got to be shitting me” and “God, please give me the patience to endure these juvenile asswipes!”)
Our burgeoning five-ring circus became a six-ring circus when Santa Claus began encouraging everyone to “drink the Kool-Aid.”
One by one, two by two, nuts, kooks and true believers of every stripe managed to find their way to Hegenberger Road as 6pm approached. Here we see a banjo player with a propeller beanie, who serenaded the crowd with his off-key rendition of R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine).”
Someone handed out trillion-dollar bills that were so unbelievably well-made that they could easily pass for the real thing. Even the paper stock felt like real money. I don’t want to get in trouble with the Secret Service for counterfeiting, so I purposely cropped off part of the bill.
(Hey, I have an idea: Maybe if I mailed 15 of these to the government, I could solve the federal deficit! Oh, wait, somebody already thought of that. Never mind.)
A man wearing a priestly cassock positioned himself in front of Camping’s offices and began to pompously declaim in churchly Latin — but who’s going to take you seriously with pornographic love dolls drifting in the background?
Another guy showed up with a shirt that announced he was “Rapture Ready.” Was he serious? Joking? After a while, I couldn’t even tell any more.
A woman offered me a ticket to the afterlife.
I closed my eyes and chose one at random — looks like my eventual destination is The Great Void, which seems pretty appropriate for an agnostic like me.