If street-preaching crazy men are to be believed, the end of the world is coming on Saturday May 21st. Join us for Maxim’s last day on Earth!
Sorry to spoil your Sunday brunch plans guys, but apparently the world’s ending on Saturday. Why? Well, because this completely nonsensical equation says so. That’s right: it’s time for The Rapture! Which, if you didn’t click that link, is basically the end of the world and all that other cool stuff they talk about in Ghostbusters. Now, we’re not saying we necessarily believe these warnings (we ain’t afraid of no ghost, neither) but just in case, we’ve made a to-do list for our last day at Maxim. Send us your own and if we’re all still alive next week, we’ll share them on the site!
- Telling Sheryl in Accounting that we always loved her.
- Wondering when Schwarzenegger is going to come clean about fathering upwards of three Maxim editors.
- Building a raft out of gently used inflatable sheep.
- Drinking our own bodily fluids—“just to get used to the taste”.
- Praying to God for more time—at least until our 2011 Hometown Hottie is crowned. Vote now!
- Praying that Donald Trump’s hair will be okay.
- Stop bothering to suck in our guts around the pretty intern.
- Bemoaning the fact that we never made it all the way through season six of Sex and The City. Do Carrie and Big wind up together??
- Hunting down Chubby Malcolm from Marketing and hog-tying him in the bathroom. We may need the meat! Also, we don’t like him.
- Reflecting that, really, we just got Osama in time.
- Trying heroin. What the hell, right?
- Trying to make good on our claim that we could eat five whole rotisserie chickens in one sitting.
- Putting out a cease and desist order on all spoiler alerts.
- Getting out all of those canned goods and peanut butter jars we stockpiled for the Millennium and hiding them under the conference table.
- Moving our entire bar, bottle by bottle, to a space under the conference table.
- Realizing we can’t fit under the conference table, and chucking out all the canned goods to make space for us among the bottles.
- Cowering under the conference table, regretting writing this article.