“Apocalypse ‘12”,

So the Mayans had said.

“Mark on your calendars

That you’ll all be dead.”

And ev’ryone came

To the center of town,

To look at the clock

As the minutes ticked down.

We all knew it would end

But we didn’t know how.

“Be ready” we said,

“For anything now”.

They primed all the missiles,

The oceans did rise,

The sun started growing

To no one’s surprise.

Bob Frost, he took bets

On “fire” or “ice”.

I said “10-to-1 water”

And he said “no dice”.

A relieved Harold Camping

Lit a vict’ry cigar;

And even  Cthulhu

Drove up in his car.

Behind him by barely

So much as a step

Came old Yog-Sothoth

And Nyarlathotep.

As twilight approached

We only could stare

And wait for the horsemen

We knew would be there.

The sky opened up

And there they appeared,

Looking as awful

As everyone feared.

There came a grim hush

To all of our chatter’n’

As those four moved into

Their last landing pattern.

Then one of the riders

Lost hold of his steed,

And the blasphemous bronco

Was off at full speed.

The Unearthly rider

Into space he was thrown;

‘Twas like the “Ghost Riders”

Meet “The Strawberry Roan”.

The next day the feeling,

As the headline explains:

Was “Apocalypse Called

On Account of the Reins.”