Did you know that the Rapture is going to occur on May 21, 2011?  I didn’t until I saw it on a bumper sticker.  Thank God – literally – and Christian broadcaster Harold Camping that I was given four months’ notice to get my affairs in order.

According to Wikipedia, the Rapture will entail the return of Jesus “amidst trumpets, angelic activity, heavenly signs, a resurrection, and a gathering of saints.”  I'm picturing people dressed in costume at the Mardi Gras, but the Rapture is no hedonistic celebration.  Instead, it is the Judgment Day when true Christians will ascend to heaven, and the rest of us are, well, screwed.

I assessed my past behavior and found it wanting, but I figured that I still had time to straighten up and fly right, and I was determined to think nothing but clean thoughts so I too could ascend with the angels.  Unfortunately, I started dreaming of angels that looked like Scarlett Johansson and began disrobing, and I quickly realized I would be spending eternity slathering on the SPF to fend off sunburn from the flames of hell. So I decided to accept my fate and make all necessary preparations. 

First, I’m taking all my coats down to the homeless shelter and giving them away.  I’m in the market for the only outerwear that will help me in the afterlife, a hazmat suit. 

Then I’m removing anything in my refrigerator that’s marked “low fat” or “fat free.” No need to diet now; I’ll be sweating off the pounds in the Eternal Steam Room, with Satan playing Richard Simmons.

Finally, I’m deleting my Turbo Tax update.  I’ll be damned if I’m giving anything to Uncle Sam when I won’t be here a month after Tax Day.  If the IRS wants to collect, they’ll have to track me down in hell, though I’m sure their agents know their way around down there.

There are a lot of benefits to facing the end of the world.  I can ignore mundane things.  It also means I no longer have to obsess over novels I haven’t read or symphonies I haven’t heard. I no longer have to dwell on the Mets’ lack of starting pitching; I can just laugh at Phillies fans and say, “I guess it won’t be your year after all.” 

Best of all, with no 2012 election, I no longer have to give Sarah Palin a second of my thought.  However, I would love to see her face on Judgment Day when she learns firsthand that her political philosophy wasn’t exactly what Jesus had in mind.

I’ll be shedding all the bonds of socially accepted behavior.  No more Mr. Nice Guy for me; I want my Indian name to be “He Who Flips Off His Neighbors.”  I just regret that this didn’t happen when I was younger and had the energy for four months of womanizing.  Instead of warning you to “hide the wives and daughters,” my only advice now is to “hide the liquor.”

There will be time left for one more grand vacation.  Should I finally head to South America and visit the Galapagos Islands and Machu Picchu, as I’ve always dreamed?  Check out the Venetian canals?  Go to India and see the Taj Mahal?

Hell, no.  I’m heading to Vegas, baby.  What happens there stays there, and what’s gonna be staying there is the money that my children will no longer need to inherit.  I’ll hit the blackjack table and tell the dealer to “hit me” on 19.  I don’t care, it’s just money and it’s all going to be gone.

You probably think I will be spending as much precious time as possible with the wife and children.  Nuh-uh.  I’ve lived with them for 20+ years, I know what they’ve done, and I know they’ll be joining me Down Under.  Which is why I won’t be saying goodbye to any of my buddies either.

But, you say, Camping predicted that the rapture would occur back in 1994.  He was wrong then, isn’t it possible that he’s wrong now?  Um, have you been reading the news?  Birds plunging from the sky, earthquakes, cyclones, environmental disasters, record heat waves as well as record snowfall here in New York – yeah, the end is nigh.

But even if Camping is wrong, so what?  The world is going to end next year.  The Mayans said so. That gives me another whole year to have fun.  Maybe they’ll comp me at MGM Grand.