"Arma-get-it-on"

You're making pasta in the kitchen -- \npantless as usual -- and the water has just begun to boil. It's really hot now -- a liquid pool of Jake Gyllenhaal. \nYou pour in the noodles and look at the box: "10-12 minutes or until soft." Just like sex, you think to yourself. \nYour apron shakes as you chuckle madly.\nIn the living room, Vanna White is pressing the tiles to a "Before and After" phrase that is clearly "Marilyn Monroe County Library." The chubby contestant in the tangerine sweater guesses the letter "D," and you shake your head, wondering when she will stop eating Cheetos and start being intelligent. \nSuddenly, a breaking announcement interrupts the program. Spunky news anchor Andrea Morehead appears on TV, unusually solemn. She's wearing a bright red suit in a shade as alarming as the news she's about to deliver. \n"Ladies, gentlemen, hermaphrodites and victims of bizarre accidents," she begins, "I regretfully inform you that today ... \nwill be your last. According to information recently obtained by meteorologist Bob Gregory, the Earth will implode in exactly two hours. Also, tonight will be partly cloudy."\nWhen "Wheel of Fortune" returns on TV, you see Pat Sajak and Vanna White, who have recently received the news themselves, going at it hardcore -- right on top of the wheel. The show's creator, Merv "The Perv" Griffin, soon joins in. As soon as Pat "Sajakulates," you turn off the TV.\nThe noodles are done. And soon your life will be, too. \nIt's the proverbial, Armageddon-inspired question, one commonly posed by drunken friends and existentialist professors: If you had two hours to live, what would you do?\nThough this question seems pointless -- \ninsignificant at best -- in a world of global crisis and tangible turmoil, the varying answers provide an interesting insight into the perverse human psyche. \nThough many answers are given, one is undoubtedly the most common: "I'd have a giant orgy."\nIt seems strange to me -- idiotically demonic even -- that many people would spend the final, fleeting hours of existence munching the dirty tacos of desire. Don't get me wrong, I love sex. More than cheese even, and let me tell you, this homo loves his sharp cheddar. Truly, sex is beautiful -- like a basket of babies. But, still, even in mass quantities, it's a poor substitute for love. \nOrgies are hamburgers. Love is prime rib. \nIndeed, you could stuff yourself silly with a giant hamburger, but nothing compares to the savory taste of real, emotional beef. \nAs trite as it might sound, I would much rather spend my final moments surrounded by the people I love -- \ndrinking hot chocolate and playing double-deck euchre. \nThus, I've come to a realization. There are two types of doomsday respondents out there: the ones who would have orgies and the ones who would play euchre. \nSo, ask yourself: When the world comes to an end, will you be screwing a stranger ... or screwing the dealer?