Portents

On the last day of the year 2006, in a small insulated little Florida town, there was a party in progress at the home of the eldest K---- sister. A collection of revelers related by family ties, celebrating the passing of a so-so year and the onset of a hopefully better one. There was music, dance, and drink...there was laughter, conversation, and song. There was also a waxing gibbous moon, bright and casting a harsh luminescence. It was also surrounded by a halo. A perfect circle formed by the trailing edge of a feathery cloud bank, and by the reflection of moisture in the atmosphere. I was there, and I was enraptured by the sight. What a strange phenonomenon, and at such a time as this. What could it possibly mean? Being an intelligent and reasonable man, I could only reach one conclusion...Armageddon! It was the coming of the Messiah, and I was staring at the portal where the Beast would emerge. Sure enough, the moon was soon tinged with scarlet, and the heavens boiled. Death emerged astride a pale poodle, breathing fire and dropping ferocious fleas that swarmed and feasted upon the blood of the flock. Then followed the Four Horsemen; John, Paul, George and Ringo. They were pissed, having found out that Michael Jackson still owned the rights to their song library. Then followed seven strumpets; they were absolutely HOT. Then the seven vials were broken, creating a mess upon the Earth. There were no broomsmen to clean it up. It all made for a very poor party indeed, what with the End Days and all. I went home, and didn't even sick up my dinner.