To whomever finds this letter,

I do not know what will have become of the world as I know it when these words are found, or indeed if they ever will be found. But I feel it is my duty to record the horrors of the last few hours of the world as it was until recently known. In the hopes that future sons and daughters of this great Earth may learn from the mistakes of us, their cursed forebears.

It’s funny, in a macabre sort of way, that the end would be heralded in such a mundane way. No great trumpeted roar from the bowels of the planet, or blood-red comet slashing its way across the still skies. But a poster. A poster no different from any other poster you’d see plastered to the wall of a building, or stapled to a telephone pole.

A poster with band names virtually indistinguishable from those on all the other posters tacked up on the bulletin board at the coffee shop. Advertising a show at a tiny bar not unlike the tiny bars on the rest of the posters hanging in the entrance of the record store. With the same nondescript artwork, drawn by the same friend of the band, as the others in the crooked lineup stuck to the wall of the university hallway.

The posters appeared about a week and a half before the events of the night that civilization perished. Few noticed these grim harbingers, and those who did gave them little heed.

I admit, I turned a blind eye to what I now see as an unmistakable foreshadowing of destruction. Ravens, silent sentinels perching heavily atop each streetlamp post this grim mark was taped to. Strange, unsettling glyphs drawn onto the sidewalks surrounding the community events boards the ghastly prophecy was affixed to. A terrible hooded Facebook avatar offering up free tickets for those willing to part with their souls.

Even now, after everything I hold dear was lost or slaughtered, I still do not know whether the bands involved were somehow part of the plot for the world’s demise, or if they were unknowing marionettes guided into gruesome pantomime by a much more sinister hand.

When I arrived to the scene, I was asked by the gnarled, ghoulish gatekeeper working the door if I was on the guest list, which I was not. I still maintain that the cover I paid was the toll that saved my life that night, that all those who were on that list of the damned were destroyed. But saved me for what kind of life?

If my suspicion of the apocalypse had before been only a distant inkling, stepping into that dank bar turned it into a very real fear. An opening band mewled listlessly in some offensive tongue and lurched with shambolic determination toward something obscene only it could see. A member of one of the other bands hissed and spat venom at a bartender in dispute over a bigger bar tab.

And scattered in ragged clumps around the stage were stagnant-eyed patrons, absently gulping at drinks to dull their senses to the mounting onslaught of doom around them. Were they all, like me, morbidly drawn to this hexed gathering by some intangible force they were greatly unsettled by but too fearful of to disobey? Or were they all just friends and family of band members who weren’t quick enough to create an excuse not to be here?

I drifted amongst them with a growing sense of unease. I had a horrific moment when I came upon the merch table, and face to face with the hollow spectre tending it. A poor, wretched creature, girlfriend to one of the band members. No doubt once quite beautiful, now a shadow of a person, like a child’s crude Crayola approximation of what a human being looks like.

Her eyes were dead galaxies in which I could see the ghosts of every lively social engagement she’d passed up to sit disenchanted at the head of this table. Doomed to hawk misshapen idols printed upon t-shirts that cracked and flaked in the atmosphere outside of the boxes that had long ago become their crypts.

As I backed away slowly, almost paralyzed with disgust, I became aware of a burgeoning sensation of dread in my ears. One that spread like a ravenous cancer to my heart, and dropped with an uncontrollable messy splash through my anus. I knew with unassailable certainty that this was the end. I turned to see that which I already knew I would see. The main act had taken the stage. And, in a cruel knife-twist of brutality, had not done their sound check beforehand.

I tried to exit the building, but it was too late. I saw briefly through the closing doors that fire was already raining down upon the streets, and jagged thrusts of ice were erupting from sewer grates and manholes. The crowd inside was cheering now, a nauseating sound like a chorus of half-run-over dogs. The stage lights blazed on with hellish fury, just as the guitarist hacked out the first chord. And I knew then that all was lost.

What happened after that I cannot recount in this letter. To spare you, poor reader, and because the specifics of that horror are indescribable. The world was never again as it was after that monstrous night of cosmic abandon and indie rock. Few survived, and even fewer know what really happened.

I think I might be the only one who escaped ground zero unscathed. Physically unscathed, that is. The terrors are unrelenting in my brain. And so I leave this record. Before I take my own life to finally escape the rancid demons that continue to torture me.

So I ask any who may chance to read this to heed my tale, and carry forth my message. And that message is this: Jimmy, your shitty band really sucked Friday night and you’re really an asshole. Worst show ever.


Photo by FlickrDelusions via Flickr



Blog on Blog is regular feature here on Forget The Box where we look at the best in blogs.

Last year the world was suppose to end. Whether by hellfire, rogue planet (nibiru), asteroid or by a solar flare the earth was suppose to be destroyed, but, unfortunately to the dismay of every weirdo on the internet it never happened.

One of the reason why this never happened is because the Mayans never really predicted the end of the world, after all our calendar starts over after December 31st, why shouldn’t the Mayan calendar just start over?

Since the beginnings of professional prophets, people have been predicting the end of the world but so far to a highly inaccurate degree.

We should just face the facts: The Mayans just happened to perceive time in longer fragments but that didn’t stop most websites from seeing opportunity.

Leading up to the Mayan countdown we saw an increase on the internet of blogs relating to the subject. It seemed every site was in on the “world is nigh” action. Here are some of the best blogs about the end of the world.


Even scienctists got into the debate as to why the world wasn’t going to end. NASA got so many emails directed at wanting information about December 21st, that NASA finally broke down and made this video for all the “crazies” explaining why the world won’t end.

Best Bunker Blog

Maybe I’m old fashion but there is nothing like a good bunker to get my blood rushing. What design will withstand the awesome carnage outside? Well this blog uncovers the best construction for survival. There’s even a few lavish condo bunkers where you can reside the rest of your life in comfort and ease away from all the flesh eating hordes and temples of destruction. Some are even built around entire underground communities. (Instructables: How to build a bunker)

Car and Driver: 10 Vehicles for the Apocalypse

If the end times are coming, you’re going to need the right vehicle to get around, right? What kind of vehicle would best aid your survival during the final trial and tribulation? Well, according to Car and Driver, larger cars like SUVs or big tank-like vehicles like the Daimler Ferret are the best for survival. A vehicle that says “don’t tread on me… I got an extra tire.” And you though SUVs were bad, well wait till that zombie apocalypse happens, it turn out the most durable cars are the most douchiest.

And how else do you plan to crush a zombie horde without a giant douche-mobile like a Hummer? (Car and Driver: 10 Vehicles for the Apocalypse)

The Best and Worst Dogs for a Zombie Apocalypse

One of my favorite post-apocalyptic movies is A Boy and His Dog about a Mutt that has the ability to communicate telepathically with his owner. The dog was not only the smarter of the two, he also came in handy when trying to avoid radioactive monsters with his handy ability to detect them by scent.

It turns out that the Welsh Corgi is one of the best dogs to help you survive, based “On the strength of it’s size, herding instinct and it’s ability to appear less intelligent due to its cuteness.” The worse dog you can own: a poodle. (

Best Country for the Apocalypse

The best country to survive the apocalypse? Canada is looking pretty good. According to travel site Canadian zombies would probably be the nicest… just saying. And all our open terrain and hunting rifles would probably come in useful. Overall they suggest Norway as the best country to survive an apocalypse. Why? “It is isolated, it has an abundance of fish and deep cold water crabs and it’s population is low.” I also hear it’s nice this time of year. (Best Country to Survive the Apocalypse)

Best Visions of Post Apocalyptic Future

The Creators project has some awesome visions of what the future might look like once it has all ended. They’ve put together some amazing images and short films of what the future may or may not look like including overgrown cities, robot overlords and some awesome cyber punk. Check out this short film: True Skin.

If you’ve got any favorite apocalypse blogs let us know in the comments!