Epilogue: The End! I mean it this time!
Chaos and Order sat and looked at the map of the world as of January 1, 1936.
So. It's over.
Yep. It's over, Odor.
Order made a face.
I wish you'd stop calling me that.
Have it your way, Loser McLoserpants, Emperor of Losertown!
Order sighed.
Bart, when can Chaos collect his prize and blow us into oblivion?
Bart stopped polished a glass long enough to say, "Soon", and then resumed.
The bar sure is quiet!
Yes, well, nobody is thrilled that you won. It's bad enough they're going to cease to exist; it's even worse hearing you gloat.
Chaos shrugged.
Nobody said life was fair.
You have. Several times, in fact. You had a T-shirt made.
Chaos smiled in remembrance.
That was a good shirt.
Death chose that moment to make his appearance.
Afternoon, gentlemen. He looked at the map and whistled.
You really did some conquering, Chaos.
Chaos preened, until Order interrupted.
He beat the Mexicans. Big deal.
I don't see you beating the Mexicans.
Your mother!
Chaos hoisted his glass in acknowledgement of an artfully delivered zinger. Bart suddenly went stiff. A beeping sound was followed by the revelation of the Reality Bomb.
That's it?
"What did you expect?"
It's... a bomb. With "Bye bye, Reality!" written on the side.
"If it's not impressive enough for you, I could always dispose of it..."
Chaos examined the bomb with a critical eye.
I guess it's okay. Can I have one last Chaos special for the road?
"I'll go start the boiling vat of glue."
Glue, remember. Not paste!
Bart cocked an eyebrow. "I know how to make a Chaos special."
Three days later, Chaos finished his drink.
So... how do I make it go boom?
"You push the big red button on the side."
I knew that.
"Then why did you ask?"
Shut up! Chaos reached for the button, with deliberate glee in his eyes. Right before he hit the button, a strange look crossed his face. It was... restraint.
I'm not sure I want to do this.
Time itself seemed to stop.
After a few minutes, Bart threw Time out of the bar for drinking too much.
A few minutes after that, everybody considered what Chaos had said.
You have got to be kidding. I've been miserable this entire time, and the only thing I had to look forward to was seeing you annihilated. Now you're going take that from me?
Chaos looked at Order with some alarm.
Uh... easy, buddy.
No! I've had it! I've done everything the right way this whole time, with you making your snide comments and awful puns, and you get lucky dice rolls and declare yourself the winner?!
Well, yeah, pretty much. That's kind of my thing, if you hadn't noticed.
Order's eyes lit with a feral glint.
It won't be for too much longer!
Wait! You can't do this!
Can't I? Wouldn't nothingness be the absolute perfect state of Order? Forever stagnant, never changing, completely uniform.
Uh, Death, can he do this?
Hmm? Yeah, probably. I mean, a child could push the button. It's not like there's any kind of security.
Order's finger reached out as he stabbed the button like a jilted husband plunging a knife into his cheating wife's heart, provided the heart -- and the wife -- exploded and eliminated reality.
Or at least, that's what was supposed to happen.
When nothing happened for a while, Order did what any thinking person would do: he kept pressing the button until something happened. (I do this around elevators.) Then, finally, something did happen. A tiny note fluttered to the ground. Order, with pure rage in his eyes, grabbed with an unholy fury and began to read.
Dear Chaos [It has to be Chaos, right? Order would never have detonated the bomb. No, it's Chaos.],
How did you like my elaborate plan for revenge? Was it convoluted enough for you? I hope it was. I hope you're drowning in a Chaos special right now. You promised me the mind wipe would be permanent. You promised me that I'd remember only what happened before I got hit by the bus. But you were wrong.
I completely forgot subsection 67-4328 of the tax code. My career came crashing to an end. Sure, my carefully invested 401k and bank account, from which I never withdrew any money, made me fabulously wealthy. Yes, I slept with dozens of beautiful women, produced hundreds of children, and eventually became Lord and Dictator of Planet Earth. I then marshaled my resources and founded a company that did one thing, and one thing only: built time traveling robots. Surely by now you've met Robo-Explorer Infinity + 1, who has only one function: to repeat subsection 67-4328 of the tax code, over and over again. I hope it drove you insane. It drove me insane!
Choke on your lies, you lying sack of chicken dung,
Sincerely yours,
Daniel D. Carlson.
P.S. Yes, my middle initial is D. It's short for Daniel Carlson.
Order began to cry.
THE END
