As we all now know, the End of Times starts the 21st at 0:01 am sharp. Since I'm but a simple sailing bum who has been known to swear, drink rum, lust in my heart after scantily clad women with heaving bosoms and even took the Lord's name in vain that time I got my finger caught between a turning block that blew out in a gale gust and a back spinning failed winch (not wench), I'm pretty sure I'll be left behind.

The good news is that I'll be glad to take care of all your precious worldly possessions, which of course you can't take with you when you of the SEML, as those of the pure and innocent souls, are spinning off up into space. Please immediately send me appropriate conveyances of all your really good stuff so I can catalogue each item properly. Well found, heavily built sailboats, gold, silver and jewels are priorities. (Your cash, stock and tax free municipals won't be of any consequence.) You don't want just anyone on the street putting their grimy little fingers on your precious items. You want someone who has the ability to appreciate them.

The second bit of good news is that the 21st begins at 180 degrees west longitude, which, because of some unusual treaty is the Island of Tonga which actually lies east of 180 degrees. (Don't ask me, I ain't no International law expert.) Incidentally 180 east and 180 west are the same line. Weird, no?

This being said, we here in America can sit on our verandahs sipping juleps under the shade of the live oaks, festooned with Spanish moss and the magnolias, still in magnificent bloom at the Coast, enjoying the wafting scent of gardenias, pull out a small TV and watch the world end in succession of time zones.

Thus you can see the necessity of quick action. You only have two weeks to get all the paper work to me. Get a move on, people. And remember, I'm only thinking of you.

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