Whatthefuckwasthat?
Fireworks?! T-Swift must be playing at AT&T Park. She’s really changed her sound.
Why am I lying on the floor? I was in bed. I was dreaming about something really cool. There was a giant Mario stomping on my house.
What’s that wailing noise? It sounds like a peacock screaming from the top of the Salesforce Tower. Wait, is that the city warning siren? OMG, OMG, it’s an earthquake.
I have to tell someone. My friends need to know. And my friends’ friends. And by “friends,” I mean people I’ve never met who occasionally tap their little screens with approval when they read my posts while sitting on the toilet.
The lights are flickering. The power has gone out.
What if this is the new 1906?This could be the most significant single moment of my life.I need a great tweet. The tweet itself could be an historical artifact, like that photo of the fire in 1906, or when Ed Balls tweeted “Ed Balls.”
OK, let’s get those sympathy likes rolling in…
C’mon, man, you can do better than that. You optioned a screenplay once.
Hahaha, I don’t normally laugh at my own jokes, but that’s good, Andrew. You’re going viral, baby.
OK, 800 users have already tweeted that.
Let’s go meta. People love to retweet clever shit—it makes them feel smart.
Dammit, @brokeasstuart already did that. There’s no way that guy is still broke.
BUMP.
WHATthefuckingfuckwasthat?
An aftershock? Or maybe these are just foreshocks?
Why is it so warm in here? I should sleep on the floor more often. It’s cosy.
Oh no, I can’t die. My last Instagram post was a pug humping a stuffed Peppa Pig in Dolores Park—that cannot be my legacy.
Maybe I’ll ’gram a photo of my ceiling right now. I’ll call it “my final view”—it’ll be poetic.
Is that a water stain from the upstairs neighbor’s bathroom? I hope it’s not piss. Imagine your final feeling on this mortal coil being Gary-from-upstairs’ urine dripping on your nose.
If I crank up the contrast and hit it with X-Pro II, that stain could look like a crack. Wait, is that a crack?
I wonder how Elon Musk is reacting. He’s probably hopping into his space car and heading for the moon. I wonder if his DMs are open. I should message him. I bet we’d be pretty good buds in a space car together. Like Thelma and Louise.
I’m still lying down. Why haven’t I moved? But that’s good—it’s what your supposed to do when the big one hits, right? Or should you stand in a doorway? Maybe you lie down in a doorway?
Mom’s texting. She must have seen the news.
She must think I’m going to die. I wonder if she’ll finally tell me why that really friendly Costco greeter in Fremont has my eyes.
FFS, Mom, turn on the news.
Why aren’t more people worried about me perishing?
Ooh, I wonder if there’s a “mark yourself safe” feature on Facebook—I’ve always wanted to do that.
There is! Hmmm, my ex’s new boyfriend marked himself as safe in Gilroy. Everyone’s safe in Gilroy, Derek. That’s over a hundred miles from the frickin’ epicenter, Derek.
I’m glad she’s happy now.
Where’s my earthquake kit? Ahh damn, I ate all the canned peaches when I tried those sativa blueberries on July 4.
THUD.
OK, that was a big one. Oh wow, it’s getting really smoky out there. The sun is blood red—that doesn’t seem good. It looks like a scene out of a disaster movie. Maybe The Rock will come and save us.
I bet the traffic on the bridge is going to be a nightmare.
Follow Andrew on Twitter @andrewchamings
Hey! The Bold Italic recently launched a podcast, This Is Your Life in Silicon Valley. Check out the full season or listen to the episode below featuring Jess Alter, found of Tech for Campaigns. More coming soon, so stay tuned!
