ELECTION SPECIAL: Doomsday Insurances I'm Seeking Today
A lot of things are up in the air right now. Today is a big day. A lot of things might happen. I’ve always been a Girl Scout (lol - no, I mean OCD riddled narcissist with a distrust of both authority figures and the concept of reality), so I like to be prepared.
Below are a list of insurances I’ll be frantically pursuing over the next 24 hours. The list is frantic and spans forecasts and fears for both myself personally and the greater world. This is largely because the latter is quite possibly a construct I invented, as are you!
And, I know what you’re thinking. You don’t want insurance. This is just a list of doomsday scenarios you’ll dream about tonight after a wet dream about Beto O’Rourke (god willing). Well, to that I say, I don’t really understand insurance because the industry makes no sense, so, here we are.
I am publicly declaring, in front of the internet and Holy Ghost of Joan Rivers, that I would like a payout of poppers and obscure jewels, (what up serendibite), to either myself or my next of kin in the event of any of the following:
Drowning in a bathtub of Campari, Lush bath bombs and my own tears.
Complete ennui, but KFC eating ennui, not sexy French ennui.
The surgically precise slicing of all my tampons, for reasons I don’t understand so DONT ASK ME.
Loss of any remaining interests, as exhibited by a lack of excitement to finish the new Sabrina.
Prozac, white wine and face masks are all declared forms of birth control and are outlawed.
Wildfire Insurance. Sure, i live in NYC, but I’m pretty scared I would find a way to set one.
Complete psychotic break resulting in a Single White Female thing happening between me and Megyn Kelly.
The world opens up to reveal the literal hellmouth, and even worse, I can’t even summon a quippy Buffy reference.
I Freaky Friday with Susan Collins.
Even my book club won’t stay sober enough to pronounce the word patriarchy.
Everyone gets really into pineapple and also Lindsey Graham does a blood oath on Fox News ruining witchy fall energy for the rest of us.
Lenny from Of Mice and Men comes to life and serves on the Supreme Court. This sparks an existential crisis as to whether I’d rather be a human woman or a good fat activist.
I stop breathing for 7 minutes and forget all the lyrics to Kinky Boots. Subsequently, I don’t get into Heaven on election night (a BDSM bar on West Broadway).