Saturday,
JAN. 26, 2008
10:41 p.m.

Like some lab rats all “hopped up” on Diet Pepsi Max, my friends and I race to the street below to get a better look at whatever CGI-creation awaits us. I just hope my best friend in the world gets to tell me what “a loser” I am before this mega-marketing behemoth delivers its final death blow to us all.

Saturday,
JAN. 26, 2008
11:57 p.m.

A shadowy monster and/or space alien attacks! A shadowy monster and/or space monster breathes fire and demolishes the town in a zealous fit of rage! A shadowy monster and/or space alien devours a group of my beloved friends like an unmotivated teenager devours McDonald’s double cheeseburgers on the Dollar Value Menu. Why, (name of politically correct deity), WHY? And, then, the money-shot: We gasp in horror as the decapitated head of the nearby Jerry Springer statue rolls to a stop at our frustrated generation’s feet, symbolizing … nothing.

Sunday,
JAN. 27, 2008
12:22 a.m.

The remainder of my friends and I race to the safety of the bridge … or the subway … or any underground place where we can pause for a moment and reflect on the state of our sad, sorry lives. Why, I wonder, didn’t I work harder on my past relationships? Why, I wonder, didn’t I work harder to tell my ex-girlfriend (who is probably the monster version of Hamburger Helper by now) how I felt about her? Why, I wonder, didn’t I work harder on things that really mattered in life, like my writing career or my pretentious novel — No Country For All The Pretty Horses On Brokeback Mountain (working title)?

Sunday,
JAN. 27, 2008
3:14 a.m.

The city is in flames and nearly destroyed now - an empty shell, just like me. My friends and I could have escaped hours ago, but instead (for some retarded reason) I decided to drag them all back into the city to rescue my ex-girlfriend and, most likely, meet their untimely deaths. I ponder how this cruel twist of fate could have possibly happened to me — especially when this cruel twist of fate comes from the creator of Lost, J.J. Abrams!  But then, unwittingly, as death looms near, I realize  — it must have been Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse all along.

Sunday,
JAN. 27, 2008
6:57 a.m.

This may very well be my final post. My friends are all dead now. Most likely, eaten by witches (I told them we shouldn’t go camping!). Wait - I’m delirious. It’s that monster, I mean. That mean old monster has destroyed the city and is coming for me now. Hopefully, it is merciful and devours me before they make the sequel, Cloverfield 2: Film Cheap Or Die Hard. And, similar to the slug-like generation of my ilk, I am simply too lazy to go on … or write a proper ending to this story. Tell J.J. Abrams, I’m sorry … and (gasp) ... can I have a job ...?

END TRANSMISSION.