I can't be sure

(because I can't be sure of
anything much any more)
but I'd be willing to bet my life
(and yours, too)
that there's a reason prophets
don't like you to check
last year's
January 1 edition
of the National Enquirer.
I'd also be willing to bet my life
(and your dog's, too)
that there will be no
Great Cosmic Bailout
when we've finally succeeded
in screwing ourselves
so badly that he'll just
laugh at us
and shake his head.
I'd further be willing to bet my life
(and the lives of your Betty Crocker cake mixes)
that the Late Great Planet Earth
ain't so late,
and ain't so great,
and that it's not going
to do us a favor
by hosting fabulous televised battles
between rampaging
horned gang bangers
and celestial John Waynes.
I'd also be willing to bet my life
(and the lives of both Batman and Robin)
that no savior is going to give you
an eternal life
that you'd just be bored with anyway,
that no Day of Requital is coming
(so stop looking in Wal-Mart for those big scales
to weigh the souls of the dead in)
that there are no Enlightened Ones
(because what the hell did they know?
They didn't even like to get laid)
and that Nirvana is probably nothing more
than a really, really good
pizza.
But hey,
what do I know?