Earth. According to the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists, the Doomsday Clock is set to two and one-half minutes before midnight.
As one scientist put it, "That's just long enough to find a brown paper bag and hyperventilate into it until you pass out. I hope you do pass out. It's the best you could possibly hope for."
For you more optimistic heavy-duty party animals--who never miss an opportunity to celebrate victories, anniversaries, and Armageddon--that's plenty of time to toss back a double Martini and stumble over to the Mistletoe. Unfortunately, it doesn't give you much time to sober up in the frigid New Year's air and hail an UBER before you're incinerated by total global annihilation and environmental catastrophe.
Maybe make that a double-fisted double-double Martini.
The news gets worse: The Doomsday Clock, while technically set to two and one-half minutes before midnight, has in fact been running a little slow, due to poor maintenance, bad math, and the excessively idiotic decision-making by President Trump.
Clock technician, Ed Terwilliger, admitted that he'd run out of his Lysol and Lemon Pledge months ago and had not received funding to purchase replacement products. "I'm not buying that stuff out of my own pocket," Terwilliger insisted. "I'm a custodian, for crap's sake. I can't afford much more than Banquet frozen dinners five days a week." As a result, for the last three months, he's been using a greasy rag that actually gummed up the gears of the Doomsday Clock.
When scientists found out about the maintenance issue, they immediately pulled out their Texas Instruments TI30XIIS Scientific Calculators and feverishly calculated what the actual time should be. Some of the scientists, with questionable math skills or poor dexterity, noted that earth had actually gained two days and nineteen hours.
They were immediately fired.
The consensus among math-literate scientists was that the Doomsday Clock should now be set to four minutes past midnight, or three in the morning, if you consider Trump's latest international policy blunders.
"I don't know what to say," said scientist Karl Night, sniffing into his Kleenex. "By all that is scientific, I should be a pile of ash on the linoleum right now. It's just a matter of time. We're DOOMED! DOOMED!"
"Agreed," said another scientist, Burt Worming, who decided at this tragic moment to declare his love for Karl. "I wanted you to know that I've always loved you," he said, trying to hold Night's hand. "I hope you feel the same about me."
"A handshake is the most I can offer you," said scientist Karl Night. "I already have a boyfriend, but like me, he's DOOMED! DOOMED!"
And the rest of us, for that matter.
On that awkward note, Happy New Year's, everyone.
Editor's Note: LeRoy Ephers has decided to double his beer consumption in light of the world's impending doom. Anyone wishing to contribute may leave cases of beer outside his camper. He will bless you with kind words if the beer is ice cold. Ephers also noted that he's still on strike against The Spoof, even if its fake news is about to be blown into the cosmos. (See his manifesto.)