It turns out Reverend Camping was wrong. The world didn't come to an end this past weekend. Instead it went on as it usually does. People were born. People died. People went about their business. People had barbecues. People got married. People watched the game on Saturday night. And for those select suckers who bought into the senile wingnuts' prediction, there was the inevitable look of shock and disappointment as the deadline came and went. No Rapture, sorry, now hand over the keys to that house you signed over to me. You've got thirty seconds to clear your stuff out of my house, thank you very much. If you take thirty one seconds, I shall unleash the hounds. Yes, they used to be your dogs, but you gave them to me, remember? And they like me more.
Now the old buffoon's changed his prediction yet again to have us think the end of the world's going to come on the 21st of October. He claims that what happened was an "invisible judgment", that God put that whole thing off because of the Japanese quake or prayers convincing him to set it aside. Yes, I'm sure, Rev. I'm sure you've got a personal hotline to the Almighty. And if you think I buy that, I'm sure you've got ocean front property in Idaho for sale too.
More likely the senile old bat's thinking he'll be dead by then of whatever's going to finish him off anyway (he is pushing ninety), so when October 22nd dawns, he won't have to deal with disbelief from his flock anyway. Whoever among them is actually left listening to anything he has to say.
On the other hand, think of it this way: it wouldn't surprise me if one of his flock turns up on his doorstep, having had given up everything because they honestly believed the Rapture was going to happen. The shock that it didn't happen has destroyed everything they have ever believed in, and so, at the end of their rope, they turn up to see the prophet who deceived them with a .44 Magnum and a question: Feelin' lucky, Rev? If Law & Order was still on the air, they'd do an episode about the murder of an end times prophet. I could see Jack McCoy's moral outrage moment of the week.
To the Camping family: Grandpa's got a few screws loose. He's only playing with a jack of spades, a pair of tens, a few fours, threes, and twos, and a queen of diamonds. Time to put Grandpa in the home, have him drugged up to his eyelids with sedatives, and not let him anywhere near a phone.