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Hello, it is I, Cizin, Mayan god of death and major stockholder in R. J. Reynolds Tobacco.

Wait. Is that Mayan or Maya? I know that Mayan is the language, but the people are just the Maya, so I'm ... Screw it. Death god. Grammar is not my area.

Anyway, as you know, I'm planning to wrap this world up in just a few more days. First you get a couple of asteroids whipping between the Earth and the Moon, then comes the monkey in a fur coat. These are the signs of my coming. So ... mark your calendar for Friday. Say about noonish. I like to sleep in.

A bit after that, it's off to Xibalba with the lot of you. No Christmas. No New Years, and no one ever gets to see if The Hobbit gets better in episode two. On the bright side, all that fuss over the fiscal cliff thing is going to look pretty funny in the rearview as you're dragged screaming into the caves of fear.

Once in beautiful Xibalba, you'll meet your camp directors, Flying Scab and Pus Demon (hey, I'm not making these names up) who will take you on a tour of our facilities. River of blood. River of pus. River of scorpions. River of rusty razor blades and lemon juice—we just got that one installed.

There will be some tests. Mostly algebra and current events, so bone up. After that we'll hold a brief welcome ceremony (cash bar), then we'll be assigning everyone to their new homes. Now that Disney has bought out the rights to the underworld, things have changed a little, but it's still your basic Jaguarland, Fireland, Knifeland and Iceland. And no, I don't mean the Iceland with Eyjafjallajökull. Who uses names like that? Finally, there's the crown jewel of the Mayan underworld: Cuchumaquiccamapotoniliztli. The land of clotted blood and bad breath.

Also known as Limbaughland. Your new home.

(The apocalyptic finale after the jump.)

In Limbaughland, you'll get a 24/7/365/63081429 broadcast of the Best of Rush. No commercials. No way to turn it down. Forever.

You know what would come in handy? Ear plugs. Official Xibalba ear plugs that we hand out just as soon as you land in the afterlife.  And you know how you get them? All it takes is a modest donation to Daily Kos.

That's right, as an Official Sponsor of the Mayan Apocalypse (or Maya Apocalypse, your choice) Daily Kos can not only offer you a way to keep those OxyContin-tinged tones out of your skull over the next B'ak'tun, you'll also get a tube of Xibalba Sting-Eze at the River of Scorpions. Make a donation for a friend, and both you and your guest get a Winal in beautiful Jaguarland every k'atun.

Believe me, after a couple of decades in Limbaughland, getting gnawed on by jaguars for a few weeks will seem like such a break.

Of course, there's a very slim possibility that the world will not end this year. Maybe the asteroid takes a hard left. Maybe it's the wrong monkey. In that case, your donation still nets you a fabulous set of prizes.

Buy a site subscription, and you can turn off ads
This is almost as good as Xibalba-brand earplugs, plus it comes with the bonus of living. Just think, the next time someone complains about the sexual / political / racial content of an ad on Daily Kos, you can say "WTF are you talking about?" That is real value.

Give the gift of pie fight ignorance
By buying a subscription for someone else, you can lift them straight out of the river of pus advertising, making their pre-apocalypse days infinitely sweeter. Something that nice might even get you promoted to Batland (just kidding, you're going to Limbaughland, no escape). But still, giving someone a gift subscription is like dipping a finger in water and quenching their burning tongue. If we had water in Xibalba, which we don't.

Land yourself some e-books
Now including Hunter's diary of Mitt Romney in a virtual boxed set. And there are other ebooks, but really, isn't that enough?

Make a contribution in the land of the living
You might not make things any more pleasant in Xibalba (Itzamna forbid!), but you can cut down on the level of suffering here in the mortal realm by electing a few good Democrats. Down below, we're already thinking of a Warrenland, just as a place to store bankers that make it past Razor-blade River. Why not elect a few more like her and help us design places to keep all our conservative customers?

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