“I am at a loss for words,” said Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid D-NV, “it’s as if our backs were against the wall, and we didn’t know who to call.”

President Obama has provided a number of scenarios that may transpire as a result of the shutdown. In addition to the closure of all non-essential government agencies, embassies, and federally-supported golf communities, the President mentioned the slight possibility of a national disaster of Armageddon-like proportions.

Although no signs indicate any such doomsday scenario, paranormal researchers from Columbia University have taken the liberty of releasing video footage of what they believe one possible outcome might be:

Fire, brimstone, souls of the damned, and the threat of the human race being enslaved by rapture-ridden poltergeists notwithstanding, many Americans, particularly New Yorkers, remain unfazed by the prospect of apocalyptic ramifications from a government shutdown.

“Shit’s just as crazy as it’s always been,” remarks Queens resident Anthony Potorski, unemployed. “As long as I get my disability from Uncle Sam, I don’t care who’s spitting ectoplasmic goo on me in the subway.”

But not all citizens are taking the spike in paranormal activity lightly. “I just had a twenty-minute conversation with my ex-boyfriend, and he’s been dead to me for five years,” says Stephanie Russell, 27. “Why won’t the government do something about this? And why won’t Steve just accept that it’s over?”

The fallout of the federal shutdown will be difficult to forecast ahead of the weekend, reports an unnamed source with ties to the White House. “What we do know is that either nothing at all will change in the slightest, or a giant crevasse will rip open the heart of this great country, plummeting all inhabitants down into a boiling sea of molten hot lava, where they will gaze in horror as their skin melts off their bodies shortly before they gasp their last agonized breaths of life.”

“So really,” the official clarifies, “it could go either way.”

“In an effort to recognize the achievements of those employees lacking any moral compass whatsoever,” said a company spokesman, “MidStar wishes to give back to the children who were a result of a bad economy, an unemployed spouse, or just six blended margaritas.”

MidStar employees seem generally enthusiastic about the new event.  “I am very excited to bring my daughter with me to work next Friday,” says Tasha Yaeger, an executive assistant who has been with the company for almost two years now.

She adds, “This is the perfect opportunity for Grace to finally meet Daddy.”

But when Qaddafi made a Feb. 24 television address to his subjects, he happened to mention a new fad sweeping Libyan youths: “They put hallucinatory pills in their drinks, their milk, their coffee, their Nescafé.” The Libyan people must have been quite excited by their ruler’s announcement, as this reporter has observed their passing the last several days in lively demonstration.

Since Qaddafi’s declaration, Nescafé drinks have experienced a surge in popularity in North Africa and the Middle East, with similar mass displays in such countries as Yemen, Bahrain, and Jordan. Nestlé executives, encouraged by Qaddafi’s thoughtful plug, are making a strong push to capitalize on their product’s newfound marketability, with new slogans like “Nescafé: Now with twice the hallucinogens of other instant coffees!” and (even more popular) “Nescafé: Powder to the people!”

But while the populations of these nations have risen up to show their apparent enthusiasm for Nescafé, their leaders seem more reserved. “You can’t help but notice, wherever there is Nescafé, the people seem angry with their violently repressive governments,” complains one brutal tyrant who declined to be identified.

Still, Nestlé is optimistic about the region’s changing social climate. “This is a very exciting time for the long-suffering people here,” says a Nestlé spokesman. “Nescafé is primed to become the Four Loko of North Africa.”

In his statement of reasons, Waters describes Reality as “harsh,” “cold,” and “a real buzz-killer.”  Reality, however, has shot back with complaints as well, including accusations that Waters was often unfaithful over the course of their relationship. Reality specifically cites a long-standing affair Waters allegedly had with Fantasy, claiming that the two engaged in countless rendezvous, as often as “several times a day” in some instances.

Waters, while acknowledging his own guilt, defends his actions with the argument that he and Reality were “on a break” at the time, and maintains, in what many consider to be a low blow, that “Fantasy has always been better than Reality.” He insists, however, that he is not the bad guy in this story, pointing out that Reality has a long history of prior relationships that have also ended badly.

It wasn’t always like this between the pair. Waters admits that, when they first met, years ago, he had been excited by what his future with Reality might hold. But, after years of disappointment, and Waters drifting from job to dead-end job, he says he began to feel like Reality had stopped believing in him. He says that, on some mornings, “It was hard just to wake up and face Reality.”

In the months since their separation, Reality has reportedly sought solace in the arms of several billion other people; Waters, on the other hand, claims he is “currently playing the field,” seeing various partners with a no-strings-attached policy. “I’m just up for something casual and fun,” he says, insisting that he’s “not really looking to get tied down right now.”

There is some speculation, however, that he has entered into a committed relationship with Heroin.

like that, so you can see all his food get mashed into a gross paste? Yes, yes he does, because he is Big Brother, and he is a totally immature dweeboid.

Great, there he goes, sticking his tongue out at you with meatloaf and peas smeared all over it. What a loser. What a pathetic, spastic, retardomatic loser.

Oh, come on! Now he is deliberately reaching his hand over the table’s dividing line—onto your side—and smirking, just goading you to react. God, WHAT is his problem? He is SUCH a freak! AGH! Big Brother is watching you!

He is also tapping your phone.

the passage of gas, Raynolds exhibited prompt non-verbals that would assure the others that she was not the responsible party.

Despite Raynolds’ periodic coughs, looks of consternation, and a few innocuous glances exchanged with two other passengers, she quickly grew concerned that two of the three others present assumed that it was she who dealt it.

Matters grew more complicated as the elevator stopped on the 14th floor and took on three additional passengers. Eunice Pauli from accounts receivable was certain that Raynolds was responsible for the lingering stink. “She had it written all over her face. And to make matters worse, she kept making gestures in an attempt to pass the blame over to this nice woman that I think works in HR on the 21st floor. I wanted to offer her some antacids, but I figured she would be embarrassed.”

Unable to withstand the increasingly awkward and hostile environment, Raynolds absconded from the elevator at the 17th floor, attempting to conceal her tears. She was never to be seen again.

Zerachiel , a member of the Third Choir from the Third Triad of Angels, denied the charges, saying that Flekker “didst cry out for aid from the depths of his own soul, whereupon I hastened unto his side and embraced him with heavenly love.”

Guardian angels often seek to help or look after members of the Lord’s flock, but, under spiritual law, are forbidden to do so unless expressly asked. Flekker claims he made no such invitation. Zerachiel, however, said his accuser “wast asking for it,” and insisted that “even if he spoketh not the words, in his heart he didst totally want it.”

When questioned if his behavior toward Flekker was out of character, the angel said, “Nay, I often watch over him whilst he doth sleep.”

In response, Flekker said, “Okay, now that’s really creepy.”

“Seriously,” he added, “does no one see a problem with this?”

Zerachiel rejected suggestions that his actions were in any way inappropriate: “Verily, I say unto thee, I swing not that way.”

The heavenly spirit declined to comment, however, why, after laying hands on Flekker, he thought it necessary to perform a reach-around.

Hey, wait a second, hold on. Frank, what are you doing, man? What the hell was that? “You can go about your business? Move along?” You call that an interrogation? And where do you get off saying we don’t need to see his identification? Has the heat gotten to you? Look: you see those two droids, with that old fart and his dorky grandkid? Yes, Frank, the ones that just passed us now.

Dude, these totally are the droids we’re looking for.

Come on, those are our guys, man! Seriously! What do you mean, you just have a feeling? You’re real weak-minded, Frank, you know that? And don’t you dare feed me that bullshit about “the Force” again! You know I hate hearing that religious crap. Next, you’ll be telling me you believe in little green spacemen who can lift things with their minds.

We seem to be made to suffer. It’s our lot in life. Why won’t you ever listen to me? Remember when we were supposed to capture the Princess on the ship? I said we should sneak up on her, but you had to go and yell “Set for stun!” like some nerf herder. And then she blasted Steve. Dude, you got Steve killed!

Then, after we follow that escape pod down here to a dead end, and I’m finally looking forward to a little R&R on Alderaan, you have to be all like, “Someone was in the pod, the tracks go off in this direction!” You kiss-ass. Now we’re stuck here, on a goddamn desert planet, doing guard duty in some wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Great: I’ve got sand in my armor. Agh, this sun! I think I’m melting! This is all your fault!

Okay, Frank, have it your way. You’re right: those two droids, the droids that fit the EXACT description of the two droids we’re supposed to find, are not them. Makes perfect sense. I don’t care anymore. I’m thinking of quitting this lousy imperial job anyway, maybe getting into something more freelance – like bounty-hunting. Now that’s where it’s at. Hey, dude, don’t call them scum. That’s just rude.

And one more thing: not a word about any of this to the big guy, Vader. Why? He doesn’t like you. You know what? I don’t like you either.

Must you persist in your frantic shrieking? You know, that’s actually pretty insensitive of you: sharks don’t have ears.* Way to throw that handicap in his face. If I were a shark, I’d be tempted to chomp onto your abdomen and drag you under, too.

Honestly, I don’t see what you’re complaining about. How would you feel, if someone suddenly popped into your living room uninvited? You’d likely be pretty upset and territorial—just like this poor shark. And if that did happen, you could legally shoot him for trespassing. Well guess what: sharks don’t have guns; they don’t even have hands. All they have to protect themselves are fins! That, and row upon row of razor-sharp teeth, like the ones currently sawing through your right leg.

Great. You are now spurting what looks like several pints of blood directly into the ocean. Did you know that sharks can smell a single drop of blood from miles away? Yet here you are, bombarding this one’s delicate senses with veritable buckets of viscera and gore. No wonder the little guy’s so excited; he’s completely overwhelmed, like a kid glutted on candy at Halloween.

Is anything I’m saying penetrating your haze of debilitating agony and blood-loss? Do you understand now that Mother Nature is a beautiful and primal force, one not to be trifled with, and that you must respect her children?

Look: if you keep screaming and splashing like that, you’re not going to learn anything at all—he’s coming back.

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* [Editor's Note: Okay, so technically sharks do have ears; but they're located on the inside of their heads, so they don't count.]