“I’ve probably got a rash, now,” Ernie reflected audibly, then snapped his head around at the odd sensation of talking to no one. Well… madness is probably the least of his worries at this point.
Swerving through the stopped cars was fun, though. Ernie pretended he was driving extra fast, somehow possessing the strength of will to weave through traffic moving a measly 60 mph as he soared in excess of 300. In reality, it was slow going, so the pretend game was just there to preserve his sense of cool, without which he might be in serious danger of losing his sanity.
There was something not quite right about this whole thing, he surmised. Something not quite right about everyone being dead. And everyone was definitely dead. He scanned the radio for life and found nothing but dull, empty hisses. Not even talk radio. And if talk radio wasn’t broadcasting, everyone was definitely dead.
What act could have possibly killed every living thing on the entire planet? It boggled the mind. Of course, lots of things boggled Ernie’s mind: The lack of nudity on network television; the absence of socialized grocery delivery; why, in spite of his vigorous fifteen minute a week exercises with his prized Wii Fit seem to have little impact on his growing corpulence. These things hurt Ernie’s head significantly enough that the current problem was well out of reach.
Of course, there had to be a reason for his continued existence. Surely having a particularly nasty bowel movement wasn’t the secret to surviving whatever catastrophe befell the rest of man. Ernie knew for a fact that three or four other folks in line at the Taco Gordito ordered the chili—they’d have to be alive, too. But no, Ernie could feel with a surety as strong as his renewed hunger.