Well, listen, I can just rely Bogart’s line in Casablanca. It worked for him, why not for me?

Captain Renault: What in heaven’s name brought you to Casablanca?
Rick: My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.
Captain Renault: The waters? What waters? We’re in the desert.
Rick: I was misinformed.

Chappie –

Nix on the cowboy boots. I always thought they looked silly, like those big honking ear-sitting hats they wear. No, I think I’ll go with engineer boots and either a Greek cap or a fedora.

There must be about 1300 days left in which to cram in all the carnal pleasures. It would be an ungodly waste of time not to make the most of it.

The Rapture people have got a bit of a problem compared to Scientology, given so many of them get saddled with a sell-by date. Scientology can run and run.

Amazing that there are enough idiots with money to make this sort of thing worthwhile.

Hell. Maybe I’ll just start my own endtime religion. I need the money.

This fellow Weinland seems to be doing okay. Travel isn’t cheap. Being too lazy to compute it myself, have you figured out the date this end of all the crap thing is going to happen? Just in case I’d like to be prepared. You know, some survival rations, a tent, have all the cats put down and stuffed so they won’t suffer through the nonsense. And get laid, definitely got to get laid at least once before the frigging world ends. I wonder if I can use the end of the world story to convince some young flower… oh well, hardly the right thing to do. But then again, it is the end of things. Sigh. End time morality is so confusing. I wonder, should I wear a hat?