Remind me again, Satnam, why is your Geology lab located at the bottom of the deepest abandoned mine shaft in India?


Well, with India's recent rise in living standards, sahib, rent prices are through the roof, especially here in New Delhi.


Ah, so you got a good deal on rent by going underground. Good for you.


Well, not exactly, sahib.


What do you mean?


The rent is, indeed, only 100 rupees per month, but...


But?


But we neglected to take into account the costs of operating and maintaining this rattling claustrophobic deathtrap of an elevator.


This thing does rattle a lot, I will say that.


Just this one 4-mile trip that we're now making between the surface and the laboratory sets my research company back 15 rupees in electrical costs.


Oh, dear.


And that's not counting the costly and frequent elevator repairs that always seem to happen on a Sunday, sahib, when they charge double.


Stop calling me 'sahib', dawg. I'm just an unassuming American scientist who happens to know a little bit about geology, that's all.


Yes, sah-- er, yes.


True, I do have the ear of the President of the United States as a so-called 'expert' in the field --


Yes, sah--


But I'm sure it's all just Karma, Satnam: In another lifetime, YOU will no doubt be the big hot-shot science advisor to the President of the United States, while I will be the kowtowing flunky pursuing emphatically hypothetical research at the physical center of the Indian subcontinent. (Is it hot in here or is it just me?)


Believe me, Sahib, there is nothing theoretical about the geological information that I am about to share with you.


I hope not, Satnam. I shudder when I think of the size of the carbon footprint that I left behind me just to get here in 12 hours by presidential jet.


It will be worth your while, believe me, sahib.


Again with the 'sahibs.' What did I just get through telling you about that, Satnam?


And here we are, sah-- er, um --


It's about time.


Watch your step -- and welcome to our narrow, incredibly hot and inadequately lit laboratory.


Hey, where is that dude going with that giant bucket of ice?


Oh, that: Our lead scientist keeps cool (while combatting a serious case of podiatric rheumatism) by soaking his bare feet in ice every hour on the hour.


You don't say?


Yes, sahib. We can set our clocks by Dr. Raman.


How so?


Every time we hear him say, "Ahhhhhh!" we know that the big hand is once again on the 12.




Ooh, 4:00, already. We'd better hurry, sahib. The lab closes at 5:00 and tomorrow's a bank holiday. Follow me through this side door into this room that's even narrower, hotter, and even less adequately illuminated than the lab itself.


Where exactly is this earth-shattering discovery that you wanted to show me?


We're almost there, sahib.


You realize, of course, that if this is some elaborate joke, I'm going to charge you not merely for my jet fare to India, but for the price of the carbon footprint that I've incurred in getting here -- and size-wise, we're talking jackboots for King Kong, homes.


Here, sahib: Help me lift up this incredibly heavy hatch.


Oh, very well. But what is an incredibly heavy hatch doing 4 miles under the Indian subcontinent?


All shall be revealed shortly, sahib.


Honestly, I could be back in Washington, D.C. right now palling around with the President of the United States.


Now, if we can both lift on the count of three, sahib.


Did I mention that he and I are close friends?


1, 2, and 3....




Okay, so there's a little boiling liquid 4 miles under New Delhi: big deal.


You do not understand, Sahib.


I understand that you brought me half-way around the world to tell me about some supposedly dangerous solar flares, and instead you show me a malfunctioning hot tub.


But what you are seeing there is not boiling water, sahib: it is actually lava that has been recently set to boiling thanks to the ominous solar activity that I mentioned to you over the phone just two days ago!


But that's impossible: The only way for the sun's rays to have such an effect on the earth's core would be if solar neutrino output suddenly jumped by a whole order of magnitude!


Read it and weep, sahib.


Oh, my god.


See? Our cosmic ray muon neutrino collector estimates a current worldwide average of 9 million neutrinos per square centimeter per second...


But that's almost five times the normal emissions rate!


Exactly.


This is going to bring about that what-cha-call-it Earth Crust Displacement phenomenon that was controversially posited by Ralph Hooper back in 1958!


Wasn't he the dude who said that the 7 major land masses were basically gonna play a big catastrophic game of 'bumper cars' in the not-too-distant future?


Yeah. He even predicted that the event would fall on 12-21-2012.


12-21-2012?


Yeah. That's the date that the Mayans penciled in (or rather carved in) for the end of the world as we know it.


The Mayans should have lived so long -- the world as they knew it bit the dust over 1,100 years in advance of their prediction.


Yeah, well, that doesn't mean that the rest of us won't still bite the dust on schedule.


Yes. That is why you must now rush back to Washington, D.C., and save the world.


That's a tall order, considering that the otherwise-intelligent President Wilson has recently appointed a neanderthal street thug as his Chief of Staff.


Oh, dear.


It won't be as easy for me to get the president's full attention anymore, I'm afraid.


You must try.


You don't know this guy, Satnam: I think he's read too many Robert Ludlum novels. His answer to every overseas P.R. problem he hears about is to covertly kill the messengers.


Dear me.


I tell him, 'Carl' -- his name is Carl Anheuser -- 'Carl, it's 2012: you can't just unilaterally order assassinations anymore -- even if you're president, which you're not, thank God!'


Ranji here will take you back up to the earth's surface in our service elevator.


You have two elevators?


Yes, it's yet another cost of this location that we hadn't anticipated, but it was the only way that we could keep an adequate supply of ice cubes down here for the benefit of Dr. Raman's arthritic dogs.





Mr. President, we've got to warn the world.


Slow down there, Adrian, let the president at least read your no-doubt sensationalistic report from India before he comments on it. Sheesh!


That's all right, Carl: I admire this young man's enthusiasm.


It's just like it says in that report, sir: The neutrino rates will continue to build, the inner core of the earth will melt, and the continents will be either burning and/or underwater (sometimes both simultaneously) before this crisis is over.


Mr. President, with all due respect, sir, you will cause a pea-picking riot if you break this news to the world.


He's got a point there, son.


But, sir, people have a right to know. You should at least tell the other world leaders and let each of them decide what to do with the information.


He's got a point there, Carl.


Oh, sure, Adrian: And what is the president supposed to do: stand up in front of this weekend's 38th G8 summit meeting in Philadelphia and say, "Ladies and gentlemen, I make so bold as to report that the world will be coming to an end in one short month"? Just think how that would make him look. Nobody likes the bearer of bad news.


He's got a point there, Adrian.


Sir, you owe them the truth. As for saving the world, that's obviously impossible at this late date given the virtual complete devastation that we're expecting from this phenomenon.


He's got a point there, Carl.


But he's wrong, sir: We can save the world -- or at least 400,000 of them.



or... or so. 390,000, maybe, I don't know.


Look, Carl, the only way you could have hoped to have saved even 400,000 people would have been to start building some giant ark-like ships for that purpose over a year ago, like I, in fact, suggested to you at that time, but it's too late now.


Yes and no...


Is there something I should know, Mr. President?


Father, you'd better see this.


Repeating this breaking news story: James Bouquet, curator of the Louvre Museum in Paris, has just died in a gnarly car crash in a Paris tunnel. Back to you, Egbert.


What is it about Parisian tunnels, Lisa?


Search me, Egbert.


Tsk-tsk! My, my, my. Turning now to the weather, it looks like another chilly one in the Washington, D.C. area...


I don't understand: How is the death of a Parisian curator relevant to this -- or indeed to any other discussion -- about national security?


That curator was one of the 400,000, dad.


But I --


400,000? 400,000 who?


As far as the President or anyone else is concerned, Amanda, there is no project going on right now in the U.S. government that has anything to do with the number 400,000!


Don't give me that "no comment" Langley bull crap, Carl! My sources tell me that the guy in the car crash was getting ready to blab.


So? So what? Are you saying that I personally had him assassinated?


He has a point, Amanda. If anyone's even theoretically going to have someone assassinated around here, it would be myself as duly authorized president. Not that I ever would, of course. I'm just saying...


Does somebody want to tell me what you three are talking about?


It's an official secret, I'm afraid, son.


You see, Adrian --


And don't you dare tell Adrian a thing, Amanda. I know you hate my guts but at least keep quiet for the sake of your country.


Me? I wouldn't dream of betraying your dirty little secret, Carl.


Daughter, please, this is most unseemly language!


But, father --


On second thought, fire when ready, darling: I love to see old Tubby here sweat for a change.


All I can tell you, Adrian, is that the number 400,000 has nothing -- I repeat: NOTHING -- to do with 5 giant arks that are currently being constructed in the Himalayas to save a carefully selected group of top-notch scientists and artists from some coming catastrophe involving solar rays and neutrinos.


Amanda!


Oh, and one thing that you'll never hear from my lips is the following: the fact that a disgusting 5% of those people will be hoity-toity rich folk what bought their way onto the ship for cold hard cash.


Which we needed to build the ships in the first place, you moron!


Carl, with all due respect, did you just call my daughter a moron?


With all due respect, sir, your daughter just gave this lab boy here a state secret!


With all due respect, Mr. President, your Chief of Staff just called me a lab boy!


With all due respect, dad, I'm gonna bash this fool's chin in -- all three of 'em!




All right, break it up, people, break it up. I've come to a decision.



It's true, Adrian, the U.S. government is planning a rescue mission for a select 400,000 individuals, most of whom are standouts in various sports, scientific fields, artistic endeavors, millinery, hand-craft, etc., but a few of whom are admittedly just fat-cats.

Still, If I find that someone in this office has been orchestrating a worldwide assassination scheme to keep such a project under wraps...


You tell 'im, Dad!


I will make sure that he, she, or it is scratched from the invitation list for any civilization-saving voyage that this office may or may not be planning for the 21st of December, 2012.


In your face, home boy!


But --


Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the G8 meeting in Philly to drop the bomb, so to speak. Talk about being a real damp rag at a party -- talk about being a party pooper -- whoo! "Sorry, guys, but everybody in this meeting room is toast!"


But with all due respect, sir, I thought you were coming with us to the Himalayas.


He's right for once, sir: We've got to leave tonight.


Please come, dad. It'll be fun.


Fun? Ha! Your father's too old to have fun.


Oh! You're never too old to have fun!


Besides, I want to go down with my ship.


How noble!


How touching!


How crazy!


Carl?!!


With all due respect, sir, of course: with all due respect.





Oh, man, she is going to murder me for being late like this.




Surprise! I'm here!


Daddy!


Hello, pumpkin! Are you ready to go to Yellowstone?!


So, you're finally here.


I'm sorry, honey, but you know us authors: I was up late last night working on a sequel to "Farewell, Atlanta."


A sequel, huh? After you only sold 423 copies of the original book?


Give it time, hon.


I still say it was a stupid idea for a novel.


What's so stupid about the world being destroyed by solar neutrinos? It's scientifically possible, you know.


The stupid part is the fact that you limit the destruction in your story to the city of Atlanta.


Well --


Surely, such a catastrophe would engulf the entire planet and not just single out one southern U.S. city.


Oh, hi, sport. I've explained this before, honey: I'm taking for granted that my readers are intelligent enough to realize that the catastrophe is worldwide without me describing every single out-of-town volcano and earthquake!


If you say so.


Well, what did you want me to call the book: "Farewell, Atlanta -- and every other city in the world, too, of course"?


You're still the same Jackson, aren't you? more's the pity.


Well, kids, are we just going to stand here on the front porch while your mother criticizes my writing or are we going to go to Yellowstone in my shiny new limousine! Yay!


Oh, honey! I can't believe that you're going to take the kids to Yellowstone in a limousine.


It'll be fun.


Yes, but can you imagine the size of the carbon footprint that you're going to be leaving behind you?


Yeah, well, being eco-friendly is not always a luxury that the poor can afford, darling. (That's it, Noah, bring your backpack and let's get going.)


Besides, just think of the environmental hypocrisy involved in taking one's kids to Yellowstone to appreciate nature in a gas-guzzling limousine. What does that thing get, anyway: 8 miles per gallon?


That's it, Noah. All aboard! Come on, Lily, we're going to Yellowstone! for your information, darling, it gets 10 miles per gallon, okay?


Oh, really?


At least on the highway.


Of course.


Under normal conditions.


Yippee! We're going in daddy's limousine!


Hey, Noah, I didn't hear a yippee from you!


Yeah, okay: Yippee or whatever.


Have a good trip, Noah!


Gordon!


Oh, and here's a few little going-away gifts I bought for you and Lily.


Cool! It's a handheld electronic compass with GPS!


Two of them, in fact. And a couple new digital cameras so that you guys can show your mother and me all the great photographs that you take at Yellowstone!


Awesome!


And finally, a little spending money if you guys happen to see a little knickknack that you want to pick up as a souvenir.


Whoa, thanks, Gordon! Look, mom: 500 dollars!


Look, again, sport: that's actually a thousand big ones: 500 for each of you kids.


Whoa! Thanks, Gordon!


Don't thank me, thank the aging movie stars in Hollywood who are literally throwing money at me these days to make them look younger.


Now run along, Noah. Your father already has his 8-mile-per-gallon engine chugging away out there, subsidizing OPEC.


Bye, mom! Bye, Gordon! Thanks again!


Well, Noah, if you're finished accepting bribes, maybe we can leave now.


Oh, Jackson!


And don't call me Jackson: My name is 'dad', remember? Mr. Dad Horatio Curtis.


Yeah, whatever.


Now, then: Next stop Yellowstone!


Yay!


Not counting, of course, the 20+ gas stations that we'll have to visit along the way to keep these big wheels turning -- and to make sure that Proud Mary keeps on burnin', of course! Whoo-hoo!


Daddy, who is Proud Mary?


What? Oh, never mind, pumpkin: Daddy's just being silly.


As usual.


I'll tell you what: Now that we're underway, why don't we all sing a song?


Oh, boy, here we go.


Oh, I know, daddy: "Will the Circle Be Unbroken"?


Not again.


Good idea! And a-one, and a-two, and a-one, two-three-four...



I can't hear you, Noah!









That's funny: This place is nearly abandoned. I thought that Yellowstone would be packed with tourists this time of year.


They're probably all at home, playing cool new video games.


What, you mean the cool new video games with which their sugar-daddy step-parents are cynically trying to buy their love?


Very funny. Not.


Where is everybody, daddy?


I don't know, pumpkin. Even the main gate was abandoned. I had to leave my entrance fee in some funky little after-hours box, and it's like 3:00 on a sunny and mild Saturday afternoon.


Look, daddy: What's that?


I don't know, honey. It looks like a big fence.


Nice guess, Sherlock.


Wait a minute, there's a sign here. It says...

U.S. Government. Off-limits. Danger. Do not enter. This means you! Keep out!


What are we going to do, Daddy?


What else, sweetie: We're going to climb the fence, of course.


But, dude, it says 'Keep Out.'


Oh, that sign probably just applies to the wildlife. I mean, why would the U.S. government shut down a harmless little mountain valley like this in Yellowstone park?


Whatever you say, Jackson.


And it's 'Dad', remember? not 'Jackson.' Easy there, Lily, have you got it? Good girl. Now it's your turn, Noah: Come on, monkey man: let's see you scramble!


Dude! Don't call me 'monkey man'!


It's a compliment, son: I'm just saying you're a great athlete!


Yeah, right.


Now you guys stay close behind me in the unlikely event that there really is a good reason why we actually shouldn't be here.


Why did you suddenly stop walking, daddy?


There used to be a lake over there!


So? So what?


Well, son, it's gone. I mean, how can a lake just suddenly dry up like that and disappear?


It's called 'evaporation,' dude. It happens.


Yeah? Well, it still strikes me as rather spooky.


Ow! What is that noise? It's hurting my eardrums!


Whoa, dude: Somebody called in the cavalry on us!


My God, it looks like the entire 5th division of the flippin' army, complete with air support!


Daddy, are we under attack?


Don't worry, honey, I think they're Americans.


Good.


Either that, or a frustrated Canada is taking their trade disputes with the United States to a whole new level.


Whoa, I think that's a Black Hawk helicopter! There's another one! And another! And another!


Canada uber alles, eh?


They're not Canadian, dude: I can see the U.S. flag on the soldiers' uniforms!


What soldiers, Noah? You mean the angry-looking battalion that is stalking toward us with their assault rifles at the ready, even as we speak.


What are you people doing here? This place is off-limits. Didn't you see the signs?


Daddy says the signs only apply to wildlife.


And what might YOUR name be, little missy?


I'm Lily. That's my daddy. That's my brother, Noah. We're hiking. See? We've got our backpacks and everything.


Well, perhaps you could explain to your father that Yellowstone is closed for the day. Yeah, that's it: it's closed.


Closed? Since when does Yellowstone just up and close for the day for no apparent reason?


What seems to be the problem here, General?


Oh, hi, Adrian. This bozo here scaled the fence with his kids.


Didn't he read the ginormous 'Keep Out' sign?


Well, he did, sir, but he claims that it only applies to wildlife.


Of all the -- Look, I don't need these kind of problems right now, all right? I'm trying to save the world, Mr... ?


Jackson. Jackson Curtis.


Jackson Curtis?


That's right.


You wouldn't happen to be the Jackson Curtis who wrote 'Farewell, Atlanta,' would you?


Guilty as charged, your honor.


I LOVED that book!


Why, thank you! See, Noah: Your father isn't necessarily the big loser that you apparently imagine him to be. This big official-looking government person here has read my book -- and he actually liked it!


What--


And stop saying 'whatever,' Noah! That's all I heard from you the entire trip here:

"Noah, we're in Las Vegas!" "Whatever."
"Noah, we're in Salt Lake City!" "Whatever."
"Noah, we've finally made it to Yellowstone!" "Whatever."


I'll handle this, sergeant. Meanwhile, since the entire 5th division of the U.S. Army seems to have so much time on its hands, you might want to have your men check out reports of off-season deer hunting up on Windy Ridge Trail near Yellowstone Lake. It's about time we cracked down on those scofflaws in a method that they will not soon forget.


Yes, sir.


Buzz them with a few Black Hawks: that'll teach 'em a lesson.


All right, men, fall out. Lieutenant Tolly, I want three Black Hawks over Windy Ridge Trail, stat!


Sir, yes, sir!


Now, Mr. Curtis, if you and your children will follow me, I'll show you to the government's main camp just up the trail here.


Daddy, I'm starving!


Yeah, we haven't eaten all day!


No problems: We have a canteen with burgers and fries.


Yeah!


As for you, Mr. Curtis, the chicken salad is to die for!


But I don't understand: Why is everybody here in the first place.


I'll explain everything over lunch. I just realized that I haven't eaten all day either!




And that's the whole story, in a 90-minute nutshell. (Feel free to finish my fries: I can't eat another bite.)


You mean the world as we know it is going to be destroyed within a month?


That's the idea, I'm afraid. More coffee?


Come on, kids: We're going back to L.A. to pick up your mom.


What?


But, Daddy, we just GOT here!


I know, honey, and wasn't it fun? But now it's time to go home.


Aw, daddy!


So long, Mr. Jackson -- oh, and could you possibly send me an autographed copy of "Farewell, Atlanta"?


Sure. Anything for my first real-life fan.


Oh, and could you make that 'overnight delivery,' by any chance, given the ominous back story that I just apprised you of.


You got it. Come along, kids: To the batmobile!


Oh, please!


Daddy, what is an "ah-mo-nis back story"?


Never mind, sweetie. The nice man just told daddy a little story while you guys were scarfing down your hamburgers. Speaking of which, I think you both have a little wolf in you, judging by the way that you eat.


Give us a break, Jackson: we were hungry, okay?


Who is Noah talking to, Lily?


He's talking to you, Daddy.


No, he can't be talking to me -- because my name is 'Daddy,' remember, not 'Jackson.' Right, now, everybody inside and buckle up. Next stop, Los Angeles -- or rather the Chevron station in Pocatello, Idaho, since, for the 20th time in as many hours, we're almost out of gas again!



Everybody, sing!



You, too, Noah, come on!







Let me get this straight: The world is coming to an end and we need to escape L.A. immediately in a plane that you've just rented at a nearby airfield?


You catch on quick, Gordo.


And now we've got to fly to Las Vegas, you say?


Yes, where we can refuel and figure out how we're going to subsequently get to China.


China? What's in China?


Ooh, Daddy, I know! I know!


Not now, Lily.


There's a Great Wall and there's a panda bear...


Look, I'll explain the rest when we're airborne, okay? Now everybody pile into the limo!


And there's egg-drop soup and the Yangtze River...


But how do you know all this about the world ending, etc.?


Oh, a government geologist (with good taste in books, by the way) gave me the heads-up at Yellowstone re: the coming Armageddon.


Did he also tell you to travel to China via Las Vegas?


No. I picked up that nugget from a conspiracy theorist named Charlie Frost. I learned all about it from his radio show.


Since when are you in the habit of listening to conspiracy theorists?


Honey, the man made a lot of sense. Besides, if Adrian is right about the world ending, then it stands to reason that the government is doing something extraordinary to save itself.


How selfish of them!


Well, you can hardly blame them, honey: I mean, who can even imagine a world without the IRS?


He's right, Kate: I literally cannot imagine what I would do with all the money that I would make in a tax-free society.


Oh, I suppose so.


As it is, I'm already absolutely throwing money at your two biological children and it's scarcely making a dent in my overall net worth.


And there's the Gobi Desert and Beijing...


Lily, darling, stop mumbling and get in the car now.


Daddy?


Yes, dear?


Why is the roadway behind us ripping apart and flying into the air?


Hold on, gang, 'cause I'm gonna floor it!


Awesome, Dad! I've never seen you drive like this before!


He called me 'Dad'!


Celebrate later, Jackson -- the tallest skyscraper in L.A. is just about to land on our car roof!


Hold on tight, folks: I'll try to outrun it!


You can't outrun the 73 stories of the U.S. Bank Tower.


Oh, yeah? Well, watch me.


Mommy, he did it! He did it! We're safe!


See, honey, I saved our lives, didn't I?


Well, don't relax just yet, Superman, because the 62-story AON Center is up ahead on the right and it, too, is leaning like the tower of flippin' Pisa!


Awesome! This is so cool! Wait till I tell my friends what a cool driver my dad is!


Um, Noah, did I mention that I was going to buy you a new personal computer next month?


Whatever.


A Toshiba laptop, no less, with Core 2 processor technology.


He did it! We made it past two collapsing skyscrapers in a row!


You go, dad!


But, Noah --


Relax, Gordon: you know how kids are.


I suppose.


You wait till he sees that new laptop that you're going to get him -- then he'll be absolutely worshiping you again, I assure you.


We made it. Next stop, Las Vegas.


Daddy, why don't we sing a song?


I know just the tune, darling.





Noah Jackson on alto, Ladies and gentlemen! Let's hear it for him!







You don't understand.


Well, maybe I'd understand a little better if you didn't have such a ridiculously thick Russian accent.


I am Russian billionaire -- have-um big plane on airstrip loaded with 32 Maseratis. I must to be going at once!


Don't be ridiculous! No one can leave the airport building: It's not safe out there!


Oh, like it's safe in here, then? I don't think so. Come along, Ivan One and Ivan Two. You too, Tasha. And Toto, too. We're going to zee plane -- right after I knock this busybody security guard on the head with a bottle of idiot-proof Russian Vodka.


Don't you mean '70-proof,' darling?


That, too.




Come. My pilot is waiting for us!




Well, we're finally in Las Vegas -- which is still in one piece, thank goodness, which is more than I can say for Los Angeles now, I'm afraid, may it rest in 200 trillion pieces.


Okay, so we're on an airstrip in Las Vegas. What now, Superman?


Hey, wait a minute: Look at that fat guy running toward that humongous Russian cargo plane!


Awesome! That's an Antonov An-225, the biggest plane in the world!


Oi! You! Don't I recognize you?


Well, if it isn't my part-time chauffeur.


How are the twins? Well, I hope?


Vee are incredibly rich, as usual, Mr. Chauffeur man.


Yes, vee are still ridiculously rich, Mr. Menial worker man.


And this must be Tasha, your (ahem!) latest secretary.


Ah! And this must be Kate, your (ahem!) EX wife.


And this must be Toto, your (ahem!) adorable (if somewhat temperamental) Pomeranian. (Ouch! The damn thing bit me once again!)


Nice meeting you all. Now, if you don't mind, I'm on my way to China.


No, you're not, Mr. Karpov: not with only one pilot! I need a copilot to fly this thing!


But where are we going to find a copilot now?


Are you kidding me? Gordon just flew us here in a private jet. He can be your copilot.


No way, Jackson! I had my hands full with that Cessna bizjet of yours. I couldn't possibly fly this ungainly Leviathan!


Daddy, what's a 'Levi-thatha-than'?


Not now, honey.


Very well. You can be our copilot, Mr. Gordon.


Oh, swell.


But only if the rest of us can come, too, Yuri.




You vant vat that you should go to China, too?


That's right.


But you don't even know where in China we are going.


Oh, I have reason to believe that we're both interested in getting to the same place, Yuri -- somewhere in the Himalayas, shall we say, if you take my meaning, eh? Wink-wink? Wink-wink?


Okay, Okay, then, everybody in. But hurry! The desert to zee vest is turning into a new Grand Canyon even as vee speak in annoyingly broken English!






If you'll look out the left side of the aircraft, you will see the Indian Ocean.



Correction: You will see the Himalayas, instead. Don't ask me why, though.


Aha! That Ralph Hooper character really knew his onions back in 1958.


Who's Ralph Hooper?


He's the geologist who predicted that the continents would collide in 2012 and basically change places, thus accounting for the fact that we are now seeing the Himalayas below us in the longitude and latitude that was formerly reserved for the Indian Ocean!

Ladies and gentlemen, please place all trays in the full upright position.


Kids, that means you!


Aw! I'm not finished playing Doom on this seat-back computer screen!


You heard your father, Noah.


Oh, okay!


You called me 'father', Kate!


I'm so proud of the way you've saved our lives, Jackson!


Um, honey, what do you say I buy you your favorite diamond ring the next time we find a jewelry store that hasn't been pummeled to dust?


Come here, lover! Mmm!


Okay, two diamond rings, then.


I've missed you so, Jackson!

Ladies and gentlemen, in preparation for landing, please enter the blue Maserati at the back end of the cargo hold.


What?


Oh, dear, it looks like Sasha is going to try to drop us off on an ice sheet while he sticks with the plane to try to land it somehow.


How heroic of him.


Quick, everyone to the blue Maserati!


I call shotgun!


Oh, look, here comes Yuri and the twins to join us -- and there's Tasha and... and Toto, too!


Okay, all aboard, everybody, but I'm driving.


Whatever. Just get inside, everybody.


Well, I'm not so much driving as I am slamming down the gas pedal when Sasha tells me to floor it, right, Yuri?


You got it in one, Mr. Chauffeur.



Drive the car out now!


What the -- The car won't start!


Vatch this, kids "My name is Yuri Karpov -- I command you to start!!!




Awesome!


Hold on, folks: Here goes nothing!




Round and around and around she goes, where she stops, nobody knows!




Wow, that was close! We spun around like a Tasmanian Devil on that ice sheet. I thought Maserati tires would have had a little more traction than that, even under these admittedly horrible road conditions.


Ah, here comes the Chinese Army. Now if I can just find my ticket for the ark --


Aha! So you're one of the fat cats who bought a ticket to save yourself from Armageddon. Charlie Frost told me all about you guys.




What are they saying, honey?


What, you mean Superman here knows Chinese, too?


A little bit, Gordo.


Well, then, what are they saying, hero?


I can't tell exactly, but it sounds something like: "Extremely rich people, follow me. Everyone else, stay where you are."


Come along, Twins.


What about me, Darling?


What ABOUT you, Tasha? I know all about zee affair that you were having with zee dearly departed Sasha.


Dearly departed? Do you mean to tell me that he crashed after dropping us off in the snow?


See for yourself, Tasha: What do you imagine that big fireball is to the northeast there: a Chinese campfire? I don't think so.




Come along, twins. Hurry up, Ivan Two, stop dawdling!


I am NOT Ivan Two, Father, I am Ivan One.


Vhatever.





Wow! I can't believe that we're already safe and sound on one of the government's 5 giant arks!


Yeah. Did I miss something? I mean, one minute we're standing on an ice sheet being abandoned by a morally repugnant Russian billionaire, and the next thing you know, we're inside Ark #... 4, it looks like, judging by the signage in this dim, dark hallway.


And where is Gordon? Lily, Noah, do either of you remember what happened? I guess your mom and I are both having a senior moment here.


I don't know what happened, Daddy.


Yeah. All I know is, we were standing on the ice, and then suddenly we're in this giant Ark.


And nothing happened in between?


Not a single thing.


Oh, you know what: I bet I know what happened. (Keep walking, folks, they've got to have restaurants in a place this size and I am famished. Those airline peanuts don't even tide me over these days. Well, I could stand to lose a few pounds anyway, I suppose.)


Jackson, please: Don't keep us in suspense: What happened to us? How did we suddenly end up in this government Ark -- and without Gordon?


Well, think about it, honey. Do you realize how long this movie has run already.


Over three hours, I should imagine.


Right. There have been so many irritating and wholly unnecessary pauses in the interest of fleshing out an ultimately vapid back story that the audience is sure to be getting bored by now!


Oh, I see: So you're saying then that they're now desperately cutting ahead by the length of an entire scene in a desperate attempt to keep the moviegoer's interest?


Precisely.


And what about Gordon? What happened to him in the interim?


I don't know, but whatever happened to him is now on the cutting-room floor.


Oh, dear. Then he didn't survive after all.


He probably got killed somehow in our no-doubt daring attempt to climb aboard this ark, for which, if you'll recall, sweetheart, we didn't actually have tickets.


Poor guy. So much for Noah's new computer -- or my jewelry, for that matter.


I just can't figure it out, though.


You can't figure out what, darling?


We couldn't possibly have gotten in here on our own. There must be a helpful villager on the cutting-room floor, too.


A helpful villager?


Yeah, you know: a Buddhist monk, for instance, who felt it was his duty to save us, not withstanding the probable arguments to the contrary that may have been advanced by some Godless brother of his, who probably thought that they should just save their own Chinese family and the devil take the hindmost.


But how could a Buddhist monk have gotten us aboard this ship?


I guess we'll never know, dear. Although maybe he was one of the local construction workers who built this thing.


Yeah. That would explain how he would know his way around.


Congratulations! You saved us all!


Look, honey: It's that government big-shot from Yellowstone, the one who has actually read my book!


I want to thank you in person for having saved us all.


Oh? Oh, my. And how did I do that, exactly?


Don't you remember? You and your brave son here swam into harm's way and removed the power drill that had been stuck in the door-closing mechanism.


Power drill?


Yeah, it had apparently been dropped in the gearbox by your Buddhist friend who, I take it, had used it to gain access to the ship while secreting you guys aboard as a sort of personal favor, possibly against the wishes of an elder brother who had mixed feelings about Buddhism and, indeed, about compassion in general.


Where is this Buddhist: my family would like to thank him!


But don't you know? You were there when he fell into the gear box!


It's worse than I thought, Kate: the editors now have had to cut out at least two scenes to keep the viewer's interest in this story.


Make that three scenes, Jackson: You've also missed the bit where my friend Santam called from India to ask when the promised cab was going to show up at his front door -- just before he was swallowed up by a mile-high tsunami, that is. Needless to say, the promise in question was made by the President's morally challenged Chief of Staff, Carl Anheuser, who is always promising people the moon while secretly working to take the stars and the planets away from them.


Sounds like a real devil.


But not to worry -- because you also missed the part where I publicly shamed the man in a heartwarming speech to world leaders on the subject of compassion.


Good for you.


By the time I had passed on the microphone...


Yes?


Well, let's put it this way: He will NOT have any role in the new government that we are planning to form in the, ahem, New Atlanta.


Don't you mean New ATLANTIS, sir?


No, I do not.


But --


You see, I passed your book on to the other world leaders onboard (all of them except the President of Italy and America, that is, both of whom decided to go down with their respective ships). Well, they were so inspired by its message of hope and ultimate salvation that they insisted that the new world that we establish would be called Atlanta!


Did you hear that, honey?!


My hero!


My dad!


Mommy, I'm hungry: When are we going to eat?!


So bring me up to date, now: What's cooking at this exact moment in history?


Well, let's see: we survived the final giant tsunami, though it did its best to smash us propeller first into the north slope of Mount Everest.


Yes?


And now we've reset the calendars by official decree. (For the record, it is now January 27th, year 0001.) Speaking of which, did I mention: The world community has elected me as interim leader -- at least until we arrive in the Cape of Good Hope to hold a more decisive election.


The Cape of Good Hope?


Yes. It seems that the continent of Africa not only survived the otherwise thorough-going destruction of the earth but it actually rose in elevation as the catastrophe unfolded.


Africa rises, eh? Talk about great symbolism: I'm going to use that in my upcoming sequel.


It gets better.


Oh, yes?


Not only has Africa risen, but it has done so by incorporating all the world's other continents, so that the entire world is now just one big Africa, at least as far as we land-lubbers are concerned.


One big Africa: I like it.


Really? I thought it was a little 'over-the-top', myself.


Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but now that you mention it, it does seem like Mother Nature (or Fate or whatever) is, in fact, laying it on a bit thick.


Now then, how would your kids like to have supper at Chuck E. Cheese!?


Yay!


There's a Chuck E. Cheese onboard this ark? You've got to be kidding me, Adrian.


Listen, the billionaires who funded this thing insisted that the ark have all the comforts of home.


No kidding!


Speaking of billionaires, you may be interested to learn that the morally repugnant Russian billionaire that you were flying with has himself been killed.


Tsk-tsk.


But he died doing perhaps the only heroic deed in his life -- namely, saving the life of his two chubby twins by getting them both aboard the ark in the nick of time. Speaking of the Brothers Grimm...


Hello there, Mr. Chauffeur man.


Yes, hello there, Mr. Menial worker man.


Hi, boys! We're going to Chuck E. Cheese. Do you want to come?


Vhat is diss Chuck E. Cheese dat you speak?


Oh, let's lose the accents, Ivan One. Now that dear Papa is gone, there's little point in maintaining our pompous attitude of lofty disdain.


Too true:


Besides, you know as well as I do that we were both raised in Brooklyn.


Good thinking, boys: The whole world (or what little is left of it, at least) is in such a good mood right now that any curmudgeonry on your part would stand out like a sore Russian thumb and (quite frankly) make you look ridiculous.


That's right, boys: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em -- even if it means that you have to act kind and neighborly towards people for a change.


Word.


When are we gonna eat????


Right now, kids: Just step in the car over here and we're on our way.


A car?!


Hey, in a ship this size, it's not physically possible to walk everywhere you need to go.


Well, I'll be. All right, pile in, folks. But I call the seat next to Kate, of course.


You are incorrigible.


Hold on tight, folks: Here we go!


Daddy, why don't we sing a song en route.


Hey, great minds, think alike, Lily. I was thinking the exact same thing. On 3, everybody: 1, 2, 3!





That's it, twins, with vox now!