As the Four Horses Round the Clubhouse Turn and Head Down the Backstretch

Behold a Pale Horse, the Death Pony,
by a neck over War, the White Horse, but in the money
we got yer Pestilence and Famine, bringing up the rear,
but Famine should do well after War, Pestilence and Death work their Satanic magic.
Pestilence the Bird Flu, esp. the Second Wave,
and War we have in abundance, all over the globe now,
but especially where the world's billion Muslims pay the most attention,
and George, and Dick, and Rummy, here's what the Track Touts are sayin,
down at the Armageddon OTC,
even an army full of Farsi-spoutin' Mr. T's, I pity the mullah, won't be enough,
esp. after the unholy distribution network of Pakistan's Nuke Wal-Mart
run by A.Q. Khan (The Night Manager) gets into full swing,
and the Millenialists square off against the Virgin Seekers with bristlin' thermonukes,
and those who, unlike Bo Belinsky, that Original Angel,
who found Paradise right here in the chicks spilled like lazy hour glasses along the beach in SoCal,
absolutely must destroy this world in order to bring on the hallucinatory Next One,
will finish us off perhaps before Heat Death can do the trick,
and the pity is, of course, that as dissolute as Bo Belinsky may have seemed,
he represented the preservation of Order in the Universe,
of holding things together through peace, harmony and diversified sex,
whereas the Apocalyptics have the massive teleological advantage of Entropy working for them,
the raving madness that moves all order in the Universe
toward a finished condition of stasis, powerlessness and dispersion,
and they just can't wait to get there.