The end of the World finally happened on a Friday, around sixish.
People had been predicting this for some considerable time, but it came as something of a surprise to the vast majority of them; most had been looking for the kind of portents that Hollywood had become so good at creating nowadays; fire in the sky, earthquakes, huge alien spacecraft.
What they actually got was a series of minor but inexplicable events as reality began to roll up like a window blind. Early that morning, there was a rain of jigsaw pieces over Europe, lasting exactly four minutes; each piece displaying the word ‘wet’. Across America, statues of the Virgin wept Mountain Dew. In Chad, every lamp post burst into a rendition of ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
Experts naturally filled the TV channels to explain these things, at least for the hour or so before the end. At that point, their careers on the lecture circuit came to a premature end.
Without much further fuss, the world ceased to exist.
The syndication rights are being negotiated.