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When an Earthquake Hits:

. Do your best not to wet your pants. Make damned sure that this is really an Earthquake, and not some Acid Flashback, your lunch disagreeing with you, or your cell phone going off. Warning signs such as shattering windows, people on the ceiling, falling computer monitors and Jackie Chan moves can be hints unless you really are having an Acid Flashback, in which case, there are no dead giveaways. Find out whose job it was to implement earthquake prevention measures and give them a firm, open handed slap in the mouth. Attempt to maintain the calm of your co-workers by quipping "Ah, I've felt worse!", "MMMM, I needed a Foot Massage!", "Okay, who Farted?", "Oh, come on, Mother Nature you can do better than that, bee-yautch!" or simply fake an orgasm (if necessary)! Make a Bee-Line for the nearest desk, table or gay parasol for cover. Crouch down very low and pray that Gravity has morphed into a horizontal entity, while placing your head between your legs. If you find it impossible to put your head between your own legs, attempt to put your head between someone else's legs with the assurance that this is only for safety. Try to make sure that this person is affable, clean. Should you find the floor opening up beneath you, kiss your ass goodbye (or if your head is between someone else's legs, smooch their buns). If you happen to be in a high rise, who knows, maybe the earthquake won't be taking place on that lower floor and you only need apologize to those who have been crushed by all your crap. Should you be on the bottom floor and the ground opens up to swallow you, then this probably is not actually an earthquake, but rather "The Rapture", which signals the beginning of the 7 Year Tribulation during which our Lord Jesus Christ has returned to judge us all, and you, sparky, hath made not the cut! Eternity won't be pleasant! Please do not quote any Elvis songs no matter how much the urge might present itself. Should evacuation be required, usher your co-workers toward the narrow, air-conditioning-free, concrete stairs, repeating over and over that they should be swift, yet careful and leave all of their belongings behind. Once out of eye-shot, return for all of your own belongings, all the while helping yourself to some of the other junk that your friends have foolishly left behind. Once your box is full, sprint to the stairs and bump past all your co-workers, with the box and scream "MY BABY, MY BABY, MY BABY!" giving them no clue at all that you have all their curios instead, man! Should the earthquake not cease within 78 seconds (no more, no less) you may assume that there will be little left over of the society at whose bosom you've suckled since birth. Proclaim yourself the new ruler of this land, and immediately start throwing your weight around, demanding servitude and cases of Tab Cola as you lead your new team of post-apocalyptic avenging minions against the unquestionably eventual rise of the Morlocks. The Morlocks have been waiting for just such a chance to conquer the surface. You are humanity's last bastion! Have some Coffee! J.C. Maçek III cares about you and your safety. This parody was created to shake you up! Good day, and God Bless!