Good one, Michael! Someday the government may rule that everyone has to have a UPC code emblazoned on their body, just so the entities in charge can keep track of everyone and make us conform to their rules.  Wow.

The announcement crackled across televisions and blared from radios, punctuated by the rhythmic clatter of ticker tape falling in the White House press room. "Free Pizza Friday!" a headline in bold declared on news websites. A nation weary of political division and economic uncertainty collectively paused, forks halfway to mouths, phones hovering over social media feeds. Free pizza? Every Friday? Courtesy of President Trump's masterful pruning of government waste?

The initial reaction was, understandably, disbelief. Snarky memes popped up faster than pepperoni on a hot pie. "Is this real life?" one read, featuring a Photoshopped Trump wearing a chef's hat and brandishing a pizza cutter like a sword. Conspiracy theories blossomed: Was it a plot to bankrupt Domino's? A secret deal with Big Cheese?

But as the details trickled out, meticulously documented on the Government Printing Office's website (a testament to the aforementioned trimmed waste), the skepticism began to thaw. The President, leveraging his business acumen, had negotiated a bulk discount with a consortium of pizzerias, ensuring a standard cheese pizza – large, New York style – to every taxpayer, delivered directly to their door. The delivery confirmation served as proof of receipt, avoiding any potential misuse.

Friday dawned with a buzz unlike any other. Early risers peered out their windows, anticipating the arrival of the government-sponsored feast. The pizza trucks, emblazoned with the Presidential seal and the slogan "Making America Delicious Again," became a common sight on suburban streets and city avenues.

The first few weeks were chaotic. Delivery drivers navigated traffic jams of unprecedented proportions. Online forums were flooded with complaints: "Wrong topping!" "Pizza arrived cold!" "My neighbor ate mine!" The government, however, was surprisingly responsive, establishing a dedicated Pizza Hotline and deploying a team of "Pizza Problem Solvers" to address the logistical nightmares.

Slowly, things began to smooth out. Delivery routes were optimized, GPS tracking ensured timely arrival, and the option to choose a specific delivery time was introduced. The national mood began to shift.

Dinner tables, once battlegrounds for political arguments, were now united by the shared experience of Free Pizza Friday. Families laughed and shared stories over slices of cheese. Neighbors, who previously only nodded in passing, bonded over discussions of crust thickness and sauce tanginess. The pizza became a symbol of unity, a reminder that even in a divided nation, everyone could agree on the simple joy of a free slice.

The economic impact was undeniable. Pizzeria owners saw their businesses boom, hiring new staff and expanding their operations. The demand for mozzarella cheese skyrocketed, boosting the dairy industry. Even the cardboard box manufacturers experienced a renaissance.

Of course, there were still critics. Nutritionists bemoaned the lack of vegetable options. Environmentalists worried about the mountains of pizza boxes filling landfills. Political opponents accused the President of pandering to the masses with a cheap gimmick.

But for most Americans, Free Pizza Friday was a welcome respite from the daily grind. It was a symbol of hope, a reminder that even the government could provide something tangible and universally appreciated.

Years passed. The President served two terms. Free Pizza Friday remained a cornerstone of his legacy, a quirky, populist policy that had somehow, against all odds, united a fractured nation. And every Friday, as the aroma of baked dough and melted cheese filled the air, people would smile, remembering the time when the President, in his inimitable way, had declared, "Let them eat pizza!" And they did. And it was good.

LOL, Mike! Should have just had every mailman pull a trailer of pizzas behind them as they delivered the mail! 

Oh, and I recycle all my pizza boxes, among other stuff. 

Mike,

The recycling company has never mentioned greasy boxes, or dirty plastic.  I recycle all plastic, paper, and cardboard.  The guy simply picks up the bin and dumps it into the truck.  The one thing that they do NOT want is Styrofoam.  Like you, after I recycle everything, I don't have a lot of garbage.  Now and then I'll put a stack of magazines in the bin.

My recycle company isn't that picky, I guess.  Also, I don't put aluminum cans in the bin.  I save them until I get quite a few, then take them to the scrap yard to sell.  Puts money into MY pocket instead of the recycle company's.  By the way, the recycle company isn't the same entity as the garbage pick-up.  The recycle company is, I think, a private company.

The sky was fracturing. Not in a metaphorical, poetic way, but literally. Crimson veins spiderwebbed across the once-azure expanse, pulsing with an unholy light. Buildings crumbled, not from earthquakes, but from some internal decay, as if their very essence was being unraveled. The screams were a symphony of terror, a crescendo building to a deafening, inevitable climax.

Michael knelt on the cracked pavement, rosary beads clutched tight in his calloused hands. He’d witnessed scenes ripped straight from Revelation: fire raining from the heavens, the dead rising from their graves – not in a peaceful, resurrected form, but as twisted, tormented parodies of life. He wasn’t unafraid; fear was a primal instinct he couldn’t deny. But beneath the fear, a profound peace bloomed. He knew. He believed.

Beside him, Joe, his friend since childhood, sobbed. He wasn’t panicking, not in the frantic, clawing-at-nothing way that consumed so many around them. His sobs were quiet, mournful. "I don't understand, Michael," he choked out. "Why them? Why not us?"

Michael squeezed Joe's shoulder. "Look inside your heart, Joe. Deep down. Do you truly believe?"

Joe hesitated, his sobs catching in his throat. "I want to... I always wanted to..."

Michael understood. Joe, like many, had struggled with faith. He'd questioned, doubted, argued. But doubt, Michael knew, wasn't the absence of faith; it was the forge in which true faith was tempered. He’d seen Joe’s quiet acts of kindness, his selfless devotion to his family, his unwavering commitment to doing what was right, even when it was hard. He’d seen the flicker of belief in Joe's eyes during Sunday Mass.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them vibrated with an impossible energy. The crimson cracks in the sky widened, tearing open a swirling vortex of blinding light. A trumpet blast, impossibly loud yet strangely beautiful, echoed across the dying world.

Michael closed his eyes, his heart overflowing with gratitude. He thought of the countless hours he’d spent volunteering with the Knights of Columbus, feeding the homeless, visiting the sick, fundraising for the needy. He hadn’t done it for reward, but out of love and obedience. He’d seen the face of Christ in the faces of the suffering, and that had been his driving force.

Then, he felt it. A gentle tug, a sensation of weightlessness, of being uplifted and carried on the wings of love. He opened his eyes. The crumbling world, the fire, the screams – all faded away. He was bathed in a light so pure, so luminous, it defied description. He could feel the presence of countless other souls, all ascending with him, their faces radiant.

He turned to Joe, his heart aching with hope. Joe’s face was transformed. The fear and doubt were gone, replaced by a look of profound awe. He was smiling, a tear tracing a path down his cheek.

The light embraced them, pulling them higher and higher, through the swirling vortex and beyond. They emerged into a realm of indescribable beauty, a landscape of rolling hills bathed in eternal sunlight, shimmering rivers of pure light, and trees bearing fruit of unimaginable sweetness.

Before them stood a city of gold, its gates shimmering with the promise of eternal peace. He knew this place. He had dreamed of it, prayed for it, believed in it. This was Heaven.

He and Joe walked hand-in-hand towards the city, their hearts overflowing with joy and gratitude. As they approached the gates, a figure emerged, radiant and welcoming. It was Jesus, his face filled with love and compassion.

He extended his hand, his voice resonating with unimaginable power and tenderness. "Welcome, my faithful servants. Enter into the joy of your Lord."

Michael knelt, tears streaming down his face, finally home. He had lived a life of faith, of service, of love. He had stumbled, he had doubted, but he had always returned to his belief, trusting in the promise of salvation.

Beside him, Joe did the same. He had found his faith in the face of the end, and now, he was beginning his eternal journey, bathed in the love of God.

The world had ended, but for Michael, for Joe, and for all those who truly believed, a new beginning had just begun. They had been saved, not just from destruction, but for eternity, in a place of unimaginable peace and joy. And Michael knew, with absolute certainty, that it was more glorious than anything he could have ever imagined. This was the reward for faith, the culmination of a life lived in service to God. And it was just the beginning.

Excellent, Mike! Wow! 

I respect that, Mike.  You are a good man.