Math Problem Forty: It's the End of the Line of the Final Journey
Jack and his friends run into Jeffery Epstein’s house, frantically searching for George Soros and Klaus Schwab - the last two of the archons.
“Wait,” says Philip, “I hear them on the balcony upstairs, the one overlooking the ocean! They’re talking in Latin, must be summoning the antichrist right now.”
They rush up the stairs like there’s no tomorrow. With the power of four demigods, Shaggy, Philip, Jack, and Jimmy Wales burst through the door out onto the balcony. They see Klaus Schwab and George Soros standing over a pentagram in goofy black robes.
Klaus Schwab turns towards them, and he begins to cackle maniacally. “You are too late! Ze ritual is completed.” He turns toward the ocean. “Rise! Rise my precious!”
With horror, Jack gazes over the railing. And lo, he sees a beast rising out of the sea, and out of its mouth pour words of blasphemy (or maybe they’re racial slurs, he isn’t really sure). It is a huge, humanoid fox with blue fur. It at least a hundred feet tall, clothed in nothing but a fedora atop its head and an Angels and Airwaves hoodie upon its back.
It turns towards them, and Jack is horrified by what he sees. “You dirty pilgrims!” the beast bellows. “You found my ass in Heck, but you left me there because that sandwich huffin’ Jewish piece of shit don’t like the things I say about his race!”
Cold, hard realization comes over Jack. “Chase?”
“You bundle of sticks, I was once Chase, but now I’ve been reborn as the damn antichirst! I’m gonna rule the whole damn world! But first, I gotta deal with you. You and that sandwich - gobbling Jew!”
“Like, zoinks!” yells Shaggy, trying to flee in panic.
But, Chase raises his right hand, and his psychic powers blaze forth. Slightly lewd furry art fills minds of his foes - making them fall to their knees in pain. Chase wades towards them, preparing to strike.
“So this is how it ends,” Jack says. “I’ve done all this toil, gone on this journey through death and Hades, and it was all for naught. The antichrist is here, and there’s nothing we can do to oppose him. He’ll conquer the world and destroy liberty. He’ll make eating raw meat and taking horse dewormer a thing of the past.
“But still,” he says on a more somber note, “I’m glad that you are here with me, Shaggy, here at the end of all things.”
“Like … zoinks?” Shaggy responds weakly, collapsing from exhaustion immediately after.
But, just as all hope is lost, Jack sees something out of the corner of his eye.
Behind Chase, there is a veritable armada of Florida men, and at their head stands Pastor Jim, King James Bible in hand, ready to do combat. They have come on their pet gators, their boogie boards, and their nuclear powered house boats; armed with their beer, their mosquito nets, and their squirt guns filled with piss.
“Light him up, boys!” screams Pastor Jim, and the armada and the beast begin their duel. Jack wants to join them in fighting the good fight, but he feels himself losing consciousness, the furries of Chase are simply too much.
If there are 22,244,823 people in Florida and roughly half of these are men, how many are Florida men? If about an eighth of these have come to do battle with the antichrist, how many of them are there?