Die Mankind! Die!

By Dr Henry Brubaker, inventor of the Large Hadron Collider

LET me begin by saying that, apart from the Wikipedia page about black holes, this may well be the last thing you will ever read.

Today is history. Or to be scientifically accurate – today is, very much, the end of history. Within a few hours none of us will exist and, aside from a black hole the size of a honeydew melon, there will be not a shred of evidence we were ever here. As you struggle to control your bowels, you will, no doubt, be curious as to how this came to pass.

Your house, in about 20 minutes

The story begins four years ago at a dinner party in Oxford. I had been invited along by my friends Toby and Sylvia who were keen to introduce me to their new neighbour, Janet. I was nervous, of course. I've always been rather awkward around women. But Toby assured me Janet was the sort of girl who would immediately put me at ease. How right they were. Seated next to each other at the table, Janet and I soon struck up a rapport. I told her how I had devoted my life to the dogged pursuit of the Higgs Boson particle, while she swallowed large mouthfuls of Chardonnay and ran her soft hands up the inside of my thigh.

By the end of the evening it was abundantly clear I was going to have sex. Janet had said as much as she buried those relentless hands down the front of my underpants. That night we made energetic love on my squeaky bed and I told myself the Higgs Boson particle could remain undiscovered for all I cared. I had a new and wonderful purpose to my life and its name began with 'J'.

The days that followed were the happiest of my life. I would leave work early and rush through the busy streets to be with Janet, whose desire for my naked form was matched only by her unquenchable thirst for crisp, French whites. Every day was a tantalising odyssey of sexual discovery. We laughed, we conducted intercourse, we slept. For the first time in my life I knew love and its heady mix of odours.

And so, two weeks to the day after our first meeting, I made for home, pausing only to pick up a five litre box of Muscadet. As I turned the key in the door I heard a muffled grunting. As the door swung open the noise grew louder and it was apparent the heavy, laboured strains were emanating from the bedroom. Through a slim crack in the door, I saw my Janet straddled enthusiastically across Toby, both of them stark naked but for a pair of antique pith helmets.


I ran from the flat and kept running for what seemed like minutes. Shattered, wet and heavy with sorrow, I nipped into Oddbins for a half bottle of Teachers and hid myself in a quiet corner of the park. As the warm liquor spread through my veins my thoughts turned to revenge. But not the hot, wild vengeance of an arts graduate. No, this would be the precise, measured revenge of an MSc.

Anyway, to cut a long story short I invented the Large Hadron Collider under the guise of cosmological research, all the while hiding its real purpose which is to kill Janet, Toby and – mindful of your distinct lack of sympathy in the midst of what was, after all, a very difficult time – all of you.

All that remains now is to thank those who unwittingly helped build my apocalypse machine and the many colleagues who wrote long, impassioned articles insisting it was perfectly safe. And thank you to Brian for all the cups of tea.