Is Your Date the Antichrist?
Spot whether your partner is one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.
By speed-dating on our phones 24/7, we’ve discovered in record time just how many of us are godawful.
There’s going to be a battle for good and evil, and you need to nail down your date’s role in all this. Imagine waking up to find yourself partnered with the Antichrist. That’d be such a drag — what a diva. If they can’t find their hairdryer, it’s a cosmic emergency.
The other three horsemen are no picnic either, mostly because one of them is Famine.
Below are modern prophecies for the four horsemen of the apocalypse. If you spot a horseman in your bed, my grandma always said, “Hit it with your shoe; put it in some stew.”
I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest.
The first horseman talks to their mom every day. What agent of evil puts themselves through that? To you, they’re saintly.
On your first date, they ask follow-up questions only someone who’s listening would know to ask, like whether your pilonidal cyst has cleared up.
You spend all your free time with them — time that could be spent curing cancer.
You aren’t the jealous type, but a few weeks in, you notice their phone never stops dinging.
They shrug and smile. “I have a lot of friends.”
Once, they drunkenly report they’ve slept with 80% of their friends. In the morning, they don’t remember so you pretend you don’t either.
After three months, you ask, “Are we dating?”
They don’t want to be exclusive. But …they’re willing to consider it if you keep hanging out?
You agree. Good things come to those who wait, you mutter.
And it does. Three months later, they agree you’re dating. Their phone still goes off so often you could use it as a vibrator.
Later they text you an article on the difference between dating and being in a relationship.
You’re their latest follower. They collect people like stuffed animals — they like you, but just you? Never.
With the Antichrist, the pile is what’s important. The pile is their army for the end of the world.
You’ll waste your most productive years waiting for them to choose you. Leave and go do something for the good of the world instead. (Their dad will so hate that.)
Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword.
The second horseman comes on as a peaceful figure with a persistent smile you’ll someday want to slap off their face.
You ask, “Where should we go for our first date?”
You pick. :)
“What movie do you want to see?”
You pick. :)
“Do you want to get married?”
You pick. :)
“How many children should we have?”
You pick. :)
You should be happy. You get to be in charge. But you’re seething inside, and you don’t know why.
No one warned you a partner could be so agreeable that they leave you feeling alone to deal with life’s problems.
No one mentioned the importance of a partner who can choose their own food; you’re afraid to leave the house for too long lest they starve.
You don’t have these words — too busy picking restaurants to think of them — so you snap. You accuse them of lacking a spine.
Their inability to stand up for themselves brings out the worst in you. You try to make up for their lack of aggression by having extra. You berate them into making decisions.
As with the Antichrist, you’ll waste your life on someone else’s bullshit.
Let them go. They’ll ask what they should do without you. Tell them, You pick.
The Bringer of Famine
Before me was a black horse! I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, “A quart of wheat for a day’s wages, and three quarts of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!”
The third horseman is so dumb you have to help them cut up their food on the first date.
You think it’s cute. They’re a puppy with big eyes and floppy ears and a lack of spatial reasoning.
You bring them home for Thanksgiving. Your mom suggests you take them back to the pound.
“Aren’t you on different tracks… intellectually?” she asks.
What she means is, “Do you have to cut up their food at every meal or just ones with big proteins?”
You call her an elitist.
“IQ is just a number, Mother!”
Her rejection makes the Bringer of Famine hotter. You consider asking them to buy a leather jacket and a motorcycle to amp up the rebellion.
You decide against it. They aren’t great with traffic signs, and there would be a tragic accident.
Instead, you marry them.
A few years in, friends will comment on your weight loss. You’re sickly. Do you have a secret diagnosis?
Yes. You’re afflicted with an idiotic spouse. You’re dying of intellectual famine.
Oh, and actual famine. Your new spouse’s job history is sparse. Their skills are even less. By contrast, their stomachs are bottomless.
You begin to suspect they’re eating the money you bring from work — directly, paper and all. You’re jealous. You’ve been eating the same portion of brown rice every day. Paper would’ve been something different.
Time to say goodbye. Drop them off at a local no-kill shelter and get back out there.
Death: The World-Eater
I looked and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him.
The fourth horseman is the most deadly.
Your first date with them is over the top. They spend dinner dropping hints about their salary.
You roll your eyes — you see right through bragging to cover up insecurity. You let it go. They keep complimenting you and you can’t stop blushing.
You’re swept off your feet. For about a month. That’s when you see their other face. The World-Eater.
They criticize the inconsequential — the way you pronounce a word. They hate your friends. They don’t know why you want to hang around such morons.
You may recognize this fourth horseman by another name: The Narcissist.
I never liked the term narcissist — it makes it sound like they were a bit vain at dinner. World-Eater captures what this person really does to you. They destroy you from the inside out and leave nothing but the shell.
Here’s the good news: Mountains have been written on how to spot a narcissist.
The bad news? Even after you realize you’re dating the World-Eater, they’re as impossible to get rid of as bedbugs.
The World-Eater confirms all your worst fears about yourself — that you’re not enough, that you’re stupid, that you’re ugly.
They isolate you. Your friends and family watch from behind glass, helpless.
You don’t leave because you start to believe their lie that you’re worthless and no one else could love you.
Don’t believe it. You should feel built up by the people closest to you. People who love you don’t try to destroy you and rebuild you in their own image. Cult leaders and Satan do that, two of the World-Eater’s best friends.
Return to Sender
Even if these clowns fail to usher in the apocalypse, having them in your life could make you wish they’d succeeded. If you suspect one of these horsemen in your DMs, delete, delete, delete!
If they’re already in your bed, you can try hitting them with the shoe-and-stew. It’s a case-by-case basis. Don’t hit the one that looks like a dog, but don’t forget what your mom said either — you can’t keep them.
You can’t keep any of them.
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