A/N: I apologise for the extended lack of updates. I actually had stuff going on these holidays (family stuff, but still stuff). I'm attempting to make it up to you, dear reader, by spending the last hour of 2011 working on this chapter. Consider it a belated Christmas and non-belated New Year gift.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor want to own, any rights to "2012". I also do not own "Something There" from The Beauty and The Beast, Teletubbies, that one line from the Matrix, "You're Winner!" from Big Rigs: Over The Road Racing (possibly the worst computer game in existence), or your father's power tools.

Previously, on I Can't Believe It's Not Over, nothing eventful has happened. The viewer has been repeatedly assaulted with foreshadowing and dialogue, neither of which bode well for what is supposed to be an action movie.

Meanwhile, JACKSON is taking his two children on a WILD GOOSE CHASE.

JACKSON: I'm actually taking them to where I used to hang out with their mother.

DAUGHTER WHOSE NAME ESCAPES THIS AUTHOR: I have no dialog, therefore I don't react at all.

SON DUDE GUY THING: I'm pre-pubescent and the first thing I think of is taking you out of context. EWW, SEX! Did you really take your Jackson and...

JACKSON: Wait, what? We played poker.

SONNY BOY: Sure you did.

JACKSON: Come on, is it really that odd for two people of indeterminate age to be playing... I don't know, chess, or card games, in a secluded location?

SON LAD: Was it strip poker, Jackson?

JACKSON: …Please stop highlighting how much you hate me. I think the audience gets it by now. Also, allow me to incriminate myself by not denying your claims outright.


MRS POTTS: There may be something there that wasn't there before...

JACKSON: We all know what to do with fences that say "RESTRICTED AREA", right? Trespass!

JACKSON clambers over the fence, which bends far too much for what is meant to be aluminium. His DAUGHTER follows.

SON: Why am I the only one who cares about this?

The SON's question is treated as rhetorical, and is never answered. We see a dried up lake.

JACKSON: There used to be a lake here! *pouts*

The TRIO OF INTENTIONAL REBELLION head closer to the DRIED UP SALT PUDDLE, which only now has instruments and yellow tape around it. It's also bubbling.

JACKSON: Nice cauldron.

Meanwhile, unknown to the TRIO OF CAUTIOUS CURIOSITY, it has just become 2012 where this author lives. Also, there's a creepy guy hiding in the bushes, watching them.

BUSH MAN: The cat has entered the basket!

Suddenly, a CRAPLOAD OF ARMED VEHICLES appear, along with one of the RANDOM HELICOPTERS from earlier.


JACKSON: How the hell should I know? Sorry, didn't read my line – I seem to know it's the U.S. Army.

Our BUSHY FRIEND states the obvious.

BUSHY MAN: They're being accosted by some government dudes.

Aaaaaaaaand... Back to the TRIO OF BEWILDERED STARES.

SOLDIER: Hey dumbass, not sure if you realised, but you're in a restricted area. Get in the vehicle.

The "wild" BUSH MAN hasn't seen action like this since 'Nam. JACKSON and his KIDS are driven to a base that was completely hidden by the hill. Our ol' friend, ADRIAN, is there talking with a BOFFIN.

ADRIAN: This is unbelievable. So very unbelievable. The temperature 12km below our feet is 2700°C? How are we still alive?

BOFFIN: If you think that's implausible, I've got a movie script for you... Anyway, the whole point I'm in this scene is to establish how bad things are. That is, to say... very. That temperature is rising by half a percent every hour.

The full impact of such a statement is completely lost on the audience, who are about to rage at the lack of action scenes. The effect is compounded by the RANDOM WHITECOAT interrupting what is meant to be an important moment.

RANDOM WHITECOAT: Yo Doc, we picked up some "tourists" in the hot zone. What noobs.




JACKSON: Can has lake? :3

ADRIAN: Nuuuu .-.


ADRIAN: Area. Unstable. Time for tubby bye-bye!


ADRIAN: Wait a minute, you're not the guy who wrote that thing, are you?

JACKSON: I might be.

ADRIAN: Wow! I really suck up to you here! Let's enter into a casual conversation, touching on foreshadowing and some more foreshadowing. Let's not worry about our impending doom or anything.

ADRIAN walks in on the BOFFIN's skype call with SATNAV.

ADRIAN: Whoa! Put that thing away! It's time to chat, not cyber!

SATNAV just stares.

ADRIAN: Hellooo? Earth to Satnav? Don't tell me you've frozen up while calculating the optimal (and ultimately completely wrong) conversational route.

BOFFIN: He knows. Err, about the temperature reading, that is.

SATNAV: Other people around the globe can confirm very similar data. TURN LEFT! TURN LEFT!

ADRIAN: Are you sure?

SATNAV: No one can be sure of anything, but yes, I'm sure. We're definitely right. The Earth's crust is destabilising.

ADRIAN: *stunned, drawn out stare* Wait, I was wrong? My predictions were optimistic? Well isn't that just great. Optimism bias strikes again.

SATNAV: Buckle your seatbelt Dorothy, because Kansas... is going bye-bye.

ADRIAN: My God. What a prophetic and yet entirely unsuitable movie quote to insert there.

So far, the "My deity" count is sitting at a measly two.

BOFFIN: For all our technology, we couldn't predict what an ancient, human-sacrificing, stone-age, wheel-less and telescope-less civilisation supposedly could. WE'RE WINNER!

ADRIAN continues staring in disbelief, as JACKSON's kids dance outside while waiting for their army escort.

ADRIAN: I'm upset about this. I seem to be taking it personally. Satnav, you may have only had a few minutes of screen time, but you're really important, so you're getting airlifted! Hooray!

SATNAV: Oddly named son of mine, we're going on a big ship! An... ark, of sorts!

Cue the Noah's Ark puns, as the audience gets the first actual mention of the plot device which hangs around like a bad smell for the second half of the film.

A/N: Again, apologies for the huge gap between updates. I hope this will be adequate for everyone, until I publish the next one. If it isn't up next week, you have my permission to review me negatively without retribution. However, until that day...

If you don't review, having (hopefully) read a significant portion of the current work, I may have to wrench your arms from your sockets and repeatedly bop you on the head with them for the sake of a bad pun: "stop hitting yourself!". I will also use puns such as: "need a hand?", "can you hand-le these?", and "you're pretty hand-y to have around". Hopefully this will prove to be too much, and you will dictate a review to me, which I will post on your behalf. I'll return your arms, of course. Perhaps a taxidermist could help with that.

Bonus points for a review that features hand puns. What bonus points, you ask? I have no idea. Karma points, how about that.