BLOOMINGTON, Ind. – You’re making pasta in the kitchen – pantsless as usual – and the water has just begun to boil. It’s really hot now – a liquid pool of Jake Gyllenhaal.

You pour in the noodles and look at the box: “10 to 12 minutes or until soft.” “Just like sex,” you think to yourself.

In the living room, Vanna White is pressing the tiles to a “Before and After” phrase that is clearly “Marilyn Monroe County Library.” The chubby contestant in the tangerine sweater guesses the letter “D,” and you shake your head, wondering when she will stop eating Cheetos and start being intelligent.

Suddenly, a breaking announcement interrupts the program. Spunky news anchor Andrea Morehead appears on TV, unusually solemn. She’s wearing a bright red suit in a shade as alarming as the news she’s about to deliver.

“Ladies, gentlemen and victims of bizarre accidents,” she begins, “I regretfully inform you that today … will be your last. According to information recently obtained by meteorologist Bob Gregory, the earth will implode in exactly two hours. Also, tonight will be partly cloudy.”

When “Wheel of Fortune” returns on TV, you see Pat Sajak and White, who have recently received the news themselves, going at it hardcore – right on top of the wheel. As soon as Pat “Sajakulates,” you turn off the TV.

The noodles are done. And soon your life will be, too.

It’s the proverbial, Armageddon-inspired question – one commonly posed by drunken friends and existentialist professors: If you had two hours to live, what would you do?

Though this question seems pointless – insignificant at best – in a world of global crisis and tangible turmoil, the varying answers provide an interesting insight into the perverse human psyche.

Though many answers are given, one is easily the most common: “I’d have a giant orgy.”

It seems strange to me – idiotically demonic, even – that many people would spend the final, fleeting hours of existence munching the dirty tacos of desire. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex. More than cheese, even. And let me tell you, this guy loves his sharp cheddar. Truly, sex is beautiful – like a basket of babies. But still, even in mass quantities, it’s a poor substitute for love.

As trite as it might sound, I would much rather spend my final moments surrounded by the people I love.

Thus, I’ve come to a realization. There are two types of doomsday respondents out there: the ones who would have orgies, and the ones who would play euchre.

So, ask yourself: When the world comes to an end, will you be screwing a stranger … or screwing the dealer?

-This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.