If the California governor's race, which at last count actually has more candidates than California has registered voters, wasn't enough, there are signs aplenty that the world is swiftly spinning toward its end.

After last week's column, in which I gave my rundown on the major candidates and why I'm a better choice than any of them, I received endorsements from most major civic and labor organizations in the Golden State.

OK, I got one endorsment from a woman calling herself "The UFO Lady" and an offer of 1,000 pesos in campaign funding from an anonymous correspondent. It's a start!

I'm hoping to raise at least $5,000, so I can donate it to Mary Carey, a candidate who's taking a break from her career in filmed adult entertainment to run for office. Mary, who's slated to debate Gary Coleman on the Game Show Network Oct. 1, has promised a "dinner date" to anyone contributing $5,000 or more to her campaign. Just doing my civic duty.

I also got contacted by the press corps attached to leading comedian candidate Gallagher. You may recall I said some less-than-complimentary things about him. However, he showed true statesmanship and even consented to an interview, which will appear in an upcoming Weird Chronicles if he ever gets around to answering the questions.

And if my blossoming candidacy wasn't enough of a sign that things are spinning into the vortex, just up the coast a young girl caught a fish with what appeared to be legs. The marine biologists say the legs were actually some sort of mating appendages, but I'm not so sure. The fish have to grow legs so they can climb trees, and fish living in trees has always been one of the most commonly referred-to signs that things have gone seriously higgledy-piggledy in the cosmic order.

In other apocalyptic fish news, the bighead and Asian carp in the Missouri River must know there's something up that they don't want to be around to see, because lately they've been flinging themselves into the air at the sound of an outboard motor.

According to the story, one boater had a rib separated by a flying carp, and another lost a tooth. Carp are neither small nor especially soft and pillowy, and the combination of a moving boat and a hurtling piscean can be truly painful. I don't think the carp mean any harm, though. I think they're just trying to end it all before whatever's going to happen happens.

While you're waiting for the end, you'll probably want somewhere comfy to sit. Might I recommend one of the following stylish sofas? Surefit, the folks who sell slipcovers to help hide the furniture in your house that looks as if vandals threw a house party and left it behind, are running an Ugly Couch contest. If you follow the link above, you'll see their slate of 10 contestants, pieces of furniture so hideous there are laws in several states against them.

A couple of them are so rancid that they actually emit rays of Ugly, which will slowly transform attractive furniture placed near them into items that look as if they come from Al's Big House O'Taste. For instance, the coffee tablelike upholstery excretion occupying floor space in front of the No. 10 entry was a carved teak chest with brass fittings just two months ago.

Should you be moved to vote, entrant No. 9 comes from my boss' home state of Iowa. If elected, the couch promises to take up residence in a proper Iowa cornfield where its Ugly rays will only mutate innocent vegetables.

You will, of course, want to look your best for the End Times, and I'm here to help you with that. If you, like me, suffer through life with a derriere the size of a significant geological formation, you may need a bit of support. That's where the Biniki comes in. It is, as it says on the Web site, a "butt bra."

No. I'm not making it up. And as far as I've been able to determine, this is not a gag site. The Biniki is a butt harness, a set of straps designed to hoist your hinder into a more flattering position, defeating the pull of gravity on your giant gluteus.

My only qualm about the Biniki is related to physics. To lift my rear into the upright and locked position, the harness has to pull on my waist, it appears. The force required may well snap me in half.

But at least I'll look good in the end.

Of course, no apocalypse would be truly complete without the proper snack. In that vein, allow me to present the durian. Known as the "King of all Fruit," the durian is primarily grown in Malaysia.

The outer shell is very hard and the spikes are hard enough to puncture a tire (or the skin of an opponent). A mature one weighs about 4 pounds or so, just heavy enough to make the spikes jab painfully at your palms no matter how you hold it.

As if the exterior of this hellfruit weren't enough, the fun truly begins when you cut one open (an operation requiring something between a Scottish claymore and a double-bidded battleax). Inside, the creamy-white flesh gives off a smell, nay, a stench that reminds one of a piquant mixture of ripe compost and soiled diapers.

I see you out there. You think I'm making this up. I only wish I was. Some friends and I once purchased a durian, and as the head gourmand of the group I was chivvied into trying the first bite. Supposedly, if you can get past the smell it's quite a tasty treat. Whoever first wrote that forgot that smell and taste are strongly intertwined. I tried 10 times to get a mouthful down my gullet, and all 10 times the fruit ended up in the sink.

Oh, and should you manage to choke it down, I understand there's an aftertaste that can come back for days.

So there we are. You've got your furniture, your clothing and your grub to settle in and watch things go down the tubes. Enjoy!

I welcome your comments, complaints, stories and professions of undying love. Large cash grants are also accepted. Just click here, type and send.