(CARRIE, MIRANDA, CHARLOTTE, and SAMANTHA sit around a brunch table in a smoldering crater after the Apocalypse. They sip mimosa glasses filled with scarab beetles and blood. SAMANTHA is on fire.)

CARRIE: Ladies, have you ever noticed how hard it is to find a good man in this post-Apocalyptic dystopian landscape?!

MIRANDA: Have I ever!! It seems like all the good men are either taken or don’t have skin because their skin melted off during the Apocalypse because of the acid rain that melted off their skin!

CHARLOTTE: Or are Jewish!!

(They laugh.)

MIRANDA: And it’s near impossible to find an affordable apartment in Manhattan. Or should I say, IneedaMAN-hattan. Or should I say, the Ocean. Manhattan is now under the Ocean.

CHARLOTTE: Or are Arabs!!

CARRIE: Ladies, a toast. (CARRIE, MIRANDA, and CHARLOTTE raise their glasses. SAMANTHA raises her severed, melting left arm in her right arm.) We’ll be together forever! Or until the next lava-bee swarm attacks, which is in approximately one one-hundred-hundred hundredth of a nanosecond.

(A lava-bee volcano-stings SAMANTHA in the mouth. She’s slutty about it.)

CHARLOTTE: Hey, do you know if those bees are single? I would date a bumble.

CARRIE: I would FUCK THAT BUMBLE.

CHARLOTTE: Or are short Mexicans!!

SAMANTHA: Bdddbdbdbddddbddd.

(Her skin melts off.)

CHARLOTTE: Oh Samantha, you SURE are the slut of the group!

(They drink to SAMANTHA’S sluttiness. Her lips fall off into her beetle-mosa.)

CHARLOTTE: So, ladies, I went out on a date on Wednesday night, and it was TERRIBLE.  He was just a burnt-up THORAX. Pro: he comes from a good family and is a good listener. Con: he’s a THORAX.

CARRIE: How was the sex?? DISH!!!!

CHARLOTTE: I put my boob on his thorax.

MIRANDA: NOW THAT’S THE KIND OF RACY GIRL TALK I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT, GIRLS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHO CARES IF IT’S THE END OF THE WORLD, WE’RE DISHING DISHING DISHING ABOUT MEN!!!!!!!!!!!!

CHARLOTTE: Or are short or tall Gypsies or Africans!!

(They drink to dishing about men. SAMANTHA’S eyes fall out into her beetle-mosa.)

CARRIE: HEY, the only man I need is a pair of Manolo Blahniks (pronounced “Mao-low BLARRRGGHGN-nixxXx”). And some potable water. Some extra blood. Religion. A hand to replace my hand which is about to fall off. (Her hand falls off.)

MIRANDA: But seriously, how are men not flocking to us? We’re smart, sexy, and have even more sexable holes in our bodies than before the Apocalypse! I would let a man boom-boom the hole in my calf that a demon-meteorite went clear through this morning.

CHARLOTTE: I would boom-boom some salt.

CARRIE: I would boom-boom a sick child’s coloring book.

MIRANDA: I would boom-boom a sexy leek.

CHARLOTTE: I would boom-boom some sexy sand.

MIRANDA: I would boom-boom a sexy ransom note.

CHARLOTTE: I would boom-boom some hope.

CARRIE: I would boom-boom a sexy hurt horse.

SAMANTHA: Bd. Db.

(Her head falls off. One tear comes out of a smoldering hole in her upper-arm. That’s where she cries from now.)

CARRIE: You don’t look so good, Samantha.

MIRANDA: Look who’s talking, Sarah Jessica Parker.