This image was lost some time after publication, but you can still view it here.

Prepare yourselves, for all of Western civilization is about to destroyed by the latest, utterly irreparable tear in the washed-up-celebrity/amateur-sex-tape continuum. This morning's news of a forthcoming Dustin "Screech" Diamond fornication video certainly signals the end of days, not only because of the childhood nostalgia-annihilating debasement of its onetime child star, but because of the highly theoretical sex act supposedly performed by a person whose previous on-screen romantic entanglements were limited to a severe case of Lisa Turtle-supplied prepubescent blue balls.* Hoard the bottled water, cans of tuna fish, and currency in small denominations, for it just gets worse from here. Reports Rush & Molloy:

Everyone who remembers Diamond as a lovable putz is in for a shock once they see a 40-minute video in which he engages in a kinky three-way with two women, sources tell us. We can't get too graphic here, but word is that the action includes some bodily functions and an act known as a "Dirty Sanchez."

Phoenix-based agent David Hans Schmidt, who has brokered some of Hollywood's biggest celebrity-skin deals, confirms that he's acquired the rights to a tape featuring Diamond. "Just when you think you have seen everything in this business," he tells us, "mankind has raised the bar another notch. Or lowered it." [...]

Diamond's manager, Roger Paul, said his client has become a successful standup comic and will appear on the ABC sitcom "The Knights of Prosperity." "I haven't seen the tape," Paul told us. "I've heard rumors. Dustin has been trying to escape the Screech typecast. So this may help me get more bookings."

The working title? Saved by the Smell. (Yes, really.) You may have been hoping for a more outrageous or clever play on the title, but evil this profound must necessarily come in a mundane package.

Of course, this whole story could be nothing more than a publicity stunt to drum up interest in Diamond's comedy career (please?), but we must prepare for the worst. It's better to be huddled in the corner of the basement, counting out a year's supply of canned goods and batteries when the Apocalypse comes, rather than to be outside mowing the lawn while passively waiting for the shower of flaming frogs to pour from the rapidly darkening heavens.

[*We refuse to even acknowledge the Tori Spelling/Violet relationship. Haven't we suffered enough this morning?]