"Thank you ladies and gentlemen!" he cried, "thank you very much. Thank you so much."
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "The Universe as we know it has now been in existence for over one hundred and seventy thousand million billion years and will be ending in a little over half an hour. So, welcome one and all to Milliways, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe!"
"I am your host for tonight," he said, "my name is Max Quordlepleen and I've just come straight from the very very other end of time, where I've been hosting a show at the Big Bang Burger Bar - where I can tell you we had a very exciting evening ladies and gentlemen - and I will be with you right through this historic occasion, the End of History itself!"
"So, ladies and gentlemen," he breathed, "the candles are lit, the band plays softly, and as the force-shielded dome above us fades into transparency, revealing a dark and sullen sky hung heavy with the ancient light of livid swollen stars, I can see we're all in for a fabulous evening's apocalypse!"
Even the soft tootling of the band faded away as stunned shock descended on all those who had not seen this sight before.
A monstrous, grisly light poured in on them,
- a hideous light,
- a boiling, pestilential light,
- a light that would have disfigured hell.
The Universe was coming to an end.
For a few interminable seconds the Restaurant span silently through the raging void. Then Max spoke again.
"For those of you who ever hoped to see the light at the end of the tunnel," he said, "this is it."
"And as the photon storms gather in swirling crowds around us, preparing to tear apart the last of the red hot suns, I know you're all going to settle back and enjoy with me what I know we will find all an immensely exciting and terminal experience."
"Believe me, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "there's nothing penultimate about this one."
"This," he said, "really is the absolute end, the final chilling desolation, in which the whole majestic sweep of creation becomes extinct. This ladies and gentlemen is the proverbial `it'."
"After this," he said, "there is nothing. Void. Emptiness. Oblivion. Absolute nothing ..." And for once," he cried cheerily, "you don't need to worry about having a hangover in the morning - because there won't be any more mornings!"
"It's marvellous though," he rattled on, "to see so many of you here tonight - no isn't it though? Yes, absolutely marvellous. Because I know that so many of you come here time and time again, which I think is really wonderful, to come and watch this final end of everything, and then return home to your own eras ... and raise families, strive for new and better societies, fight terrible wars for what you know to be right ... it really gives one hope for the future of all lifekind. Except of course," he waved at the blitzing turmoil above and around them, "that we know it hasn't got one ..."

There are really only two possible outcomes to the universe as understood by science. Either the gradient of the universe is greater than or equal to zero (i.e the universe will either continue to expand infinitely, or will asymptotically approach some maximum size), in which case entropy will event result in a frozen universe without life. Or the gradient or the universe is negative in which case it will eventually collapse in on itself into a flaming singularity. The bottom line in either case is there will eventually be a time when the universe will be unable to support life of any kind. There are no other solutions supported by science. At least as far as "lifekind" is concerned there will eventually be an end to the universe.

So, if your faith is only in science, why bother?

What value is there in raising children, building a better world, creating monuments, etc. Yeah, you might make things better for some number of generations; but eventually there will be no more generations. People may be able to see your monument for many years; but eventually there will be no one left to see them. It doesn't matter if mankind expands beyond this planet, or if some new lifeform evolves and discovers what we have left behind. Eventually they too will die out since science says that the eventual end is universal and inevitable. If the consequences of anything you do is guaranteed to be of limited duration, then why look past your own lifetime? Or your own life?

Frankly, if I didn't have faith – if someone came up with an absolute proof that there is no God and that the universe is a random accident, I could see myself becoming an amoral hedonist. I'd live for my short-term pleasure. I wouldn't break any big laws because I wouldn't want to risk wasting time in prison, and I would be careful not to be so nasty to anyone that they might take harmful action against me; but beyond that – anything goes. If nothing I do matters in the long term – if you think in long enough terms - (and that is the real lesson of science), then why not?