Okay, So We’ve Reached the Apocalypse, Now What….?

Posted: May 8, 2012 in Pregnant Wife Stories
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I don’t know how to skin an animal (this seems critical).

I don’t want to kill something that looks like a dog to me.  A deer is cute, and one time, I shot a sparrow with a bb gun and then felt so bad, I actually held a funeral-with prayer and all.  Another time, my wife tried to persuade me to go on a hunting trip with “the guys” and all I could think about is how I don’t look good in fluorescent orange, or how unsafe I would make the adventure as I wandered drunk through the woods singing huntin’ songs (this stems from my only hunting experience being derived from Peter and the Wolf)…

I don’t know how to preserve meat. I have read a book where Native Americans dried their meat and ate a jerky type of substance, but the god damned book skipped from the killing of the animal to the end product.  I am not a Boy Scout.  My mother took me to a generic knock-off scout meeting when I was a kid and all we did was make necklaces with macaroni. 

I don’t know which berries are deadly, but all berries look delicious!  This creates a deadly dilemma.  I can only hope that deadly berries are still delicious so that my death, while a sad fate, is still awesome.  (What a great subject for a knock-off cub scout meeting).

I don’t know how to construct a lean-to, although it sounds like two easy steps.

I don’t know how to make fire, but my fire starting strategy goes something like this:

1.  Find a really fat, blind kid and steal his glasses. 

2.  Use fat, blind kid’s glasses to build fire.  

3.  Guard glasses with my life, as they will become the source of a power struggle within my tribe. 

4.  Re-read Lord of the Flies so that I can remember who gets killed and then not do whatever that person did to get killed.  By the way, did you know that the word “Conch,” like from conch shell is pronounced Conk?  I read that Consh for years.

I don’t own enough guns, and the requisite amount of ammunition (the money I have that can be designated “gun-buying-money” is currently being used to support conspicuous consumption of craft beer-probably not changing anytime soon). 

All is not lost.  I have a plan.  I can only brief you on certain parts, because the people I am going to leech off of will be pissed if all 12 of my blog followers show up in Georgia on their farm to start our tribe. 

The plan is simple.  As soon as the virus begins turning people to zombies, or vampires that glimmer in the sunlight, I will begin a trek towards Georgia.  My wife and daughter will be welcome to come along, if they have not been turned and do not slow me down; after all, this is a post apocalyptic world where we are all out for ourselves.  I am not sure what city I am going towards, nor do I know what the place I am headed to looks like.  I am also not sure that the people who invited me aren’t cannibals seeking a food source like in that Denzel Washington movie that covered the same subject as this blog, but did it better.  I am sure of one thing; it will not be awesome. 

When I arrive at the camp, I will make myself an important part of the tribe by making macaroni jewelry so that our women will still be beautifully adorned.  In my life, there has been one truth, and it is a simple one:  If a woman wants you around, you are valuable and will not be killed off; however, when women turn on you, all bets are off.  I can only hope that when I join my tribe, Christina Aguilera is not there.  

I just wanted you to know, because I have been holding this in for years.


  1. Shannon Hale says:

    I have it on good authority that a road flare will start a fire. Ask your dad. 😉

  2. Joseph Alley says:

    I haven’t decided if I will join the tribe that rides around on jet skis committing murderous raids on floating fishing villages or become a post apocalyptic postal worker and win great battles in order to keep the American dream alive. I miss Kevin Costner.

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