I’ve spent my life trying to decide what it is that I actually want to do with my life.

I’ve done a lot of different things and felt no passion that made me think, yeah, that’s what I want to do with the rest of my life.

But, after much soul-searching, I think I finally have The Answer:

I want to be the leader of a post-Apocalyptic tribe.

I think it would be cool.
Fighting off bandits and bands of mutant zombies and talking apes.
Repopulating the planet, and all that stuff.

Plus, it would be a chance to put all those survival skills that I spent my childhood learning-- and those weapons that I spent my adolescence stockpiling--to good use.

I mean, all those knots and hitches I learned have got to have some sort of practical use outside of the bedroom. Surely?

I’m already making preparations.
My drawers at work are filled with boxes of breakfast cereal. And Marmite.

So, should the cataclysm come while I’m at work, I’m certainly not going to have to face it on an empty stomach.

I also have a rubber-dart shotgun under my desk to defend my cereal from any surviving COWorkers, marauding coyotes, or marching penguins.

I’ve also been teaching my daughters some essential ninja survival skills.

We went camping the other week, but didn’t take any gear with us. We were going to survive on our own resourcefulness.
Then they learned how to wait for other campers to finish putting up their tent and go for a walk, then sneak in and steal all their equipment, food, beer. And the tent, of course.

See, that’s smart-thinking.
That’s why I will still be here after the Great War of Good vs. Evil.
You’ve got to think about these things. That fucking pussy Mel Gibson’s got nothing on me.

Now I just need an apocalypse.

Or … perhaps … an ApocOilypse.

Bring. It. On.

Yeah.