I’m sure you’ve heard — the world is ending this week. Frankly, I am thrilled.
I really think that I’ll be awesome in the apocalypse, and should I survive the initial hulabaloo, I’d like you to consider this my application to be a key member of your spunky band of survivors.
Firstly, I have been carefully studying all sorts of end of the world scenarios since I was a small child. If this end date has to do with North Korean dictator and sexiest man alive Kim Jong Un sending an invasion force to Colorado, I’ve got tons of guerilla tactics memorized, and I will be a much better leader than either Patrick Swayze or Chris Hemsworth, even if they are both much prettier than me, because, frankly, I’ll have better writing.
If North Korea somehow launches a nuclear weapon, and the target is not Colorado, I have a coded book of contingency plans that I’ve hidden in a secure location, not to be casually revealed in this column.
Once chaos has been established, no one’s going to be particularly concerned with earning money or trying to collect it from me. That means survival becomes the primary occupation of whomever is remaining, and only those who are useful and good at lifting the spirits of those who have endured unspeakable horrors with amusing anecdotes will have a place. I can do both of those things.
Since it’s winter, I’ll start by recommending stockpiling of canned goods, while we build some greenhouses, secure sources of water, and create a strong, defensible fort, possibly at an abandoned prison site. I’ve started to learn archery and setting game traps through repeated screenings of “The Hunger Games,” so, the odds are likely to be ever in our favor. With secure living quarters and food supply, we’re going to be in good shape, and then it’ll be time to put me in charge of everything.
Frankly, I have my sights set on being a benevolent, beloved, charismatic leader, who avoids the pitfalls of dictatorship by working along side the other survivors, developing a consensus of kindness and noble ideals to build our new utopia. If you think for one moment that the notion of a “kinder, gentler apocalypse” is ridiculous, naive, and laughter-inducing, well, let me tell you that outhouses are going to be needed, and I will tell you right now what job you chuckleheads are likely to be assigned.
That’s probably unfair. It’s awfully capricious of me to write something funny and then assign people who laughed to latrine duty. People who laugh at my jokes deserve better.
I don’t want to brag, but, I am excellent at assessing situations, seeing implications and making fair and sensible decisions. Did you see how I instantly realized it’d be unfair to punish people for laughing at my jokes? I mean, if I’m trying to win friends and influence survivors, I’ve got to be better at building alliances than that. I really want to be careful and not ruin anyone’s end of the world. After all, we’ve got to be able to work together to build a better, brighter world. Unless, of course, the end is actually an end. In that case, I’m not available.