I used to feel discouraged when I watched so many of my Utah neighbors getting into the neat hobby of Doomsday Prepping. I thought to myself, “How can I be a true prepper when I’m afraid of guns, gag involuntarily when someone mentions the words “food storage,” and tend to laugh at inappropriate times when people talk about conspiracy theories?”
After some creative brainstorming, however, I’ve thought of some ways that I might be able to participate in this movement after all:
Be the “go-to guy” when you occasionally need some random, nonessential stuff. Let me admit up front that I haven’t gotten around to stockpiling anything really important for the apocalypse like bullets, dried beans, or teriyaki-flavored beef jerky. But thanks to my tendency to impulse shop at Costco without a list, I do have a healthy surplus of highlighter pens, kids’ swimming goggles and men's ankle-high athletic socks.
I also have an unopened package of Depends diapers for adults that I was supposed to return for a refund. (I bought them on accident—our son was a huge toddler at the time.)
Anyway, you might want to keep me around for that random day when all you need is a convenient way to highlight soft targets on your list of possible looting sites.
Or maybe that other special evening when the only thing preventing you from attending the monthly prepper swimming party in the local cesspond are your sensitive eyes and unpredictable, apocalypse-style adult bowels (on account of all the beans).
Hardcore preppers and local militia might find value in my transportations skills--soccer dad-style.
Sadly, I drive an emasculating mini-van instead of a cool, outsized SUV like my prepper neighbors. But after society collapses, perhaps the alpha-males in my area will come to appreciate some of my vehicle’s special features, like that removable, additional eighth seat that can comfortably fit a large child or a mutant adult. It also has automatic side doors that will close just fast enough to protect you from zombies—as long as they are of the lazy, shuffling variety
My favorite feature is a DVD player that still sorta works… the Disney movie, Mulan, is jammed in there, playing on a continual loop. On the plus side, we can always listen to that song “Be a Man” when going out scavenging raids.
But if that's not alpha enough, with just a few creative adjustments I can also easily convert this mild mode of transportation into an intimidating, Mad Max-style roadster. The sun roof would be perfect for delivering Molotov cocktails or making rude gestures at rival mini-vans. Finally, we could glue an army of horrifyingly cute littlest pet shop critters glued to the front hood.
In none of these options encourages your leaders to keep me around, I could provide some distracting entertainment. Based on episodes of The Walking Dead, things are going to get pretty tense in the dystopian future. You’re going to need at least one harmless guy around who doesn’t know how to fight but can provide comic relief.
For example, because I’ve binge-watched a ton of bad movies and tv shows over the course of my life, I could serve as a human DVR or streaming service. My repertoire will include classic stuff like Seinfeld, The Office, and The Simpsons. I can also tap into movie franchises like Lord of the Rings and Star Wars (while editing out Jar Jar Binks).
For the ladies in your militia I can even reenact some old Gilmore Girls episodes. Not easily, of course. My wife made me watch every dang episode with her. Sheesh, Rory and her three boyfriends, am I right? (I was "team Logan," by the way.)
As a bonus, in any conversation I can improvise jokes about the apocalypse... like there’s no tomorrow. (Haha—Get it?) Another example: “What do you call LDS preppers who stop going to church after the apocalypse?” Answer: “Radioinactive,” haha. Or maybe “Radiolessactive.” (I guess that’s more sensitive.)
In summation, I'm not the most sophisticated entertainer, but scientific studies show that low-brow humor is effective at soothing adults suffering from a variety of health-related issues that might be common in a collapsed society: hypertension, malnutrition, scurvy, paranoia, and highly irritable bowel syndrome (again, on account of all those beans).
In other words, please keep me around! You won’t regret it (at least not very much).
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