You Gonna Eat That?

Hoarders, Preppers, Members of the Church of Latter Day Saints – I have a question for you. I see you out buying large quantities of the stuff you’ll need when civilization crumbles.

Cream of chicken soup

Extra soft (and crumbly) toilet paper.

Non-rechargeable batteries

Knock-off brand Ramen noodles

Disposable lighters

File cabinet-sized boxes of Cheerios

The thing is – most of the stuff you want in a post-apocalyptic age, aren’t much good if the apocalypse is delayed by five or ten years. Apocalypses are notoriously unreliable when it comes to scheduling – just ask the Jehovah Witnesses.

A delayed deadly reckoning leaves you with dead batteries, empty lighters, vermin-infested dry foods, and distended cans of creamed botulism.

Once your goods are ruined – that's when you get the fire from the sky, the burning seas – all that stuff you might have been ready for if your Aloe Vera hadn’t lost its juicy texture.

 It’s almost as if Armageddon has it in for you.

The toilet paper is still good – but I can’t stand that crumbly soft stuff – especially when I’m trying to pass botulism flavored cereal vermin. It’s just the sort of thing to ruin your radio-active, zombie-ridden, unable-to-get-tickets-to-Thunderdome day.

The post apocalyptic world is not for sissies.

Which leaves us with this pre-apocalyptic world (the current one if you’re keeping track,) that is inconveniently cluttered with decaying barges of cheerios, cans of creamed soups, and batteries finding the end of their shelf life. Is this an efficient way of managing the here and now? Seeing as the catastrophic future is sure to disappoint, might we look for ways to make the present age less cumbersome?

After all – image how ironic it would be to have so much put by, just to have your brain become an entrée for the first wave of zombies. Who then will rifle through your collection of lighters looking for one with enough butane to burn the mountainous heap of infected (and only slightly undead) corpses piled up in your veranda?

You do all the work – miss all the fun. And during your last (pre-brain-eaten) days have no space in your home to unfold your ping-pong table.

Is it really worth it?

Maybe hoarding is a bit like those people who groan as they wrestle to reach the 35^th level of Gardens of Futility on the smart phones. Maybe the whole point in prepping is to enjoy the suffering before the entrails hit the fan.

Where-ever you find your joy.

You got any Pop-Tarts in that pile?

Alright - maybe not that funny.