Dear Fellow Mayan Doomsday Preppers

Dear Fellow Mayan Doomsday Preppers,

It's December 22nd, and I am still alive. That can mean only one thing. The blast doors of the abandoned missile silo which I have converted into my Armageddon bunker were sufficiently reinforced to resist the super volcano, nuclear holocaust, collision with the planet Nibiru, reversal of the magnetic poles, extraterrestrial invasion, solar flare maximum, gravitational alignment of the planets, and zombie hordes which are wrecking havoc on the surface.

I'd like to see the last pitiful remains of our once-proud society crumble into ruins with my own eyes, but I have eight months worth of supplies and I don't plan on tearing down the wall of sandbags and opening these bay doors until the the solar radiation and nuclear fallout have had at least a few months to cool off.

Thank God we were prepared! I may have dropped out of college and it's true that I have no retirement account, investments, or rainy day funds to speak of, but at least I knew to go all-in when it counted! I'd like to see those hot-shot city types now, dying like dogs in their big, fancy houses, eating each other like rats in their high-rises. Degrees in business management. U.S. legal tender. Property deeds. The debt I wracked up building this doomsday bunker. They're all just pieces of paper now.

It's a fresh start for me, and a brave new beginning for mankind. The currency of tomorrow will be canned goods and ammunition, which is great, because I have pallets of both. The VIPs of tomorrow will be men with survival skills who can jury-rig electrical wiring and know how to weld, rebuild an engine, and distill their own alcohol... which is the kind of stuff I was into anyway. The country folk, the handy men, the introverts, and the hicks shall inherit the earth.

Of course we'll need to get to work re-populating the world at some point, which means that even middle-aged, overweight, balding men like myself will have the opportunity, nay, dare I say the responsibility, regardless of marital status, to impregnate as many women as possible, perhaps even our wife's attractive sister whom we've secretly had a crush on for years, if need be.

Our civilization will be purified. Life is going to be a lot simpler. People will live in harmony with nature. We'll all get right with God. Good old-fashioned family values will be the norm again. We'll read more and have real conversations with one another. My daughter will stop texting at the diner table. We won't take anything for granted. The stresses of modern life, the rat race, the estrangement of the industrial revolution, and the isolation of the digital age will all become distant memories.

I know some of you out there aren't that optimistic. What if the earth is burned to a cinder? What if everything is radioactive and only the cockroaches are able to survive? What if we are all doomed to starve to death inside our bunkers? At least we'll have the satisfaction of knowing that no one is going to survive us. Life has got to end sometime. What if the Apocalypse hadn't happened? I can't think of anything more forlorn than slowly dying in a hospital bed, knowing that everyone else is going to go on without you- leaving you behind, lost in time, static in history; a memory, a ghost that fades more with each passing year until every trace of you has finally been forgotten. If I've got to meet my end, I'd prefer that everyone else died with me.

People used to ask me how I knew that this Mayan calender thing was real. After all, people have been predicting the end of the world every decade or so since history began. I have to admit, I had considered getting on board with the Y2K apocalypse. But the timing just felt right this time around. I'm getting old. My wife is getting fat. Life hasn't worked out like I had hoped it would, and I just maxed out my third credit card last month. So, I mean... this Armageddon was really a godsend.

Sincerely,
Sebastian Braff

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