Last night, I finally finished watching The Walking Dead Season II. Great series if you haven’t seen it, by the way. I finally realized how much crap that Rick Grimes has to put up with from his whiny group of (somehow) survivors so I decided to put together a What Would Rick Grimes Do flow chart… enjoy.
*minor spoilers ahead.
THE END.
P.S. Do give the Walking Dead a go if you haven’t already.
P.P.S. Have a happy Memorial Day Weekend!
Today I’ve decided that I will no longer be preparing for the apocalypse, be it nuclear, zombie or some combination thereof. I know this sounds crazy, but I’ve come up with a better idea instead.
While everybody else is out running around hording supplies, creating bug-out bags and planning escape routes, I’ll be mentally preparing myself to become a raider.
Think about it. With all the different types of apocalypse looming over the horizon, one can’t successfully prepare for all potential outcomes.
One needs a plan that encompasses all possible post-apocalyptic scenarios.
My plan is effective because it is simple. The raider plan, or Plan R for short, counts on three things happening.
When the world ends, the lives of normal people will get a lot more complicated.
This is not the case with Plan R.
How many times have you watched a zombie movie where a good survival plan goes to hell in a hand-basket all because somebody tries to have morals and compassion?
My way is much less risky; you don’t have to go back for Johnny… not now, not ever.
In fact, you don’t have to do much of anything that you don’t want to. These are probably the most complicated decisions you’ll have to make:
See somebody with a nicer gun than yours?
It’s yours now.
Somebody has a better food stash than you?
Not anymore.
Want to break into a liquor store and turn it into your alcoholic fortress?
Go ahead, you’re a raider war-chief now… it’s OK.
All of this is made possible because you would amass followers by this point; bloody, power-hungry followers. Like attracts like and if you go across the wasteland as a violent lunatic, you’ll attract quite a few more violent lunatics under your banner… sounds like a safe place to be to me. Just remember, you have to keep your followers more afraid of you than mutants, zombies or whatever else you’re fighting. Otherwise, they’ll mutiny. Remember, violent people only respect violence so you might have to randomly kill potential usurpers from time to time.
Just think about how much fun the bad guys have. Any fan of the Mad Max series will know that your wardrobe options will increase dramatically.
Raiders do it with flair and panache.
I know a lot of you naysayers are out there asking, “but underwhelmer, doesn’t the bad guy always get it real bad in the end?”
You are correct. The bad guys do get it really bad in the end, but so do the good guys.
How a bad guy dies in a post-apocalyptic scenario:
How a good guy dies in a post-apocalyptic scenario:
Giant radioactive scorpions don’t care about your moral standings in a non-existent society. All the giant radioactive scorpion wants to do is bury its stinger into your face and eat your delicious sweetmeats.
So if the giant mutant scorpion doesn’t care about your morals, why should you?
Feel free to use Plan R for yourself. It really makes things simpler… now I just have to figure out what to do with all of this stockpiled food, water and ammo I’ve got sitting around.
THE END.
P.S. If we happen to cross in the wastelands, don’t expect to receive mercy just because you’ve read this… just kidding.
P.P.S Not really.
With all of the medical poking and prodding done, the hop across the pond behind me, and with a job picked out, it was now time to move across the country and start my new career.
I had landed a job in New Jersey and it was now time to pack up and move from my base of operations in Florida.
Wife and I were apprehensive at first. I had spent the majority of my life in the Southeastern United States. In fact, I had never been farther north than Tennessee. As a kid, I was always told that people from the Northeast were rude, spoke too fast and should be feared because they were smarter than us.
I fully expected to arrive in New Jersey and be intimidated by their hyper-advanced culture.
I didn’t have time to worry about this though because Wife and I were busy preparing for the nineteen hour drive ahead of us.
We had packed the car with enough provisions to feed a caravan full of 18th century pioneers. The car looked ridiculous, but we really wanted to avoid a situation like this…
Thank you Oregon Trail for teaching me the values of preparation, packing and giving me a healthy fear of amoebic dysentery.
The trip to New Jersey went well for the most part. Wife and I, being control freaks and planning gurus, left very little to chance. What we didn’t count on though, was Other Cat. Other Cat had not been taking the whole, “let’s move to another continent and start a new life” thing very well.
Being a six pound creature, Other Cat is ultimately driven by the singular desire to hide and not be eaten. So Other Cat lives in a constant state of idling fear and paranoia that is accented with occasional spikes of abject terror.
Wife and I had spent the past several years reassuring Other Cat that we are loving and caring human overlords. We had actually gotten to the point where we could pet Other Cat without her trying to run away in terror.
All of this was shattered when the movers came and systematically removed all of the furniture. Without any hiding spots, Other Cat began to head toward psychological meltdown.
Every time we moved to a new location, Other Cat would slip into psychosis and meow all day and night.
I awoke several times in a crappy motel room with Other Cat meowing at full volume inches from my face, imploring that I use my magical human/god powers to fix the situation.
The only good thing through all of this was that Other Cat found each move so traumatic that she forgot the previous move.
So on and on the cycle went, from one motel room to another as we made our way to New Jersey. Other Cat’s mental collapse had come to a crescendo when we finally moved into our apartment.
Unlike all the motel rooms, this apartment was completely unfurnished. Our furniture was still being shipped across the country. Other Cat’s hiding places had been reduced to a card table and an inflatable mattress.
Her sleepless meowing session lasted for four days.
Other Cat eventually relented before I had to revoke my PETA membership. I think she eventually passed out from exhaustion and slept for a few days straight. By then, the furniture had arrived and she had plenty of places to hide and feel safe.
Once I was a fully rested and functioning member of society again, I began to explore my environs. New Jersey was certainly not the land of the future I had thought it to be, but the people are surprisingly nice and friendly.
All of my preconceived notions were dispelled, until I got on the highway. The personality transformation in the other motorists was instant. The moment they got behind the wheel, these New Jersey drivers turned into these awful creatures of hatred and insanity.
Before
After
People drove like they were trolling internet forums; mean, petty and obnoxious. The average spacing between cars was roughly 7 feet, the speed limit was just a suggestion and the merge lane became another opportunity to pass.
It felt like everybody in New Jersey was racing on the road to some finish line and winner’s circle that I was somehow unaware of.
At first I was taken aback, but I thought of my years driving on the autobahn. I asked myself, “what would a German driver do in this situation?” The answer; turn up the techno, stomp on the gas and show everyone how well an Audi can handle at 240kph. I reached down deep and harnessed my inner German and began practicing precision aggressive driving; I haven’t looked back since. I have, however, factored in speeding tickets into my monthly budget. Hurray for multiculturalism.
I guess since I’ve been such a world traveler over the years that my move to Jersey has not required much adjusting. I’m still trying to figure out what a turnpike is… I’m pretty sure it’s when you take a normal road, put it in New Jersey and then make it all retarded. Wife and I are doing well. I like my new job and now I’m finally starting to get the time I need to devote to the blog.
THE END.
P.S. Have a Happy Mother’s Day!
P.P.S. Stay tuned for more amazing brain funnies from the underwhelmer.
Live, Nerd, Repeat 