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So I Like To Be REALLY Fucking Prepared, Okay?

Shit. So tomorrow is the rapture, not today. My bad. I'm just trying to keep you guys safe for when the inevitable happens. And as a zombie aficionado, I will admit to occasionally spending too much time wondering just how prepared am I for the end of the world onslaught? In general I would have to wager the average Floridian is more prepared than the average New Englander, for three very important reasons. First, it's customary for us to stock up on food and water, especially during hurricane season which is officially begins in about two weeks. Secondly, and hand in hand with hurricane season, the vast majority of the homes down here have hurricane shutters make them both storm and zombie proof. And finally, there are a lot more well armed rednecks down here, given most of the New England states have stricter gun control laws. Suckers!

One very important aspect would be the speed of our undead foes. George Romero started the zombie craze and in his original portrayal zombies were slow moving, and for the most part, incapable of thought. This was of course subscribed to by Max Brooks in the zombie books he's written, and later reinforced during an interview. But later zombies movies, such as 28 Days Later and the remake of Dawn of the Dead gave the opposing forces of Team Zombie much more pep in their step. To be honest, I find the latter presents us with a situation where we're all doomed -- unless you live in a purpose built zombie-proof house, or your own compound somewhere out in the middle of Perfection, Nevada... you're fucked. So for the sake of this discussion, we're going to presume the zombies shuffle and not sprint.

The biggest impact zombie speed would play is how much time would I have to make some last minute preparations and fortify my house. Because let's face it, once you're safely holed up nice, who gives a shit if the zombies walk or run? Now if this were confirmed reports of zombies say... a few hours away, then I'd have time to shoot up to the corner store and stock up on last minute essentials: food, water and of course, lots of beer. But a more imminent attack would necessitate me to forgo this last minute run to the packey, so the first thing I would do is load my scooters onto the back of my truck, and back the truck into the single-door garage slot. i would then pull my car out and park it sideways in front of the double door slot. This would allow me to open said door a crack for ventilation/observation, without fear of any deadites forcing their way in, like what happened to poor Andy.

Once the vehicles were secured -- which wouldn't take any more than five to ten minutes -- now we start the hard work; the hurricane shutters. For those of you who don't live on a storm front, hurricane shutters are the corrugated metal panels that get mounted over your windows and doors to protect them from flying debris. Even my garage doors -- hurricane rated at 48 lbs/sq ft, offer no weak spots to the offending zombies. My biggest openings (lanai and front door) are protected with accordion style shutters and would be the easiest to get battened down; since I never pulled the track up from last year I can literally secure these two huge openings in under five minutes. The others doors/windows utilize the sectional galvanized steel pieces, and would be more time consuming; probably sixty minutes. Since I live away from the town center, I would imagine my initial encounters with the rogue zombie would be few and far between. Overwatch while I put the shutters up would be provided by Captain Sig, my SigSauer 556 Patrol rifle. Captain Sig has a younger brother named Edgar, a Sig Mosquito chambered in .22LR. Once the hurricane shutters are all put up, I would wrench a pair of pliers over the threads that hold the thumbscrews on, preventing them from being taken off. You know, just in case the zombies evolbe or something. So with a hair over an hours warning I could button up my house into a venerable zombie Fort Knox.

So now I'm trapped inside with the moaning and scratching outside growing steadily louder. What do I have for weapons? Well, let's just say that I've upgraded my arsenal since the last time I've reviewed my zombie prep plans: for the long arm of the law I've got Captain Sig and few Mosin Nagants, a few 12 gauge shotguns -- including a Russian made Saiga-12 with a couple 20-round drums -- and several handguns. And then of course a machete and Stanley Fubar for when things get nasty. Inside, I have enough dry goods stockpiled to easily last me a month. Right now I don't have as much dogfood stockpiled as I usually do -- a trip to Petco is set for this weekend presuming they're still open mid-Rapture. So the first thing I'd have to assume is running water will stop at some point, so I have to fill all the bathtubs, sinks, bowls, vases, ziploc bags, whatever -- fill everything with fresh drinking water. I usually have 4-5 cases of bottled water on hand, but I'd prefer to save those for if I had to make a run for it. Thus I would live on tap water and dry foods for as long as possible -- the electricity will surely go out at some point and I don't dare run my generator because the noise will attract more zombies. So with no running water and no electricity - that's right, no laundry so get ready for the stink. I do have a two hundred gallon propane tank buried in my front yard, affording me both cooking (gas stove) and light (gas fireplace). Like I said, I only have a 40lb bad of dog food stockpiled, so Ike and Bianca will still be okay for about three weeks or so, before they'd have to wean over to people food. A good portion of my back lanai would be protected, so if I have the opportunity to drag a few of the potted palm trees into the protected area before closing up the hurricane shutters, I could even let them out to take a dump. I could probably live for three to four weeks on this tap water and frozen food diet, which would afford me ample time to make preparations should an escape be necessary. A hand crank powered radio would keep me up to date on any news.

Now, we've already established my scooters is in the back of my truck, and the truck is facing outwards ready to go. Joining the scooters would be; my generator, eight 5-gallon gas cans (you bet your ass they're full, too), a shit-ton of ammunition, and all my dry storage. Canned food, boxed food, bottled water, toiletries, utensils, you name it. I'd also have a small crate strapped to the back of each of the scooter for Ike and Bianca -- hey I'd sooner leave you behind than my dogs. And while I don't have a welder and some rebar, I do have enough metal screws and scraps of metal/wood to fashion a rudimentary cage over the windows of my truck. besides, if a zombie grabs a hold of my truck expecting to hang on? They'll just get a handful of rust -- the joke is on you fucker! Anyway, my rudimentary reinforcements won't be strong enough to protect the windows from a big zombie crowd like The rock's Gurkha F5 would, but it would be enough to get me past any zombies in my driveway when it came getaway time.

Also in the hurricane bag of tricks are the basics you'd expect... crank powered radio, flashlights, batteries, candles, that sort of crap. I'd preserve as much of it as possible in preparation for a run. With all the shutters closed, it'd be dark as a motherfucker in my house -- I've always meant to put a skylight in, dammit. because the skylight would not only provide me with light, but give me access to my roof. I can get up in the attic through the folddown wooden stairs, but unless I chop a hole through my fucking roof with an axe I can't really get a good visual on the outside world. This would be something I'd save for the very last minute because otherwise, geez, can you image what my insurance premiums are going to jump to?

And presuming no government troops march down my street declaring all is safe, or no Blackhawk helicopters whisking people off to safety, I would eventually have to make a run for it. My cutoff point would be when I got down to one weeks worth of supplies left, or don't have any more clean socks to beat off into. When I hit that stage I'd load the other important stuff into the back of the truck, stick everybody in the cab of my truck, and drag the generator out into the back lanai area. Then I'd run two extension cord through the house, one up to the small garage door opener where my truck is parked , and the other to my stereo. Then I'd start the generator and unlock the back hurricane shutters to the noise can get out (and yes, the zombies in). because as they all swarmed the back of the house to eat both my generator and Angus Young, they would mean the number of zombies at the front of my house is thinning out. And then with a click of the garage door opener, I would unleashing Big Red upon the zombie horde shambling around my driveway. The truck clears the garage door with a scant 5-6" on either side so there would be no escape for our undead friends. Big Red's tires would mash and churn over broken zombie bones. I'd lock gazes with one zombie's undead eyes before his face bounces off the hood and disappears beneath the grill, leaving a congealed glob of blood on my hood. Windshield wipers would brush the gore aside in mighty rhythmic swipes. The bed of the truck sits too high and would be packed too full for me to worry about any zombies climbing on. There may be a few that manage to hang on to the side mirrors or the cage I've fastened in place over the windows, but sideswiping a few telephone poles should put them to bed. From there I've got a three hundred miles to find more safe haven, assuming eleven miles per gallon because I have to drive over a few barricades or detour around bottlenecks. Or in case I can't find a safe haven, a place where I can at least pause long enough to dump the eight gas cans into the gas tank (perhaps even refill those, too?), giving me another five hundred miles. I'd like to think that by some point, I'd be able to make it to what I consider the holy grail of zombie hideouts; a Costco. And if that still proves fruitless and I eventually run out of gas, I drop the tailgate and ramp, load Ike into the cage on the back of the scooter and with trusty .45 on my hip and shotgun over my shoulder, head out for another hundred miles. How important is the shotgun you might wonder? Well let's just say our stumbling, stinky, undead friends might want to consider the following before deciding they want to taste test my ass: I move out of Massachusetts and violent crime goes up. I move to Florida -- buy some shotguns -- and violent crime goes down. I'm just sayin somebody has got to keep all the Florida hotties safe, right?

And if I can't find decent shelter within seven hundred miles -- which takes me just about halfway up the Atlantic coastline, then I'm a fucking idiot who has learned nothing from all the zombie movies I've watched, and rightfully deserve to die. I just hope these rapture zombies don't eat dogs.

And even if you're religious but still don't believe all this end of the world business, I'm sure you have some thoughts on evolution vs creationism. Evolution is happening right here, right now. For example, when the international ban on the trade of ivory took effect in 1989, there were about a million elephants in Africa. Today, less than half of them are left, and we're still losing about 8 percent of elephants to ivory poachers -- pretty much everything we've done to protect our wild pachyderm friends has failed. So elephants have decided to take matters into their own hands -- to make themselves less appealing to their greatest enemies (poachers), elephants all over the world have begun selecting against having tusks at all. Back in the day, only 2 to 5 percent of Asian male elephants were born without tusks. But by 2005, it was estimated that the tuskless population had risen to between 5 and 10 percent. And it's not just happening in Asia, either. One African national park estimated their number of elephants born without tusks was as high as 38 percent. It's natural selection in action: female elephants are deliberately choosing tuskless mates, or the only boy elephants surviving into breeding time are the ones born without tusks. Either way, the tuskless gene is getting passed on, thus proving Darwin's Theory of Evolution. Or maybe all this evolution is bullshit, as evidenced by the fact that this guy's daughters didn't turn into fish. Eirther way.

And yes, we know you Europeans love your hot girls with body paint, but we here in North America can also appreciate a women who will wear her favorite team painted on her chest.

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