Largely An Inconvenience

Overall, the Apocalypse was not that bad; that is except for the 99.1% of the population immediately vaporized and the .8% who died agonizing deaths during the following two years. For me, it was largely an inconvenience.

I think at the time, I was avoiding people; some sort of bogus warrant for my arrest. I'll never understand how something can be completely legal in one state and seriously illegal in another. I was sleeping quite soundly when I heard something. After a few weeks, I begin noticing something was wrong. About a week later, this half-mutated corpse decides he wants me for lunch.

Okay, I'll admit I am not a people person. But I don't see how anybody can be. People are annoying, always asking for favors they never return. Oh, and always saying the wrong things. There is nothing worse than striking up a conversation with a smoking hot example of post-apocalyptic femininity and hearing, "Have you heard the Word of the Lord today?"

The thing with so few people around is how much there is to take. Food, gasoline, booze; all there for the taking. The old-fashioned indoor malls are always a bit of an adventure as you never know what sort of people you'll meet inside, except they're invariably armed and dangerous. "Cave-dwellers", most people call them, and they are best avoided.

But out on the road, you can travel all day and not run into another human being. Here you can find the freedom people always used to talk about but never experienced. Why last week, I rode between Tulsa and Kansas City stark naked except for my helmet and boots, simply because I could.

Mind you, there are what you could call "normal people" around. Most have converged into these little communes. A lot of them are your typical, old-fashioned hippie communes. Sad with all the deodorants and razors sitting on drug store shelves, these people are the same smelly, hirsute folk they've always been. They do grow nice crops; always tall stalks of corn on their land, and even taller cannabis plants. Good weed and even body odor is tolerable.

The pinkos are fun for short visits, with their stodgy increased sense of self-importance. Everyone in their communes has a title and a role in a ridiculously elaborate hierarchy. I recently met an Assistant Hygienic Engineer whose job consisted of a daily swabbing down of the outhouse seats with disinfectant. His fondest wish seemed to be making Senior Hygienic Engineer and be in charge of the entire outhouse.

The far-right groups are a little scary with their blending of religion and racism. In my mind, their two favorite phrases "Jesus loves you," and "Heil Hitler," just don't go together. However they do bake excellent pies, and in this situation, that does count for something.

There was a short lived reign of terror brought on by these roving gangs who thought they could simply take whatever they wanted. They soon learned that any commune worth its salt could very ably defend themselves. I found it amusing -- you haven't lived until you've seen the looks on these creeps' faces after just having their collective ass kicked by a bunch of hippies.

Supposedly there are also colonies of brainiacs living in underground bunkers. Most think it's far-fetched, but it makes some sense. There are plenty of old government complexes around, and more than enough gasoline for generators. I've never seen any of them, but occasionally I'll see small groups of people in lab coats, seeming to be doing some sort of survey work. Their armed guards are sufficiently intimidating to make me keep my distance.

I get along quite well with most of these groups. Of course, it is kind of a necessity that they accept me. You see, the vast majority of the men who survived were also left infertile. I'm one of the rare exceptions, and I'm paid very well for my services in hippie crops, Anarchist trail mix, and those delicious Nazi pies.

The funny thing is while I'd give it away for free, nobody ever asks.

Anyway, I'm off to upstate New York where I've heard about this artists commune that has a successful dairy farm going. I can't wait to try the cheese; it has been a while.