What's your apocalypse job?

When the shit hits the fan, you're gonna need mad (Max) skills

Greeting and salutations, situation normies!

After my healthcare provider told the entire internet about my embarrassing medical conditions, I was mortified. Thankfully, your comments really cheered me up. But this comment from

Sheila Moeschen

, who is a freaking funny woman, won my heart with a cure for hiccups and a plan to hire the A-team to get my medical information back:

The prize is bragging rights, Sheila, so tell everyone you know that you’re fucking awesome!

Speaking of awesome, shout out

Joleen’s Readings And Writings

! Joleen is the newest paid subscriber to Situation Normal! Thank you, Joleen! I sent you some good vibes, so be sure to check the mail. I also want to shout out Hillary C. who sent money via PayPal along with a note that made my day! Thank you, Hillary, the vibes are in the mail📬

OK, let’s get to it!

My wife and I used to have a plan for the apocalypse. Assuming we made it through the initial apocalyptic situation—nukes, zombies, the viral outbreak depicted in the movie Outbreak—we thought we had a pretty clever way to survive, maybe even thrive. We’d start a cult. But not just any cult—The Golden Rule Toilet Paper Cult.

We figured that when the shit hits the fan, people will raid their local big box stores. They’ll steal food, water, weapons, and if they’re smart, medicine. But they probably won’t grab toilet paper. Which means that the people who control toilet paper in the post-apocalyptic wasteland are going to be very popular people.

At least, that’s what I thought before the pandemic. In those frantic early days of the pandemic, people were scared shitless. They hoarded food, water, weapons, and medicine. But they also bought so much toilet paper that there was a shortage for a few months and public officials actually had to go on TV and plead with people to spare a square. Which is why I laughed my butt off when my friend Norm sent me this👇

Come with me, if you want to shit.

So that idea went down the toilet in 2020. But I still believed in the Golden Rule Toilet Paper Cult. Here’s why: necessity. See, everyone in the post-apocalyptic future, assuming the movies and novels are accurate, has to do something to survive. But that something is usually some variation of warrior. Problem is, I’m a lover not a fighter. There are also specialists, like doctors and mechanics, but I’m not great with blood and even worse with machines.

Of course, there are other valuable skills, like hunting, farming, and purifying water. Some people are even learning those skills pre-apocalypse. I once wrote an article about those kinds of people—preppers and survivalists—for the “Bad Ass” edition of Penthouse Magazine (yes, just like Playboy, they have articles too). But if that assignment taught me anything, it was this: I am not a bad ass.

“I’m fucked,” I told Christina. “Which means we’re fucked, assuming you still want to be my wife after the apocalypse, which you can totally get out of, if you want, because that wasn’t covered in our vows, and so maybe you wanna ditch me for a warlord, or a farmer.”

“Nothing is fucked, dude. Also, We’re ride or die to the end, honey.”

That made me feel good. But then it made me feel bad because without a valuable apocalypse skillset, Christina and I wouldn’t ride very long before we died.

“You’ve got skills, babe. You’re an idea man. And I know how to operationalize the fuck out of ideas.”

We talked a little about our plans for surviving and even thriving in the apocalypse. OK, we talked about it a lot—over the course of several days, months, and well, years. The conversation remains ongoing. It’s pretty much a theme in our household.

The first insight, if you can call it that, was that I’d have to stop shaving. Without access to clippers, my beard would quickly mushroom into Jerry Garcia territory. Assuming we came across deadheads in the apocalypse, that could be cool. Pre-apocalypse my resemblance to Jerry had helped me make friends at the Post Office and even resulted in free ice cream a few times. But my beard would keep growing. Soon enough, I’d leave Jerry Garcia behind and enter uncharted territory—Moses Beard.

The second insight was that my glasses would definitely break, and because my eyes suck, I won’t be able to find a new pair. At first, the thought of being legally blind in a lawless wasteland wasn’t appealing. But between the broken glasses and Moses Beard, Christina saw the raw ingredients of a cult leader.

“Babe, people are always asking you for advice. They think you’re wise.”

“Think?”

“You are wise.”

“OK, but wisdom isn’t exactly making it rain.”

“That’s because you’re allergic to business. But that’ll be my department. All you have to do is lose the glasses, let that beard grow, and say wise stuff that gives people perspective about the totally fucked-up situation we’re in.”

“Can’t I just do that with my glasses and a shorter beard that isn’t a magnet for dust and food? I don’t know if there will be hummus in the apocalypse, but if there is, I’d like to enjoy it without getting globs of hummus stuck in my beard.”

Christina shook her head.

“Branding, babe. You gotta cultivate a cult leader brand.”

“Cult leader? I’m not making anyone drink poisoned Kool-Aid, or do weird non-consensual sex stuff. That shit isn’t cool. And it’s not like I’m gonna quote scripture. I’m more of a golden rule dude. Live and let live. Abide.”

“Bingo! Preach the golden rule. Your job is content. I’ll handle branding, marketing, and operations.”

“Operations?”

“Sure. The more people we bring into the fold, the more important systems and processes become.”

“I dunno. It sounds like I’d be the boss. I don’t want to manage people.”

“You’re the figurehead, babe, I’m the boss. Besides, more people means more power.”

“To do good stuff, right?”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

And that’s how Christina and I created The Golden Rule Toilet Paper Cult. Basically, we’d treat other people how they wished to be treated, but to emphasize civility during recruitment, we’d focus on something one level above basic needs like food, water, and shelter. We’d focus on that civilized feeling you can only get from having a clean butthole.

Was that the best apocalypse plan? We thought so, until the most recent apocalypse. See, ever since Great Toilet Paper Cock-Up of 2020, my apocalypse planning has been the doldrums. But last week, my sister, Allison, gave me some inspiration.

I texted her to complain about a show I was hate-watching. I think I was hoping that she was hate-watching it too, because misery loves company. But she wasn’t. Instead, she had just finished watching a Fallout.

“Craig and I really enjoyed it,” she wrote.

The Craig part wasn’t surprising. Craig is a fan of the genre, as well as a kickass contributor to the genre. But Allison? She is not an apocalypse person. When I told her I was writing about survivalists and preppers for Penthouse, her reaction was blunt. “Why would anyone want to live through the apocalypse? Kill me quick and be done with it.” And yet, here was Allison, the apocalypse-avoider in the family, telling me to watch a show set in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, where ghouls, robot knights, mutated humans, radiated killer bears, giant carnivorous cockroaches, cannibals, a chicken-fucking snake oil salesmen, and a radio DJ played by Fred Armisen, fight to survive.

“If Allison recommends a post-apocalyptic show, it’s gotta be good,” I told Christina.

And so we watched Fallout. And it was good. Actually, it’s great. But I don’t want to tell you how great it is because I don’t want to spoil anything. Also, this post isn’t a review of Fallout, it’s a serious exploration of my apocalypse plans, and how watching Fallout helped me rethink my place in a world that’s gone to shit.

Without spoiling anything, I can tell you that economics is a very important theme in Fallout. Some people would say the show is a critique of capitalism and the military-industrial complex. And it is that! But it is also a critique of feudalism, vis-a-vis all the stuff with the robot knights. At the same time, it’s also a critique of barter economies, pre-capitalist coinage economies, and pretty much every system of value exchange humanity has ever fucked around with.

Which brings me to my favorite character: Cooper Howard played by Walton Goggins. Before the shit hit the fan, Cooper Howard was a movie star who played cowboys. Think Gary Cooper. But in the apocalypse, Cooper Howard is a ghoul who makes his living as a cowboy. Nifty trick, right? He went from playing a cowboy to being a cowboy.

That’s what got me thinking. Maybe I don’t need a new apocalypse job, like cult leader. Maybe the skills I use to earn a living when civilization is still standing will serve me well when we have to unfuck the apocalypse and bring back civilization. If that’s true, I have three things on my apocalypse resume:

• Humorist

• PR pro

• Journalist

I’d love to be a post-apocalyptic humorist! Lord Humungus knows laughter will be in short supply. But my concern is this: humor is a lousy business in a rich world, so it may not pay the bills in the apocalypse.

I’m willing to do post-apocalyptic PR. I can put a positive spin on anything. Cannibalism? Protein is important! A band of leather daddy car buffs raising hell in the Australian outback? Celebrate alternative lifestyles, let your freak flag fly. Kevin Costner drinks his own urine? Piss is a thirst-quencher, plus it has electrolytes!

But I’d be happiest returning to my roots as a journalist. In the apocalypse, people will pay for news they can use. A column on how to talk a cannibal out of eating you? A must-read! A personal finance piece on where to source leather underwear for frugal Mad Max types? Read all about it! Recipes for turning piss into cocktails, or mocktails if you’re doing the apocalypse sober? Game-changing content!

The point is, the apocalypse is full of untold stories, and I’m just the man to tell them. Sure, I’ll have to figure out details like printing and distribution, but thankfully, I have Christina. She has a fuck-ton of experience in media operations and the can-do spirt of an entrepreneur. But the most important thing is that have YOU!

So here’s my promise to Situation Normal subscribers if / when the shit hits the fan: I’ll be there for you with news you can use and maybe even some humor columns too.

But don’t worry about paying me in stolen toilet paper, or ass-jerky, or the penicillin you made after your biker gang pillaged a fancy cheese shop. You can pre-pay your subscription to Situation Apocalypse. Simply upgrade your Situation Normal subscription, or if you prefer PayPal, send any amount here.

Stick around and chat!

You know the drill. I’ve got questions, you’ve got answers. Please share them in the comments, and if it floats your boat, share it as Note.

1. What’s your apocalypse plan? Dish!

2. What’s the best work of apocalypse fiction and why is it World War Z by Max Brooks? No wrong answers, but again, the right answer is Max’s book.

3. Why is apocalypse one of those words I always misspell? What words do you always misspell? Let a thousand typos fly!

4. Why haven’t you seen the adaption of Z for Zachariah? It’s a totally under-rated work of apocalyptic fiction that has some unsettling things to say about the folly of human endeavors. Watch it! Then, see if you can spot the situation normies in the credits.

5. Are there any rules better than the golden rule? Discuss!