So here’s my latest theory: sometime within the next 10 years, the southern central part of the United States is going to dry straight up, and we’re all going to walk around living like they do in “The Book of Eli”: thirsty.
I will not prostitute my daughter in exchange for something to drink. Nor will I be eaten by insanely ravenous desert cannibals.
My plan? To find a natural spring somewhere in the mountains, build a massive fallout shelter, and live there with 82 different weapons and my trusty dog until the end of days. My family may or may not be invited to join me, depending on how crazy they think I am after I reveal my deepest fears about the future of the world: zombie apocalypse. It’s just going to happen. And my dog will inevitably die because of it.
Anyhoo, in order to celebrate the happier times we are all currently enjoying, I decided to make apple bread. It’s still in the oven, though, so I can’t claim success just yet. I am horrible at baking. I just hate it. So why do I even bother trying? Well, on the off-chance that my apple bread comes out completely delicious in every way and my kids praise me all the days of my life, I figure it’s worth a shot. I’ve got nothing to loose, even if the loaf burns black on the top and smacks of vegetable oil in the middle, or if I can throw it through a window.
Back to the whole Impending Doom Scenario: seriously, I’m freaking out about the drought thing. This heat is unbearable. What happens when the government defaults and shuts down, and then the water dries up and there’s no air condition? What are we going to do when we all run out of ground water because so-and-so down the street runs his sprinkler 24 hours a day, 7 days a week?
Kids will turn on their parents and big dogs will prey upon little dogs. Populations in northern coastal towns will multiply at a rapid pace; violent crime and government corruption will reign supreme and the central portion of the United States will be a desolate wasteland. Sprinkler man with the emerald-green lawn will be the first to be eaten.
On the upside, the only cooking I’ll ever have to do will involve simply opening an MRE and feeding my face with fake meatballs and powdered eggs. Good stuff.