Well, it’s the day after the snowstorm that was supposed to herald the end of life as we know it, at least for those residing in the Midwest and most of the rest of the country.
The frothing, manic meteorologists predicted we would be buried beneath acres of frozen precipitation the likes of which haven’t been seen since the dinosaurs were wiped out, virtually overnight! The frozen bodies of those too weak to turn up their thermostats would provide food for the few ragtag survivors remaining when the storm finally passed. If it passed.
Polar bears would roam downtown streets, picking off any survivors crazy enough to venture out in search of chicken and waffles.
Madness! Chaos! Anarchy!
I was really hopeful.
As I mentioned last week, the only thing that’s going to save me financially at this point is the complete and utter dissolution of anything resembling civilization. The “storm of the century” seemed as good a way as any to bring about society’s downfall. And snow has the added benefit of not leaving behind A) radioactivity, B) exotic pathogens, or C) zombies, the way so many other apocalyptic scenarios do.
But nope. Snowzilla didn’t come close to wreaking the sort of havoc I’ll need in order to start over with a clean slate and assumed name (I’m thinking Demitri Papageorgio).
Oh, sure, it snowed, and pretty hard, too. The wind howled, the flakes piled up. But by noon of “the morning after” most of the main streets were clear and it was back to business as usual.
The sort of folks who tape black plastic over their windows every time Homeland Security raises the government’s National Threat Level (remember that?) from green to blue came up from their cellars and began phoning friends and family to make sure nobody had resorted to cannibalism.
In short, no Armageddon. Again.
It really ticks me off, being teased this way by meteorologists. I’ve been preparing for the end of the world for decades and these near misses are getting frustrating!
When I say “preparing for the end,” I don’t mean I run around the woods wearing camouflage clothing and carrying a paintball gun with a bunch of like-minded nuts. My preparation is of a slightly more passive variety; namely, watching all three Mad Max movies (none of which cover snow-related disasters, by the way).
Actually, I’m kind of glad the world didn’t end, even though it’s darn inconvenient for yours truly. When it does happen (any day now, I’m sure), I’m hoping for the sort of end that leaves behind some zombies.
Maybe I’ll be able to train ‘em to shovel all this snow.
More Reality Check online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.mlive.com. Email Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.
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