Mashups!

I was up until 2:30 in the morning working on this.

It’s The Little Things

Inauguration Day, 2013

As Western Civilization ambles its way toward total collapse, from the credit crunch and the collapse of the banking industry, my own now included, and the rise of Russia as an honest rival again, while our legal and governmental institutions continue to ossify and prove themselves incapable of moral or even practical action, I can’t help but think we’re on our way to Mad Max, a world of machine-gun equipped roadsters, water tyrants decked out in bondage gear, and transsexual warlords.

So before we’re done hiding from the rioting in the streets, before we gird ourselves in leather jackets and ammo belts to confront the terrifying desert that used to be New York, before we adopt extreme post-apocalypse nicknames like “Turbo” and “Shank,” I’d like to think about all the wonderful little things I’m gonna miss about civilization.

1) Labradoodles.

Yes, Labradoodles. Really, expensive custom dogs. I think they’re stupid and selfish, but I can’t deny their adorableness. Like every sensible person in the world, I like cute things. It’s hard-wired into the brain, and difficult to work around. I know some guys who’ve suppressed the natural reaction to cuteness, and they will be well-equipped for the world of tomorrow, where the only labradoodles left will be feral bands of mutants. The word will be synonomous with “hyena,” and regarded with the same mixture of fear and disgust. They will be the small, fluffy monsters of the road. 

 

2) Bubble Wrap.

Who doesn’t appreciate the simple pleasure of popping bubble wrap? There’s a certain odd satisfaction when the surface finally gives way and the dome collapses, the air released and the whole structure’s integrity fails. I think we mostly appreciate combination of sound and touch, and having that sort of control over it. It’s the simplest of simple games. But in the world of tomorrow, we will not have the time for such things. There will be no bubble wrap. We will be too busy struggling to grow carrots in irradiated soil. And the very last thing in the world we will want will be to know that the dome is collapsing because the surface gave way. We need the dome to survive.

3) Saturday Night Live.

Sure, it isn’t always funny. But it’s a weekly laugh that’s pretty reliable. I’ve been watching it pretty consistently since 1997 or so, when I became old enough to stay up that late, and I’ve been watching through the good times and the bad. From Jim Brewer’s Joe Pesci Show to every single President Bush, there’s never been an episode that hasn’t give me a few chuckles. Running thirty-three seasons now, I’m sure I won’t be the only one to mourn it once NBC is a fading memory of happier times, and the cast of SNL, and their army of squinting, fanatical Ferrellites, is in firm control of Lower Manhattan under the harsh rule of Darrell Hammond.

4) Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, and haven’t since high school. At some point, I sugared myself all out and have never really recovered. But no matter the time or place, nothing will dissuade me from chowing down on some peanut butter cups. It’s chocolate. It’s peanut butter. It’s delicious. It’s a loving combination impossible to resist. And yet, when I’m running from a squad of Eterno-Killers from Beyond the Moon, I doubt very much that they will be on my mind. No, it won’t be until I’m huddled under a small outcropping on a New England cliff face, hiding from roving brigands fighting over the last pack of cigarettes that they even cross my mind. On that day, I will weep bitterly.

5) Wikipedia.

Once upon a time, in the dark ages running up until about 2004, if you were sitting around with a group of friends, wondering who that guy in The Princess Bride was, because he’s in, like, everything, all you’d be able to do is just sit around and wonder. You sure as hell wouldn’t be able to find out what Snickers bars used to be called in the UK, or why Sugar Bear stopped wearing a sweater that said “Vitamin Powered,” or what kinds of grains they grow in Argentina. You couldn’t learn these things. The facts of the world weren’t organized. So, when I’m in my tent with the rest of my party of survivors, and we want to know where to go so that the Doom Hounds won’t kill us, where no Hydro-Kings reign, where the soil is good and the water clean, we won’t be able to find out. We’ll have to rely on guesswork and rumor. Eventually, a great library will be built in the ruins of San Bernadino, and it will be called the Wikipedian Institute. But that is centuries away. 

Share your own.