Maybe it’ll be the Russians.
Or maybe it’ll be the zombies.
Or maybe it’ll be crazed scavengers fleeing the crumbling social structure once the oil runs out.
Whatever it is, however it comes, I’m ready. I’ve been ready.
Since I was eight, maybe nine years old, I’ve been ready.
And I’ve prayed for the moment when this facade would fall away and a man’s mettle could finally get tested in the way it should be–survival of the fittest, kill or be killed, dog eat dog.
I’m ready.
I’m ready.
And when the flood waters rise, whose going to be a fringe lunatic then?
