My own little Apocalypse

You never want the apocalypse. All that death and dying and eating of re-hydrated food your mother-in-law, the zealot, bought you for Christmas one year. Sure, Mom, thanks for the bucket of food pellets. It'll go great with the sweater from last year... It tastes like gravel too

 

I should say, "you never want the apocalypse;" I, on the other hand, relish the chance to expand my culinary horizons. When all hell breaks loose, who will stop me from hunting bear or wolf or... zombie. Zombie apocalypse... If they eat you there's more for me. I guess they could get me too though. But then it's all eating all the time. That may not be too bad, really. Fresh meat? Brains? Organs. Smorgasbord!

So, if you would, keep eating your Beef Wellingtons and Lobster Thermidores. I'd prefer you weren't stringy.

Done