Explorer: And right here are the Rocky Moun&mdash;no wait, just another barren wasteland.

Explorer: And right here are the Rocky Moun—no wait, just another barren wasteland.

Post-apocalyptic Expedition

- One day before technology that makes everyone live forever is invented
- One hour before all the nuclear powers sign a treaty renouncing their nuclear weapons
- Right before you set the record straight once and for all
- Right after you set the record straight once and for all
- Before you find out that all girls don&rsquo;t have cooties
- While an astronaut is still stranded on Mars
- Right after you say, &ldquo;What could possibly go wrong?&rdquo;
- April Fool&rsquo;s Day
- Right after conquering your greatest fear
- After alluding to a surprise gift by telling someone, &ldquo;You have no idea what&rsquo;s coming for you.&rdquo;
- Just before you call your parents without context to tell them you love them
- 9/11/2002
- After renouncing your Calvinist belief in predetermination
- Right after you get invited to the cool kids&rsquo; table
- Right after you nervously laugh and say, &ldquo;Man, I sure hope those aren&rsquo;t my last words!&rdquo;
- When a TV show leaves you on a cliffhanger
- When you totally clicked the &ldquo;conventional strike&rdquo; button
- Before you win the lottery that you rigged
- After the first strike failed and you were all kind of relieved by that
- While there is already another extinction-level nuclear war in progress
- After your child wrote to Santa asking for a nuclear war for Christmas
- When your mom says to you, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to start the New Year off with a bang!&rdquo;
- Black Friday, because we won&rsquo;t get those deals for another year
-&nbsp; Just after the generals realized they&rsquo;d read the president&rsquo;s nuclear strike orders upside down (he&rsquo;d actually said no strike!)
- When you&rsquo;re the president so everyone thinks it&rsquo;s your fault
- When you&rsquo;re the vice president so there&rsquo;s nothing you can really do about it
- Veterans Day
- My birthday

- One day before technology that makes everyone live forever is invented
- One hour before all the ...

Times That an Extinction-Level Nuclear War Would Really Suck

Nuclear warheads dropping near the die table. Bombs away, babes. Time for a quick game to 11 before we trade the table for wood to build the new ark. Passive income. No better way to negotiate denuclearization than with a couple Russian studs. Ratio? Terrible. Russian studs? Гей.
My boy Zander lays it right in the cup when the phone rings. The Kappa from last night? Nah, her sister. Actually it is America, the President, to be precise. He tells us that the Civil Rights Movement has concluded, and it has terrible implications for next year&rsquo;s Halloween party theme. Meanwhile the Russians keep asking to play chess, and as this nation&rsquo;s top diplomat it is my job to look him straight in the fucking eye, like come on buddy, I don&rsquo;t go to Harvard I go to ASU, Ass sTitties University.
Now this commie fuck tosses the die up, and it soars with alacrity, wings sprouting from its bosom, no longer tethered to the world we live in nor our petty human desires. This is a die for the books, for the Lord&rsquo;s books, as it reaches up into the heavens, grabbing in its arc a handful of the angels&rsquo; divine light, before caressing the beer like &mdash; well, like my face did to those Kappa yiddies. The commie looks at me and smiles: &ldquo;Sig Ep, Moscow Chapter.&rdquo;
No fuckin&rsquo; way dude. And as if he couldn&rsquo;t get any fuckin&rsquo; cooler, he tells the war to fuck off, and yosses us this absolute baddie. She&rsquo;s smoking hot, Russian, 10/10, but then she opens up, and another IG model comes out, and then another baddie comes out of her, and on and on. War? Averted. Ratio? Saved. It&rsquo;s a Matryoshka doll of smokeshows.

Nuclear warheads dropping near the die table. Bombs away, babes. Time for a quick game to 11 before ...

Cold War Frat Boy

- $5 for the right half of your front door.
- I&rsquo;m sorry, who are you?
- A new customer. $5. Final offer.
- It&rsquo;s, uh, it&rsquo;s not for sale. Do you live in this neighborhood?
- Fine, $8, but I get the whole door.
- Nothing here is for sale. This is my house.
- Hmm&hellip; how much for your kid?
- $20.
- 15, and I get the rest of your kids too.
- Deal.

- $5 for the right half of your front door.
- I’m sorry, who are you?
- A new customer. $5. Final ...

Garage Sale

Half-way through my pilgrimage to Mecca, I decided I&rsquo;m actually going to be agnostic.&nbsp;
Earlier today, my spiritual guide got stung by a desert scorpion. His last words were, &ldquo;there is no life after death.&rdquo; Bummer. Could you imagine those being your last words? Mine would be something cool, like &ldquo;Yes, Mr. President, I do know all the moves to the Macarena.&rdquo;
Separately, I&rsquo;m starting to have doubts about God. Is there any point in donating to the poor? Can I no longer use praying as an excuse for taking action? Is my spiritual guide dead if he&rsquo;s still gurgling? I don&rsquo;t know. And I don&rsquo;t care. I&rsquo;m starving out here. I&rsquo;d challenged myself to fast during the pilgrimage, and I think this lack of food may be making me hungry. But in the desert, it&rsquo;s hard to know anything for sure.&nbsp;
I need to get out of here alive. There&rsquo;s only so much sand a man can eat before he starts to think, &ldquo;Damn, I wish I weren&rsquo;t eating sand right now.&rdquo; Not to mention the heat&rsquo;s making all the other people in my caravan delirious, so I have to drag the corpse of our spiritual guide all on my own, while they just stare at me blankly and eat from their fruit baskets.
At this point, the whole &ldquo;not believing in God&rdquo; thing is starting to make sense. I mean, I&rsquo;ve never actually seen the guy. So why bother in believing at all? Now when my 10-year old son asks me to come to his next talent show, I don&rsquo;t have to waste my time believing in him.
Anyway, I finally arrive in Mecca, and a light flashes before my eyes&mdash;shit. Without realizing it, I&rsquo;d circled the Kaaba seven times, completing the pilgrimage. &ldquo;Oh God,&rdquo; I say as God appears before me. He calls my agnosticism foolish and slaps me. Whatever, I&rsquo;m hungry.

Half-way through my pilgrimage to Mecca, I decided I’m actually going to be agnostic. 
Earlier toda...

Mecca

If you&rsquo;re reading this, congratulations: you&rsquo;ve caught my note! Please save me. A few weeks ago, I signed up for a group trial for &ldquo;living in the sky&rdquo; because I thought it&rsquo;d be cool. The next thing I know, I&rsquo;m standing in the courtyard of a sprawling 72,000 sq. ft. estate resting on a couple of altocumuli in the troposphere. No one else in my group showed up.
I can probably guess what you&rsquo;re thinking. I&rsquo;ll keep that thought to myself. But speaking of thinking, I should&rsquo;ve done some before living on a cloud. All I&rsquo;ve eaten the past two weeks is cloud moisture and a passing bird. It takes eating 10 clouds to not be parched, and that depends on their size, density, and how thirsty you are from all the birds you&rsquo;ve eaten.&nbsp;
It&rsquo;s scary that if I step outside of my house, I fall to the ground at a velocity that guarantees death. Basic physics, apparently. Wish I&rsquo;d known that before I accidentally bumped the housekeeper out the backdoor last week&ndash; a tragedy, really&ndash; though, she kept taking the silverware, so I guess you could also say she had it coming.
My family&rsquo;s somewhere down there. So is my second family. And all this time alone has allowed for some ethical introspection&ndash;&nbsp; a silver lining to the whole situation&ndash; and now I&rsquo;m finally ready to man up and reconnect with my third family. God, it&rsquo;ll be nice to take that weight off my burdened shoulders.
So, I&rsquo;m ready to face my fears. People need me down there. I&rsquo;ve got a dentist appointment later today, and I&rsquo;ve already rescheduled once. And thanks to you, I&rsquo;ll make it. Thanks to you, I will get to see my lovely families. Because as you&rsquo;ve been reading this letter, I jumped from the house at an angle that allows me to perfectly land on you and survive the fall. Unlike me, you, however, will almost certainly die. But don&rsquo;t worry (and don&rsquo;t move!), you won&rsquo;t die just yet. You have till the end of this note.

If you’re reading this, congratulations: you’ve caught my note! Please save me. A few weeks ago, I s...

A Note From the House in the Clouds

- Don&rsquo;t tell his parents.
- Tell his parents, but don&rsquo;t tell them it was you.
- Tell his parents, but don&rsquo;t tell them who you pushed off the cliff.
- Apologize.
- Jump with him so that no one can figure out who pushed who, and you get off scot-free.
- Toss him a couple of books. He&rsquo;s gonna be down there for a while.
- Smile! You&rsquo;re going to want to look good in the videos all those bystanders are taking.&nbsp;
- As he falls, scream to him that you pushed him off so that he could learn to fly, like a mother would have to her baby bird. That way, he won&rsquo;t die thinking this is your fault.
- Don&rsquo;t look down. It&rsquo;s quite frightening.
- Take in your surroundings. What a view!
- Move the tectonic plates in a way that raises the land below the cliff to the cliff&rsquo;s level, making it so that the guy never actually &ldquo;fell.&rdquo;
- Realize that life is short and that you should cherish every moment of it.
- Shoot him repeatedly to make sure he doesn&rsquo;t survive the fall. There&rsquo;s only room for one of you in this world.
- Don&rsquo;t cry. This is no time for weakness.
- Tell his kids a bedtime story later that night. Those munchkins won&rsquo;t go to bed without one.
- Finish your ice cream before it melts.

- Don’t tell his parents.
- Tell his parents, but don’t tell them it was you.
- Tell his parents, ...

What to Do When You Accidentally Push a Guy off a Cliff

Greetings, assembled cabinet ministers of the Soviet Union. I have a confession to make. I am not actually Dmitri, the clumsy yet lovable head of security of the Kyrgyz SSR. I am Jeff, national head of the Union of Undercover CIA Operatives in the Kremlin, and we demand a raise.
This protest is not meant for you all but rather my boss back home, who is listening through the bug I planted years ago in the ceiling fan. Please act as though I&rsquo;m not here and resume your meeting, but I will have to remain standing on top of this table so that the mic picks up my voice.
Dear Langley, over the past two decades we have prevented multiple extinction-level nuclear wars between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R, despite receiving no additional compensation. As a result, most CIA operatives in the Kremlin are financially struggling. The rest are dead.
I have worn many hats during my time in Russia, but it is fair to say that I spend every waking moment of my life in fear that it&rsquo;s the last one. Then when I&rsquo;m sleeping, I enter a trance state where my life flashes before my eyes in a perpetual loop, a reel of my successes and failures. My mother and father stand at my grave, shaking their heads in disappointment. Despite my accomplishments, they are not proud of me, and I learn that I will forever be a stain on the family legacy. It&rsquo;s normally around this point in the dream that I wake up, screaming and questioning my entire existence. In light of that, I think it&rsquo;s fair to say that $10.50 an hour isn&rsquo;t really cutting it.
Other times I just lay there in the Kremlin air ducts for 16 hours a day making little tip-tap noises along the walls so they think they have rodents to bankrupt them with pest extermination costs. And then when they bring in the pest exterminators I have to squeal like a dying rat and inhale toxic fumes and then the next day when I&rsquo;m back undercover as the chief economic minister for Kyrgyzstan I have to try not to cough when outlining our next five year plan. And all the other economic ministers look at each other like, who&rsquo;s this guy and why does he keep coughing.
Anyway, the Russians are now dragging me away to the execution chamber, but I hope this touched the hearts of everyone back home. I will not rest until&mdash;(he is no longer in range of the bug&rsquo;s mic).

Greetings, assembled cabinet ministers of the Soviet Union. I have a confession to make. I am not ac...

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