My Twitter friend, Bridget, is guest posting today!! She is my first guest blogger ever and I am very excited to have her.  I asked her to talk about what’s after the universe.  What I meant was, what’s after space, like when astronomers are studying space, there is an end to the stars and planets and stuff.  And then I realized that is really ambiguous and maybe I took too many astronomy classes in college and think too much.  I really like Bridget’s take on my question, which is totally different than I thought.  Makes this much better.  Thanks, Bridget!

Just so you know, I am an expert about the End of the World. Not sure how
it happened, but it’s now an indisputable fact that I am absolutely the
only person you should listen to about what’s going to happen in our dark
and distant future. It’s kind of like a gift, only scarier.

That’s right, I said distant. Don’t go thinking there’s some easy credit
fix coming your way. The End of the World isn’t going to happen for 100,
200, maybe 50 years. The exact timing is hard to predict though. I don’t
look like Rasputin, do I? I mean, maybe in the right light. It’s that steel
glint of meanness. It sparkles in the sunlight right before it Burns Your
Soul Out.

Specifically, today Ms. Grace wanted me to talk to you about an exciting
opportunity; what happens AFTER the End of the World.  Listen up people,
don’t let this gem pass you by.

Right. So, after the plagues have ripped through our genetic pool, the
oceans have covered the Sinful Shores, the tallest monuments in the world
have been laid waste by the deadliest weapons, and Atlanta has burned and
burned and burned until the famous Southern Sun is only a dimly lit circle
in the black smoke sky. Feral pigs have taken over the scrublands. Gigantic
Carp terrorize the inland oceans. The End of the World is a common
misnomer. It is, in fact, only the end of OUR world. It’s the charred
beginning of another. A brutal primeval place, where life violently pushes
to survive and no organic creature would think twice about ripping your
throat out and using your abdomen for warmth.

Where is your place in this fricasseed wasteland? Well, I mean, not to be
rude, but you’re probably dead. Did you even have a plan? Or were you one
of those suckers praying in the basement of a school somewhere, counting on
the National Guard to bail you out when even the top tiers of government
were fleeing the hinterland. Whatever. Maybe you had a plan. Maybe you
should make one right now. Don’t be a sucker. I guarantee you Glenn Beck
has one, and we can’t let him father the new population, can we?

My plan is that I live in Cleveland. Where the world has already ended, but
we still have a huge reservoir of fresh water and we’re so immunized to
modern chemicals that secretly our skin glows green if we get too angry.
True story.

But Ends of Worlds happen over and over again, so my second plan is to hole
up in the giant salt mines underneath Lake Erie. People think I’m just
frequenting dive bars in western Ohio for the fun of it, and yes I do like
1.00 jello shots, but I’m actually cultivating a network of rough riding
miners who will be my mercenary pack when the shit goes down. They all have
secret names, so I can communicate with them through Craigslist. PolishBear
is my head strategic chief. He has this amazing idea for accumulating all
the abandoned hot dog carts and using them as hydroponic gardens. Then
there is LonelyInLima, who is designing a fabric which will not only suck
up excess radiation, but then temper it to provided Vitamin D to the
wearer. Also a nice tan.

Think about it. An entire community, safe hundreds of feet under the water,
secreted away from marauders, radiation, and disease. And when the world
starts to recover, salt will be a valuable resource to trade goods for.
We’ll be totally rich. Our children will be beautiful. When the deadly
gases finally integrate themselves back into the ecosystem, we’ll already
have a head start as a beacon of the new civilization.

Don’t let those other End of the World plans make a dead zombie sucker out
of you. I don’t care how deep your mine shaft in Nevada is. It’s Nevada.
Why would anyone want to start a new city in the desert? With my community,
you’ll emerge from the Salt Mines into a verdant Eden of farmland and
groundwater reservoirs and wild dairy cows.

Applications are being accepted now and can be emailed by request. Please
include an essay detailing your religious and political upbringing and
views, a recent physical with blood work, and 10,000 by money order for
consideration. Cash will not be accepted. I do not discriminate against
felons; however I will only be considering useful felonies, like murder and
grand larceny. Entertainers need not apply; unfortunately we’re all booked
up on useless attractive people. Kanye, don’t worry, I saved you a bunk
next to mine.

Bridget Callahan

Really, Kanye?  Aren’t you worried he will have his own plan and will constantly be trying to compete with yours and be all like, my secret civilization is so much better than yours?  Too much, I know, the Kanye jokes are old.  Sorry.  Man, I’m going to die.  I’m not a convicted felon or an entertainer. ‘Sigh’