I’m running out of fucking patience when it comes to listening to other’s fantasy-driven apocalyptic perversions. There seems to be a bizarre belief among many men who’ve watched 28 Days Later, 2012, and The Road – one too many times – that a sudden, unexpected cataclysmic event would somehow allow them to effectively prove their manhood in the resulting suburban wasteland. It’s almost as if their conscious mind has allowed Hollywood to convince their subconscious that years of playing Halo, guzzling Bud Light, and watching the Ultimate Fighting Championship, has conveniently transformed them into secret Mad Max clones who prowl around on riding lawn mowers behind white picket fences. Despite being severed from the harsh realities of the natural world in every conceivable way, they’re fooled into believing that just beneath the surface they possess not only the will to kill often and without hesitation, but also a bottomless reservoir of physical, psychological, and emotional toughness and resilience, preternatural resourcefulness, and complete indifference to pain, suffering, and loss. In addition to all of that, they entertain the delusional notion that a fierce reptilian instinct of self-preservation is lying dormant within the recesses of their brains, waiting to pounce in the face of imminent worldwide destruction. After all, with a basement chock-full of canned soup, flashlight batteries, and Wal-Mart’s shotgun shells, what could possibly go wrong?