Yesterday I read The Road by Cormac McCarthy. This is a great book, but for those of you who are not “into grim reading” these days, and you know who you are, don’t read it. It’s a 10 on the grim-o-meter. This is about the end of the world, and not even the world as we currently know it. The end of a worse world, with our world long gone.
Having seen the Road Warrior more times than I can count, a lot of this felt familiar, but it is still a harrowing read. It reaffirmed something I’ve always known about myself. I’d rather be dead than struggling for survival. I’m too lazy to live. Frankly, I can’t even battle three groundhogs and come out on top. Forget about survival of the fittest. The thought of scavenging and hiding, and not having a nice place to go to the bathroom? Nope, no thanks.
So if world powers decide that all-out nuclear war is inevitable, well, I’m painting a big ole bull’s-eye on my roof. Drop the bomb on me, baby.
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