But rather than hunkering down in said vault with porno mags, cans of beans, and the complete Lost on DVD, the Norwegians are doing something even crazier: filling it with seeds. And trust me, it's way less arousing than it sounds.
Scientists have collected, frozen, and entombed more than 2 billion seeds from millions of plant species, hoping that in the case of a War Games scenario, the vault can be opened and provide humanity with instant food. Well, "instant" give or take a few seasons of cultivating fallow, irradiated soil with no tools while trying to fend off hordes of shambling mutants.
It's kind of like the Veggie Tales version of Noah's Ark, except with more seeds and without being a laughable superstition. No, you know what it's like? It's like Titan A.E. What? No one saw Titan A.E.? Okay, moving on.
This is a failure. Not in planning or engineering, but in imagination. You've got the world's biggest time capsule, and you're going to fill it with seeds? Seeds? Come off it Norway. I can think of ten things off the top of my head that would better occupy a Doomsday Vault. And here they are.
Who, you ask, is Umberto Billo? He's an ex-porter at a Venetian hotel who was recently fired for being “too exhausted to carry customers' luggage.” Why the exhaustion? Because he was busy bedding 8,000 women over the course of three years. If there was ever a man fit to repopulate the Earth, it's this guy. Just throw him, Gene Simmons, and Wilt Chamberlain's corpse in there and bring on the nukes.
I'm not saying it'd be particularly useful, but it sure is meta, and Jesus what a mind-fuck. I mean, what's inside that vault? Another, even tinier vault? Dare we find out?
In the Fallout games there's a thing called the Garden of Eden Creation Kit, which does exactly what the name promises. Don't you think maybe instead of focusing our scientists' efforts on harvesting seeds, we should be investing some time in perfecting this fairly straightforward instant Eden technology? I mean, the design's already there, they just need to build the thing! Now I'm not an idiot; I know the difference between fantasy and reality. I'm just saying, let's ask Batman about it. That guy has the hook up.
Sure it won't save anyone, but at least in thousands of years when aliens find our planet charred and lifeless, our bleached skulls half-buried by dust and worn smooth by wind and time, they can look at all the shit in the vault and not feel so bad about it.
The Norwegians claim the seeds in the vault are primarily intended to help repopulate crop species that go extinct. Fuck. That. What about the animals, man? You ever think of them? What, there's not enough room in your precious vault for some frozen Blue Whale sperm? Maybe some Koala eggs? My guess is the pasty-white Norwegians are just too pussified to harvest the stuff. Hey, Norway: I'm always available, and I've never been afraid of getting my hands dirty. Hands, mouth, upper thigh; it's all cool.
In the post-apocalyptic wasteland to come, only the strong will survive, and it's our duty to help push natural selection forward, providing only the most robust, aggressive humans the opportunity to perpetuate the species. Imagine the scene: the survivors have trudged for miles across the Ashen Sea, leaving their dead where they fall, wondering idly when they'll be forced to turn to cannibalism. Suddenly, they come upon the open vault. The guy that gets to that cheeseburger? He's our man.
Let's face facts: if the nukes have gone off, or the tides risen and crops failed, or the supervolcano erupted, or the monkeys rebelled, there's not a high probability anyone's going to make it out alive. So we might as well guarantee the last few a good time, right? I mean hell, WWJD?
Because nothing eases the life of an apocalypse survivor like some post-apocalyptic existential fiction on the nature of human evil. Mmmm, them's good reads.
Kind of a no-brainer, guys.
All I need's my wireless internet, a few cases of Top Ramen, a handle of Vodka, and a toilet and/or coffee can and I'm good to go. So long cruel world, hello eternity of solemn contemplation, furious masturbation, and constant inebriation.
When not blogging for Cracked, Michael makes doom-prophesying videos as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren't Muskets!