Our only hope is simple -- Corey Feldman's "Feldmansion." We've covered Corey and his scrappy party palace/temple to Corey Feldman before. It seems to be very similar to Redman's crib, except multi-leveled and full of questionable women, but devoid of a useful fridge-top dollar box. And his music video for "Ascension Millennium" seems like he's got his finger on the pulse of the end of man's pulse.

Why Corey's place exactly? By all accounts, Feldmansion is hygienically unsavory. It's not a location where one expects to find hand sanitizer or where you would ever want to turn on a black light. The likelihood you'll develop immunity to all manner of illness and infection by being exposed to every bacterium and virus known and yet unknown to man within its walls is great.

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He can also teach you how to become immune to weak mortal concepts like "dignity" and "self-respect."

In fact, if children were required to spend a year boarding at Feldmansion, we might see fewer of these allergies that have cropped up since the prevalence of antibacterial soap.

We've crammed so much technology into what used to be basic machinery (and then abused the shit out of these things) that the possibility they'll become evilly sentient seems more of an eventuality. It's already been documented that our cars can easily be hacked. And that we're endlessly screwing with the "mental stability" of artificial intelligence because ... well, science! You put those things together and next thing you know a Green Goblin rig will be circling your truck stop diner.

When that happens, you want to hightail it to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. There you have two solid groups with which to align yourself: the Amish and the woodland-dwelling drunk crazy guys with guns. None of them is going to die by getting beaned in the skull by a soda can projectile. They are far too Luddite-centric and/or weaving drunk for that.

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Plus you just know that the horse buggy has been waiting for payback against those stuck-up, motorized job thieves.

If you're a woman of childbearing age, you'll pretty much be able to waltz in and take a spot in one of their machineless fortified cabins. Everyone else better have useful skills or appendages, like meaty butter-churning arms. Those guys will carry no water for the useless.

But for the sake of space limitations, let's just go with fundamentalist Christianity's Rapture, which involves the good and pure being taken, body and all, into the heavens and everyone else getting ditched in a hell on Earth, like some terrible R-rated adaptation of Home Alone where 75 percent of the cast dies.

True, the Left Behind series of books and films are gushing founts of post-Rapture warning and guidance. Trouble is, those were created by people who are convinced they'll be sucked up into the sky, leaving piles of sensible clothing behind. That's like taking marriage advice from tapeworms. What do tapeworms know? They'll never get married. And, if they're right, the Left Behind people won't be the ones left behind, so why listen to them?

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Do you really want to trust the judgment of people who have cast Kirk Cameron and Nicolas Cage as their lead character?

As far as we're concerned -- and the chance we'll be left behind is great to entirely without doubt -- your best post-Rapture bet is Branson, Missouri. This family-friendly entertainment destination is extremely popular with folks who self-identify as believers. So after the ascension, you can cloak your body from evil by draping it with wholesome puppets and the still piously scented sweatshirts crumpled in piles along 76 Country Boulevard. And it'll be possible to almost never hunker down in the same theater twice. Monday, it's a cozy corner of Yakov Smirnoff Theater, and the next day, how about Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede?

Scientists discovered 1,000 new underground species just by kicking around at the dirt in the Australian Outback, so we can only assume there are many more thousands of Descent-like horror shows lying in wait below.

The good news is that their weakness would likely be what they crave -- light. So when they climb from the damp caverns with their clay-crusted claws, we ought to go where it's daylight most of the time. One of those Scandinavian places is a good bet.

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Pack a lunch. Trust us.

The tricky part is that it's not daylight anywhere all the time. We shouldn't forget the valuable lesson learned from the comic and film 30 Days of Night -- even though it does deal with a vampire attack, which is utterly ridiculous. Any location that has long stretches of nightlessness will alternately have long stretches of daylessness. You do not stick around during the dayless times. That's when they drag you under an outbuilding and eat you alive.

We can probably expect them to be underground-stupid at first, lacking the understanding that artificial light is connected to wires that they can cut to make the light go away. However, once they do figure that out, you will be out of luck, Eloi.