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When we were raised, our mothers told us we were special and our media told us everyone else was child molesters. This led to an entire generation of people cynical enough to think the world was going to end, and self-centered enough to think it would happen while we were on it. If doctors had a name for it, it'd be apocalypsurbation. Personally, I grew up in a household that ran regular nuclear winter drills. We reloaded our own ammunition, canned our own food, stabilized our own gasoline storage and by the age of 10 I'd shot and killed so many paper plate targets that to this day I go for my gun when I see people handing out birthday cake. Writing a step-by-step instruction manual to every apocalyptic situation is impossible. For example, if you live in a large city center, you'd want a book that's simply 200 pages of screamable quotes you can select from before you're immediately dead. Plus, there's a huge difference in apocalypse survival between The Day After Stage and the LME (or Last-Man-on-Earth) Stage. In The Day After Stage, you'll still have luxuries like emergency broadcasts and lootable grocery stores. In the LME Stage, your schedule will change quite a bit. You might not be the literal Last Man on Earth, but you can pretty much count on all the other ones wanting to kill you and eat you. Because there is so much variation to plan for, I'm giving you a single personal trait you'll want to focus on for each type of global catastrophe.
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Let's look at the facts. Fact 1: The average nerd spends three hours a day thinking about the zombie apocalypse. Fact 2: A study done by the National Center For Disease Control found that for every zombie survival plan you have, you are 100 percent less likely to have a sexually transmitted disease. Fact 3: The same study found that after 10 fully-realized zombie survival plans, the planner's penis actually retreats up into the body where it plays Nintendo with his uteral mucus plug. Despite modern fiction trends, the zombie apocalypse probably won't involve fast zombies. Slow undead put enough strain on science, let's not further complicate things by pretending that a shambling pile of rigor mortis and congealed blood would have a top speed over two miles-per-hour.