There’s really no end-of-the-world scenario I can imagine where I’m not the first to go. If aliens invaded, they’d know right away that I’m not strong or coordinated enough to keep as a human slave and that my body is far too ravaged to conduct any meaningful experiments on. I mean, if you’re a superior alien race ransacking earth for servants and test subjects, you’re not gonna kidnap a three-hundred-pound homosexual with seasonal depression and hay fever. If a zombie virus struck, I know my luscious, doughy body would be too irresistible to go undetected on the streets. (I have no doubt that my layers of fat have created the perfect marbling and that I would be absolutely delicious.) If a contagion swept the country, I know my immune system would put up almost no fight. And I know I’m barely tough enough to defend myself against a robot vacuum, let alone a robot army, should one suddenly rise against humanity. I know that I can’t run fast enough to stay out of reach, that I take far too many naps to stay alert for danger, and that my past experience with group projects would make it impossible for me to live in a community of survivors without having a meltdown resulting in my inevitable exile.

But the real problem—the one that would almost certainly get me killed long before the nuclear radiation charred my body from the inside out—is that I have absolutely no conceivable real-world skills. I can’t defend myself. I can’t cook for myself. I can barely gather supplies. The contents of my fridge is currently four cans (yes, cans) of sparkling wine, an expired carton of milk, and a plastic container of sliced watermelon that I bought because I find cutting my own watermelon to be too much work. In my cabinets, there is only a single box of brown rice that I never finished because brown rice is disgusting and an old bag of stroganoff noodles that I bought for a slow cooker recipe but never bothered to cook because slow cookers make you think about what you want to eat for dinner ten hours in advance, and I can only think about what I’m eating as it’s entering my body. The only things I am well stocked in are whiskey and face moisturizer, and I can’t exactly eat either of those. If the world came crashing down right this moment, I’d have enough supplies to last a few hours at best before I’d be forced to go out into nature, where I’d be inevitably mauled, eaten, or enslaved.