Surely by now many readers should have seen the article in The New Yorker about The Really Big One. If not, just go to facebook or type it in to google. I’d be sure to include words like New Yorker and Earthquake and not just punch in really big one, but it ain’t my call. You also don’t have to read it because I am about to sum it up.
In short, it is a well executed article that would make George R.R. Martin blush. A long forgotten disaster, a society of humans too ignorant and self involved to care and then more death than anyone can shake a stick at! In a matter of minutes the pacific northwest from British Columbia to somewhere in California will be swallowed by the earth and then the tsunami is going to rock the shit out of its sloppy seconds.
In the aftermath, zillions will be dead or homeless. It will be just like The Walking Dead, but without the zombies. No running water, no electricity, no shitters. Food will be scarce. Everyone will be killing each other. In other words, it will be the longest Monday any of us have ever known.
My first thought after reading the article was one of my most used and often unrecognized movie quotes, “It’s time to call a realtor.” (Mr. Boogedy 1986) Followed by none of us should be here! Why do any of us live here? “Get away from the water! Get away from the water!”
Once the initial panic subsided – hours later – I started playing out scenarios in my head. I mean the earthquake in the article apparently strikes the entire coast with a 9.2 or 9.4 rating. All the scenarios up and down the coast are like that. I am not saying it couldn’t happen, what the hell do I know? What I am saying is, there has got to be some variables. Earthquakes have epicenters, a point where it radiates from. This seemed like there was a fresh epicenter for each scenario down the entire subduction zone. Maybe the dot on the news cast map – that none of us pacific northwesterners will ever see – will be larger than usual.
The article got the point across, Roland Emmerich couldn’t have done it better himself. Seriously, he couldn’t have. We should be prepared! However, if it hits with such ferocity, North America as a whole, is kind of screwed. The economy is going to take a hit. A lot of tax money will be spent here. Without Adam Sandler and Kevin James to reel in mid westerner’s money at the movies, is there any reason to carry on?
I guess before we all pack our bags, we should ask ourselves. Would we rather die in the pacific northwest or in Arizona? An Arizona death probably entails heat stroke, rabies contracted from a coyote, a scorpion bite, or most likely, a gun!
For now, I am going to keep my friends close and my enemies closer. That way I get the satisfaction of watching them die a gruesome death. Sure I may be smiling like Wednesday Addam’s as the smart car flys out the sky and lands on me and Pauly Shore – who happens to be the driver of said car – says “Sorry Bu-uuuuuuuddy, Aaaaooooo.” But I think I would rather croak here than anywhere else. I think. Oh dang, here comes that survival instinct again.