The End Is Near!

My Cleveland Rocks series will resume tomorrow.  You don't want to miss it.

The pressure of 80+ hour work weeks for the past year and a half seems to be taking it's toll on Mr. Weasel.  Any of you who have been reading here for a while know how much I love the Mr. and that I would never, ever, disparage him on the Internet.  However, Eldest Weasel(16) and I think that this is too funny not to share.

For a while now, Mr. Weasel has been speculating about the collapse of our society being on the horizon, thanks to high taxes during a massive recession, unsustainable debt and spending by the government.

Now I agree that these are all very detrimental things that need to be righted before things in this country get worse, but I don't see the collapse of local law enforcement, food shortages or loss of access to clean water lingering just around the corner.

The other day, being the darling man that he is, Mr. Weasel did the grocery shopping to replenish the pantry and fridge that the locusts Weasels managed to empty while I was in Cleveland.  While unpacking the bags, I came across some rather strange purchases for the Weasel household.

That's right, Canned Whole Chicken, Canned Beef Stew, Canned Chunk Chicken and Canned Chicken and Dumplings.  There were also 4 cans of beef ravioli, but to Mr. Weasels dismay, the Weasels ate those. They were the only part of this purchase that any Weasels would ever even consider eating.

Me:  What's all this?
Mr. W:  I'm stocking up on canned goods to prepare for the collapse of civilization!
Me: ???????? (complete with look of concern for Mr. W's mental health.  Besides, I'd sooner eat the dog than Canned Whole Chicken.)
Mr. W:  I'm going to buy a few cans each paycheck so that we have a one month stock of food when everything collapses!  (In the happily excited vernacular of a 10 year old who is telling of his plan to build a rocket ship in the backyard.)

I tried not to laugh although nothing could hide the amused smirk I was now wearing, but that plan was blown out of the water immediately upon making eye contact with Eldest Weasel, who was having the same types of thoughts that I was.

Me:  So, where do you plan on storing all of this food stock, the bomb shelter?
Mr. W:  I'm not going to share with you when the time comes.

In the mean time, Eldest and I have a regular running joke going about Canned Chicken.  Eldest has asked me, "Mom, why don't you stop him?  He's nuts!".  My answer, "Dad's happy, it's harmless and I get a blog post and a few laughs out of the deal".

Mr. Weasel mildly protested about me posting this.  Not because he is embarrassed by it, but he doesn't want you all breaking down my door when society collapses because you know where the canned food stockpile is. This is the first time I have over ruled such a request, but I do request that you refrain from assaulting my super secret undisclosed location when the time comes.

*Come back tomorrow for Part IV of Cleveland Rocks, complete with a fantasmic, giveaway.