(A lot of people have written things lately like “How To Talk To Your Daughter About Miley Cyrus” or “What I Want My Son To Know About Pinterest”, but I thought this was a much more pressing topic.)
I have done my best to raise you, and protect you, and love you, but one day, I will not be around to do that anymore. It won’t be due to old age, or disease,… well, it will be partly because of disease, since the water will be all irradiated and will do some nasty things to my internal organs, but it will mostly be due to you, stabbing me and taking my supplies. At my behest, of course.
You see, right now, your main concerns are your iPhone and whether or not it’s appropriate to twerk. I’m sorry that, in the year 2013, where we should be far more free-thinking and advanced than we are, the biggest issue for young women is whether or not they should be allowed to rhythmically move their butt cheeks. I didn’t expect it either, but hey, Pacific Rim was terrible, so you can’t really predict anything.
But soon, your troubles will only extrapolate. You see, just as you pulled what little change I had from my pockets as I gurgled blood, lying on my back in the wasteland heat, you’re already being watched by zombies and marauders or a mix of both. The first is pretty easy to take care of. You aim for the head, and you never stop aiming for the head. That’s the quickest way to take them down. Dismember them if you want, but in the end, stab them in the brain so that they don’t end up eating yours’. If I turn into a zombie, cut off my head and make a bomb out of it, because bandit raiders will think it’s weird that suddenly a human head is being thrown at them, but they’ll think it’s even more weird (and burn-ey) when there are explosives attached to it. Hell, make a bomb out of my head, zombie or not. It’s your call, really.
You shall be feared.
Marauders will be way harder to deal with, and you can be a marauder if you want. You can be anything you want. I would’ve said that last sentence first, but considering that the economy and society has melted down by this point, a lot of jobs will be rendered pointless. People are going to try and put you in a box, figuratively, and since it’s the lawless, terrifying apocalypse, literally too, but use your twin swords to cut through that box and be who you want to be.
Carry only what is necessary to survive. Your Dad thought it would be a good idea to pack books, since I imagined that there would be some down time to read in between hiding from all the assaults made by nuked mega scorpions. Remember that first fire we had, up on the peak, watching the smoldering ruins of our home town? That was A Storm of Swords. Oh, and that torch that I tossed you when we were defending ourselves from those amphibious cannibals in the sewer? That came from some Hunter S. Thompson. Material goods aren’t the key to happiness. They can surely make you happy, but that happiness is always fleeting, as material goods fade or break. They also cause back problems, since I just HAD TO BRING that copy of Watchmen.
If there’s one thing that I ask, it’s that you be nice to animals. Get a dog, preferably one that can navigate craggy mountain sides with ease, and can rip out the throats of ogre men who try to ambush you in the city ruins. A lot of animals will be transformed into giant versions of themselves due to all the chemical reactions, but I’m sure that a few dogs will left that just want food and pets on the head. In exchange for that, they will be a constant companion. Also, when silhouetted against the shadows, you will look fucking rad if there is a shadow of a dog next to you.
Most zombie/apocalypse movies treat their women like they’re thumbless idiots for the first half of the movie, as if ladies suddenly lose all motor control when they’re handed a gun, or forget what a baseball bat is whenever they’re forced to use a baseball bat. Daughter, you don’t need a training montage to learn common sense. When faced with a horde of the undead, I severely doubt that you’ll have a problem learning what the trigger on a pistol causes it to do.
Like real life, you’re going to meet a lot of men who wear disguises and try to hide who they really are. This is a metaphor now, but it will become a lot more prevalent in the future, when most male attire consists of loin clothes, mohawks, and leather gimp masks. If you smell bullshit, it probably is bullshit. There are really good men out there, but unless you’re lucky, you’re going to be beheading a lot of feral warriors before you do. Heartbreak is a part of life. You deal with it, and you move on.
Lastly, be the change that you wish to see in the world. I tried to find out who wrote this motivational quote, but the Neo Government Watchdogs have been hacking my computer feeds. This really puts a damper on getting word out to the rest of the rebellion survivors, along with trying to stay updated with the streams of the latest episode of Better Call Saul. All that nonsense aside, it’s not enough to say things. Everyone says things. It’s really easy to say “This is wrong,” but to do something about it is worthy of respect. Stand up for what you believe in and pursue the things that you see as needing pursuing. To shout at a problem or a goal is nice, because it will eventually tire you out to the point that you can take a nap, but actively trying to achieve something is infinitely more rewarding.
In conclusion, daughter, I didn’t plan for this apocalypse. No one did, but when we hid in Bunker 113 with the rest of the townsfolk as the warheads dropped above us, I knew that life will never be the same. I’m not begging you to carry on my legacy or anything, I simply would like you to live happily and healthily, and kill as many zombies as you can. Seriously, that zombie bite I had that made us cut off my left arm hurt something awful. I hate those creeps.