Ingredients (Serves 1)
1 Measure White Rum
1 Measure De Kuyper Cherry Brandy
0.75 Measure De Kuyper Blue Curaçao
4.5 Measures Pineapple Juice
3 Measures Orange Juice
Shake all ingredients together with ice except the De Kuyper Blue Curaçao.
Strain into a highball glass half filled with crushed ice.
Top with De Kuyper Blue Curaçao (do not stir before serving).
Garnish with something suitably alien shaped.
(Original recipe from here)
Has anyone ever noticed in apocalypse movies/tv series, that those who die after the first wave seem to do so more horribly than the ones that go early?
Look at the terrible Skylines for instance. The majority stepped into the light, woke up and before they had time to say ‘alien invasion’ were neatly de brained. A brief flicker of pain and panic and it’s all over. Those that missed it, those that tried to run, hide or fight, they went out screaming after hours of terror, turning on each other and the highly improbable ‘don’t smoke round me coz I’m pregnant’ moment (umm seriously, brain stealing aliens are out there and you are worried about passive smoking?).
28 Days later made an excellent point as well, not all threats are related directly to the apocalypse, seriously, you think you’ve found an organised safe place, a group of army guys with a system but no, they plan to gang rape an underage girl and if you argue they throw you out to the flesh eaters. Charming. Or maybe you die slowly because there is no clean water, nothing to eat, you run and you fight and then you slowly starve to death; joy. Face it, a post apoc future is mostly downsides and ways to die. Really who wants that?
The films almost always make first wave death cleaner, more instant. Independence Day, instant death ray, Autumn mysterious virus wipes out most of the population (The Stand actually shows a slow flu like death with is rather grimmer and bucks the trend), The Stuff, eat something yummy, you’ll never realise you’ve been body snatched by marshmallow fluff.
Given the choice, if you knew you weren’t the hero of the piece so your chances of actually surviving long term were slim, what would you opt for? Would you rather be one of those hit by the virus, the unknowing reanimated who never had to worry about getting eaten alive by zombies, never having to bash a loved ones skull in? Or would you rather fight, take your chances and maybe go out slow and hard, taking as many of the bastards with you as you can?
Me, once I would have said first wave me, instant disintegration is preferable to fighting to survive every single day without reprieve. Now I go the other way, now I’d rather die with my blood spattered boots on.
How about you? Tell us your favourite post first wave movie death moments and whether you’d take the easy way out before the end of Jan (GMT, open internationally). There might be a giveaway attached.
For my second ANOS (apocalypses not otherwise specified) post, I would like to draw your attention to space crickets.
Yes. You read me right. Crickets from space.
Laugh all you like (and I’m sure you are, there may even be a good deal of scornful snorting going on… snort away) because I’m pretty certain Quatermass was laughing too until he clapped eyes on this:
Grotesque and fiendish, yes? Amazing how those plucky, sneaking little insectoid aliens manage to slip beneath the radar in order to pull the kind of fast one that has cricket DNA ridden humans hunting down and killing non-cricket DNA humans in a frenzy of blood-spattered, rabid, eugenically evangelical hatred.
Oh, yes indeed… Make no mistake about it, crickets from space are a definite going concern and if one wishes to prepare for all possible apocalyptic type exterminations of the human race, one needs a solid plan for what I like to call ‘WHEN CRICKETS ATTACK!’
Now that’s not quite got the ring of Crickageddon, I admit, but it’s definitely fulfilling a retro b-movie fetish that lurks, all unbidden, in the festering, unswept corners of my subconscious. Imagine it said in one of those booming, bass-heavy voices filled with an edge of manly hysteria and I think you’ll find it a worthy title for a plan.
So, what in Hades brown pyjamas with the copulating bunnies in gimp masks does this plan consist of, you ask? I shall explain.
A) Steer clear of digs in the underground. If you happen upon, or are involved in, said sort of dig, vacate the premises at once and with due haste should you come across anything resembling a spaceship.
B) If your gobbets of insect DNA gift you with precognitive psychic powers, hang on to the shreds of your humanity with a white-knuckled grip and use those powers for the good of your friends. Fellow cricket DNA possessors may look like friends but, be assured, if step C of this plan goes into action, you’ll not be wanting to explain yourself to any friend left alive when the cricket menace is dealt with. Best to remain loyal, no matter what that devilish cricket DNA is telling you about those lowly, evolutionarily backwards, simian-type relatives you once called fellows.
C) If a towering hologram of a cricket appears anywhere in your neighbourhood, proceed at once to the nearest giant crane and energetically swing said crane into the face of the hologram. That’s a sure fire way to scupper a cricket’s most dastardly plans for world domination. People will thank you… if they have any idea what’s just happened whatsoever. Best not to expect anything, just quietly congratulate yourself and have a nice cup of tea to soothe those wayward nerves.
Now you have the plan in all its glory. Learn it, internalize it. Much like the muscle memory brought about by endless kata it must be set solid into the wobbling matter of your delicate lobes to be called upon at any moment. Then, lightning like, it will enable you to respond to the unholy menace that is unleashed ‘WHEN CRICKETS ATTACK’.
Mock not and heed my words because, let’s face it, we just can’t trust creepy crawlies of any kind, especially not crickets from space who mess with our DNA, bury spacecraft in our underground systems and use giant holograms to direct mass slaughter.
Be safe, be aware, be prepared. Somewhere out there in the deepest dark of the universe, space crickets are plotting our demise…
An easy one to make with the added benefit of having milk in it, thus giving you more calcium for your post-apocalyptic health needs!
Ingredients (Serves 1)
1 measure Vodka
1 measure Kahlua
2 measures Baileys original
1/4 pint milk, any type
6 ice cubes
Place all ingredients and ice in a cocktail shaker. Put on lid and shake vigorously for 20-30 seconds. Strain into a tall glass, preferably pre-chilled.
(Original recipe from here)
As an alien in human form Sally is as likely to cause an apocalypse as she is to have to survive one. If Dick hadn’t insisted on packing his exercise bike she might have used a giant robot in order to teach the Earth a lesson. That said Sally -the only member of her exploration team who took female form- has saved Earth a few times. Most notably she defeated the machinations of the Venusian super models who enthralled the rest of her crew.
What’s her deal:
She’s the security officer and second-in-command of an intergalactic exploration team. She holds the rank of lieutenant, is a decorated veteran, a weapons expert and a lethal killing machine. She was assigned the female gender somewhat unwillingly at first, but after various false starts and a steep learning curve, she soon finds she wouldn’t swap. Sally’s mission is to masquerade as a normal female, American human and it’s one of the toughest challenges she’s ever faced.
Life at the Solomon household is insane as Sally lives with her 3 crewmates, who masquerade as her brothers and nephew in a strange approximation of family life. All 4 learn about human life, but Sally must experience the female condition by herself. She finds love (albeit slowly) with her cop boyfriend, Officer Don Orville. Sally’s sense of self rarely wavers, even if these weird human emotions do.
Research: Third Rock from the Sun, series 1 – 6.
Sally: I injected him with a sedative. I’ve got at least two more hours.
Patty: Oh, we’re like Thelma and Louise, except we just came to the supermarket, and we haven’t killed anyone.
Sally: It’s early yet.
Sally is a seasoned warrior, an intergalactic explorer and a very dangerous woman. She’s perfectly happy with resorting to violence and isn’t afraid of using her womanly wiles (once she’s figured out roughly how they work) to protect the security of the mission.
Also she once beat up Mark Hamill in a restaurant.
We’re not at all worried by the fact that all these cocktails seem to demand ice. Obviously getting enough power on to get a fridge-freezer active is going to be one of the priorities of your post-apocalyptic DIY. Unless you’re in the middle of an icy apocalypse then you can just stick the ice-cube tray out the front door…
Ingredients (Serves 1)
Juice of half a lime
2 measures Gosling’s Black Seal Rum
Add ice to a tall glass. Squeeze limes over the ice, then pour in rum and ginger beer, and stir. Garnish with a slice of lime.
(Original recipe from here)
Drive through Devon and Somerset on Christmas day, through isolated lanes with high hedges and steep drops, with a slate grey sky threatening rain but never quite giving it and you will notice just how lonely a post apocalyptic world can be.
No other vehicles for miles and miles, no dog walkers, no tourists, no shooters rounding blind bends too fast, not a cyclist, pedestrian and driver to be seen. Huge buzzards and the occasional lone hawk taking to wing to chase down some unlucky mouse or rabbit, a dear making a mad dash across the road through gaps in the hedge. It’s positively eerie. It could just be the end of the world. It’s easy to let your mind drift into post apoc mode, thinking about where you would go, how you would survive. Is this what it feels like to be the last person alive?
So what brought about this silent, unbloody reckoning? No one knows, but looking at the evidence I have my suspicions. If you go by what appears to be the dominant surviving species then the answer appears to me, the apocalypse will be brought upon us by pheasants.
Merry Christmas everybody! I hope out there in your bomb shelters, bolt holes, or robot sweatshops you’re all bringing the holiday cheer to the darkest time of the year. The apocalypse may have come, but wherever there is tinsel there’s a bit of Christmas spirit.
It was always the tradition in our house to pop a Christmas CD on whilst we decorated the tree, and it’s doubly important to maintain the rituals of civilisation now that central government infrastructures have collapsed. So, to help get everyone in the mood of celebrations whilt you chow down on your rations and watch the fire in the burnt out TV, here’s the Christmas Playlist of the Apocalypse:
To view on YouTube, go here.
#1 Christmas at Gound Zero, by Weird Al Yankovic
#2 Stop the Cavalry, by Jona Lewie
#3 Carol of the Old Ones, by the HP Lovecraft Historical Society
#4 Chiron Beta Prime, by Jonathan Coulton
#5 Death to the World, by the HP Lovecraft Historical Society
#6 A Post Apocalyptic Christmas, by Art Elliot
#7 Little Rare Book Room, by the HP Lovecraft Historical Society
#8 Post Apocalypse Christmas, by Gruff Rhys
#9 Old Men’s Brains (A Zombie Christmas), by Julie Webster
#10 The Night Santa Went Crazy, by Weird Al Yankovic
#11 Nuclear Winter, by The Department of Public Safety
#12 Silent Night, Blasphemous Night, by the HP Lovecraft Historical Society
#13 The Power of Love, by Frankie goes to Hollywood
#14 Have Yourself a Scary Little Solstice, by the HP Lovecraft Historical Society
- Apocalypse Womble out.