After careful consideration, you’ve decided to nuke the world. So what if the survivors will retaliate? You’ll probably be able to withstand whatever assault they’ll be able to piece together. You push the menacing red button.

* * *

Several days go by. Most of the planet is now a wasteland. You’re finally certain that the survivors probably won’t be launching a counter attack.

Surprisingly, the phone rings. You answer it. “Hello?”

“This is the president of the United States,” comes the reply. “We know that you’re the one who done ‘sploded the world.”

“The president? The president is dead.”

“The old president is dead. And so’s the vice president, congress, all of Washington, and all the mayors, governors, judges, and everyone else who was in a position of authority. So, the few of us left tried to work out how presidential succession works in these circumstances, and we reckon that I’m as qualified as anyone.”

“So, you’re just some guy living in the hills of Montana, then?”

“Yep. And me and the other Hill People have launched a counterstrike.”

Suddenly, the full weight of what you have done hits you full force. “Oh no! I am so sorry about all that I have done. I cannot possibly live with myself. You’re absolutely right. I deserve to die. It’s the only way. I must be punished for my crimes.”

“Glad to hear it. Look out the window.”

You do, and see a heavily armored tanker truck tearing toward you at full speed. The gates give way before its bulk, and it crashes into the side of the building in an explosion of exaggerated Hollywood proportions. All you can do before you are blown to tiny bits is reflect on how much you hate yourself.

Try again, Loser!