One of the many frivolous things I wonder about when I’m wondering about post-apocalyptic life is hygiene. I’ve gone on at length about my lady parts, their mechanics, and how I plan to keep them baby free and satisfied. But recently I’ve been thinking about cleanliness.
Well, recently is a lie. I think about cleanliness daily and lady-specific cleanliness almost every time I see women surviving the end of the world alongside men.
The super bug. You know, the deadly supervirus or superbacteria that will take over the world and kill us all. Or something. Sometimes I think that one of those superheroes supervillains microscopic killing machines will end up being our ultimate downfall, but other times I’m not so sure. Sometimes I think it’s more likely that someone will genetically engineer one of these superviruses and then unleash it into an air vent at Disneyland or something.