My secret "santa" did an awesome job on covering me for the impending apocalypse.

First, there is no greater weapon than knowledge. My santa supplied me with superior study materials in the form of Badass by Ben Thompson: The PREMIER primer on Badasses throughout history. I shall study hard to take my place amongst their ranks. With knowledge gleaned from the likes of Jack Churchill and Tomoe Gozen (seriously look these folks up if you haven't heard of them), I shall be unstoppable!

Up next, a study guide for a slower and more angsty apocalypse: Transmetropolitan, Vol. 1 by Warren Ellis. Who's to say that the slow and steady decay of civilization won't be the gradual descent into what we think of as the post-apocalypse? Armed with the teachings of Spider Jerusalem, I shall be prepared in the event that the apocalypse comes not from the over-glamorized so-called "zombie hordes," but rather a slow descent into passivity and techno-inspired madness.

No matter what shape the apocalypse comes in, my santa has ensured that I will be able to maintain a low profile and go unnoticed amongst bands of roving motorcycle gangs, zombie mobs, or hunger-crazed scavengers by sending me the most thorough of disguises. No one shall see me coming with my glorious horse mask. I shall be able to maneuver through the abandoned streets with nary a worry, blending into the background wherever I go, like a shadow.

And finally, no one who can't keep their pants where they belong stands a chance after the world has come tumbling down, so my santa has thoughtfully provided me with a waist-mounted trouser support device. You know who wins the duel? You know who scavenges the most supplies? You know who gets all the wasteland ladies? The man who doesn't have his pants around his knees. Thanks to my santa, this man is now me.

Thank you, secret santa, you have made my Apocalypse Day a great one.