Post-apocalypse? Hardly. An apocalypse, by definition, cannot have a “post.” I should know. I had a PhD before the bombs fell.

Nothing survives an apocalypse, and yet the wasteland is teeming with mutants, scavengers, and raiders. Sure, it looks pretty desolate when the sun is up and the heat shimmers off the parched ground, but try falling asleep without a fire and see what comes snuffling up in the dark.

If this was truly a post-apocalypse, I wouldn’t have to ride around on a skeletal motorcycle, wearing armor cobbled together from leather and scrap iron, swinging a sledgehammer.

I had a PhD. From Harvard.