Trumpocolypse

The radio crackled, but the message came through with undeniable reality.
“Dead. They are all dead. Run as far as you can before it gets you too…..”
I figure to have only three minutes to gather what I can before it would be too late. Nuclear radiation will move quickly, and the undead corpses will follow soon after. The mountains may be the only safe place to hide.
President Trump, that bastard, went off his medication and destroyed the world.
“Tent. Sleeping bag….” 
I kept repeating the items I had in my car over and over in my head, wondering how long I could survive with what I had. The answer, sadly, was not long.
Cars madly drove past me as I make my way high up the mountain. Eventually only a family of Rocky Mountain Sheep are my companions, no humans to be seen, alive or undead.
I set up camp, then go search for water. I strap on protective glasses, as it helps me see our new wasteland of a world.
A few hours pass and madness is already settling  in comfortably.
The water here seems good to drink, free of poisons. I can still easily catch a bug though, and die from the dreaded diarrhea.
Better than succumbing to radiation or becoming a zombie chew toy. I fill a couple of bottles, take a deep swig, and look for food.
Marmots aren’t as skittish now that we humans are no longer at the top of the food chain. My hunger is driving all decisions now. I take a rock as my weapon and smash a marmot’s head into soft butter.
“My first kill of the day.” 
I get a fire going and sharpen a stick to skewer my meal when strange sounds gurgle from within. I throw up blood and dirty water, and realize that I can not out run the destruction.
My world is coming to an end, just like the rest of mankind. I crawl into my tent, listen one last time to the sounds of the night,
and fall victim to the end of the world.

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Wench, bring my ale, what say you?