I spent a weekend at a cabin alone in the mountains. I wanted to watch some porn before bed, but there was no internet signal out in that remote wilderness, so I just pulled out my hand-cranked portable radio and fapped to NPR. I eventually went to sleep during a story about tensions in the Ukraine. The next morning I awoke to chirping birds and sunshine. I tried to turn on the radio for a good morning whack, but nothing happened. Silence. The radio would not make a single sound. It was then that it hit me; it was the Russians. The Russians had nuked us, radio stations around the country were down, and I was the only remaining human alive in the country. I put on my boots, walked out the door, and grabbed the derelict flag off the front porch as I headed out into the woods to start my survival journey.

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I found a nice spot beside a river, piled up some wood, and used my flagpole as a traditional friction drill to get a good fire going. I then took my now-sharpened pole and waded into the river to try to spear a few fish for lunch. I was unsuccessful at first, but after two hours I finally got a hit on a smallmouth bass. As I pulled my skewered prey out of the water, a switch flipped inside of me, and all my most primal instincts activated at once.

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With a medieval shout, I ran out of the river and took off all my clothes, then wrapped them around the end of the pole and set them on fire. I then proceeded to run to the top of the nearest mountain, only pausing once to punch a belligerent squirrel in the face. I stopped at a cliff overlooking the forest below, held my flaming torch above my head, pulled my catch from the spear, and proceeded to ream it in the mouth like a biodegradable fleshlight as I let out a forest-shaking roar. In one final act of consummating my rugged post-apocalyptic manhood I threw my fiery weapon to the forest below and took a massive bite of raw fish-flesh. It was at this moment when I noticed some movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked to the left, and there, just yards away, was a troop of 20 girl scouts, their faces all plastered with expressions of terror. It was at that moment that I realized that I had failed to turn off my battery powered radio the night before, and that it had probably run out of battery power some time while I was asleep. I had barely realized this when the forest below burst into flames.

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Ultimately, twenty girls were scared for life by the image they saw that day, and almost two million acres of forest burned to the ground. Worst of all though, I am now known worldwide as the Flagstaff Fish Fucker. I will never live this down.