Tucked deep inside the bag’s nether regions (OMG you saw the Trump-Pence logo, right?) is a helpful list of Spanish phrases. These will come in handy in your escape to Mexico, when you need to translate useful phrases like:

How many nutrient-cubes for this scrap metal?

Don’t laugh, you’re gonna need that. And the scrap metal. Nutrient-cubes don’t grow on trees, you know. Well, they might have once. Back when there were trees.

Let’s see what else is in here…

A couple months ago, the crazy card game Cards Against Humanity announced a special collector’s edition bonus pack, aimed to help you survive the impending Trumpocalypse…

Under Trump’s America, you and your family will wander desolate highways, taking shelter in burnt-out automobiles as you escape the Red Dust. You will wish you had the tools to start fires in the terrifying night and protect yourself from roving gangs of bandits. Keep your loved ones safe for only $25.

And thus, the Donald Trump bug-out bag was born. They sold out immediately.

All 10,000 bags have sold out. When Donald Trump is elected President, you will perish in the wasteland. Sorry.

But not before my clever wife got her order in! And yesterday, when we got home from work, it was sitting on our porch, waiting for us. Everything we would need for our future life in Trump’s America.

Filled with glee and apprehension, we took it into the back yard. Because it’s not safe to open such things indoors. Knowing the CvH folks, there’s no telling what’s inside. For all we know, they could’ve drugged up a Chupacabra and stuffed it in there. So into the yard it goes…

Zipping it open slowly, the first thing on top was a small stack of small manila envelopes. Envelope #1…

Open only in case of dire emergency? There was the electric feeling of impending doom in the air, but no, it wasn’t dire. Not yet. Proceed with caution to envelope #2…

Currency? Exactly what constitutes currency when a blustering Oompa-Loompa takes over your country? Fearful it might contain unruly hair samples from said Oompa-Loompa, I reached for envelope #3…

An application for Mexican residency? Had it really come to this? And would it really be recognized? Would they really let me over Trump’s wall to that mythical land of rapists and good people and what-not?

Clutching the envelopes in my trembling hands, I knew I wasn’t ready for what was inside. But I had no choice. I had to keep going…

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