Judging from the kitchen pantry, my family is not prepared for doomsday.

We have one can of Chunky Soup, a box of blueberry crunch bars, five half-eaten boxes of cereal, a bottle of teriyaki sauce, a bag of minute rice and a fine assortment of spices.

Obviously we haven’t embraced the post-Armageddon craze that has overtaken reality TV. It includes a show called “Doomsday Preppers” on the National Geographic Channel. Here is a synopsis from the network’s website:

“Doomsday Preppers explores the lives of otherwise ordinary Americans who are preparing for the end of the world as we know it. Unique in their beliefs, motivations and strategies, preppers will go to whatever lengths they can to make sure they are prepared for any of life’s uncertainties. And with our expert’s assessment, they will find out their chances of survival.”

I suspect doomsday preppers do not have as many half-grown kids as we have coming in and out of the house. If they did, they would realize the futility of trying to stockpile food, gold, and health and beauty aids. Forget the end of the world. We’re lucky to survive until the end of the week.

My family needs a doomsday plan that includes an endless supply of nutrition.

After scouting the neighborhood for potential sources of protein, I discovered a solution. It requires getting into the car and running over squirrels.

The infinite squirrel population should ensure our survival until the dawn of a new age. Complemented by contents of the pantry, the doomsday menu looks quite appetizing: lemon pepper squirrel with Honey Nut Cheerios, sea-salted/peppercorn squirrel with blueberry crunch bars, teriyaki squirrel and rice, Chunky squirrel stew.

Forgive me for not paying proper due to the end of the world. As a child of the Cold War and its radioactive fallout shelters, I grew up waiting for the Soviets to drop the big one. Like every grammar school student in America, I knew what to do in case of nuclear attack: Stick your head between your knees and kiss your behind goodbye.

Added to this anxiety was the evangelical obsession with interpreting every apocalyptic verse of Revelation by current events.

I emerged from the era scarred and skeptical of doomsday preparations, at least in the physical sense.

Besides, this is the South. It doesn’t take much for us to shoot each other down here. The wrong look. An insult to manhood. A property line dispute. ...

A doomsday prepper who stockpiles food will survive just long enough to get shot for having it.

Executive Editor Scott Morris can be reached at 256-740-5721 or scott.morris@TimesDaily.com.