Speaking of engines, you should also decide whether you want a regular engine or a diesel engine (named for its inventor, Rudolf Engine). Lately, a lot of people have been choosing diesel engines. I won’t go into the reasons here, because, frankly, I don’t know what they are. I’m just assuming there must be some really terrific reasons for paying extra money for an engine that gives off a foul odor and is extremely slow.

If you get a diesel, you’ll have to learn to keep your momentum up, the way truck drivers do. If a truck driver starts accelerating when he leaves New York, he does not hit fifty-five miles per hour until he gets to Cleveland, so he will run over anything in his path—fallen trees, passenger cars, small villages—to avoid losing his momentum.

The only other thing to consider when you buy a car is gas mileage. To make it easy for you to compare, the government requires car manufacturers to provide two mileage estimates and inform you that:

You should pay no attention to one of the estimates, and You shouldn’t pay much attention to the other estimate, either.

The manufacturer is also required to tell you that neither estimate applies to California. When you get right down to it, almost nothing applies to California.

Let’s look at the positive side of nuclear war. One big plus is that the Postal Service says it has a plan to deliver the mail after the war, which is considerably more than it is doing now. I, for one, look forward to the day after the missiles hit, when the postal person comes striding up and hands me a Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes letter announcing that I may have already won my Dream Vacation Home, which I will probably need because my regular home will be glowing like a movie marquee.

The Postal Service isn’t the only outfit that’s all set for a nuclear war. The whole federal government has elaborate plans to keep doing whatever it does. As soon as word arrives that enemy missiles are on the way, all the vital government officials will be whisked by helicopter to a secret mountain hideout guarded by heavily armed men. The guards are there, of course, to shoot nonvital citizens who attempt to get into the hideout, because they would get in the way of the officials who are trying to protect them.

To determine which officials are vital enough to go to the hideout, the government periodically sends out a questionnaire:

TO: All Top Government Officials FROM: The Government SUBJECT: Who Gets to Go to the Secret Nuclear Hideout

Please circle the statement below that best describes how vital you are. Be as sincere as possible.

1. I am extremely vital and should be whisked away, in the first helicopter if possible.

2. I am not all that vital and should be left to die a horrible death with the ordinary citizens.

Using the results of this questionnaire, the government has determined that all of its top officials are vital. This means, of course, that conditions in the hideout will be fairly cramped. But that is one of the prices you pay for being a public servant.

Once the officials are in the hideout, they will immediately swing into emergency action. The President will announce his emergency plan for getting the nation back on its feet, and within minutes the leader of the opposition party will hold an emergency press conference to announce that the President’s plan is unfair to either middle-class taxpayers or the poor, depending on which party is the opposition at the time. Meanwhile, Pentagon officials will warn that the surviving Russians are probably stockpiling large rocks with the intention of coming over here on crude rafts and throwing them at us. The Pentagon will recommend that we, too, start stockpiling large rocks; this will lead to an emergency tax increase.

So the government is well prepared to continue governing after a nuclear attack. The only potential fly in the ointment is that the public will probably be too sick or dead to pay taxes or receive mail. So to make sure that the government still has somebody to govern, it is the patriotic duty of all of us nonvital citizens to come up with our own personal nuclear-survival plans.

I have some experience in this area, because in 1953, when I was a first-grader at the Wampus Elementary School in Armonk, N.Y., we used to practice surviving a nuclear attack. Our technique was to go into the hall and crouch against the walls for about ten minutes. This worked extremely well, and I recommend that all of you develop emergency plans to get to Wampus Elementary as soon as you get word that the missiles are coming.

The best way to get information during a nuclear war is to listen to the Emergency Broadcast Radio Network, which is the organization that broadcasts those tests all the time:

ANNOUNCER: This is a test. For the next thirty seconds, you will hear an irritating, high-pitched squeal. We here at the Emergency Broadcast Network are bored to death, waiting for a real nuclear war, so for the past few years we’ve been varying the pitch of the squeal just a little bit every time. Our theory is that if we find just the right pitch, it will drive certain species of birds insane with sexual desire. We know we’re getting close, because during our last test a Cleveland man carrying one of those enormous portable radios turned up real loud was pecked to death by more than three hundred lusting pigeons.

Frankly, I have always wondered what the Emergency Broadcast Network would broadcast if we actually had a war. I imagine they’d try to keep it upbeat, so people wouldn’t get too depressed:

ANNOUNCER: Hi there! You’re listening to the Emergency Broadcast Network, so don’t touch that dial! It’s probably melted anyway, ha ha! Weatherwise, we’re expecting afternoon highs of around 6,800 degrees, followed by a cooling trend as a cloud consisting of California and Oregon blots out the sun. In the headlines, the President and key members of Congress met in an emergency breakfast this morning, and a flock of huge mutant radioactive mosquitoes has emerged from the Everglades and is flying toward New Orleans at speeds approaching four hundred miles an hour. We’ll have the details in a moment, but first here’s consumer affairs reporter Debbi Terri Suzi Dinkle with the first part of her eighteen-part report entitled “Radiation and You.” DINKLE: Radiation. You can’t see it. You can’t smell it. You can’t hear it. Yet it’s all over the place, and it can kill you or make your hair fall out. In my next report, we’ll explore the reasons why.

So we’ll be in good shape after the war. And there are advantages I haven’t even talked about, such as that the Miss America Pageant will probably be postponed for a couple of years at least.

I’ve been seeing these television commercials lately in which Tug McGraw, the noted nutritionist and left-handed relief pitcher, points out in a very cheerful manner that many major soft drinks contain caffeine. Tug is concerned about this, because caffeine is one of the many substances that have been shown to cause laboratory experiments involving rats.

Tug implies we’d all be better off if we drank 7-Up, which does not contain caffeine. He neglects to point out that 7-Up contains sugar, which, as you are no doubt aware, usually causes instant death. But I can’t blame Tug for forgetting to warn us about sugar: nobody can keep up with all the things you’re not supposed to eat and drink, because scientists come up with new ones all the time.

You young readers should feel very fortunate to live in an era in which we know how dangerous everything is. When I was a child, people thought everything was safe except communism, smutty books, and tobacco, and a lot of people weren’t sure about tobacco. For example, the cigarette manufacturers thought tobacco was fine, and as a public service they ran many advertisements in which attractive persons offered thoughtful scientific arguments in favor of smoking, such as: “Luckies separate the men from the boys ... but not from the girls,” and “Winston tastes good, like a cigarette should.”