The Man Who Watched the World End Read Online Free PDF

hours later did I have the strength to get off the cushions and empty the remaining water from each bucket. When that was done, I began mopping the floors.
    I can already guarantee I’m not going to be able to move tomorrow. My back is going to be angry with a giant brown bear lumberli little spme for weeks.
    And this was just because of some rain. Where would any of the last remaining few be if man actually had to hunt and gather food? I’ve never shot an animal, either with a bow and arrow or a gun. I’ve never planted seeds and watched them grow into corn stalks or carrot patches. Without food processors none of us would have made it a week after the grocery stores closed. The Johnsons and I used to talk about our processors as though they were our most prized possessions. It didn’t matter to us that identical units were sitting in every other house up and down the street. Its creators, if they’re still out there somewhere, deserve every award ever handed out for science and technology. It was a shame that most of those award-giving foundations had closed shop by the time the food processor was created.
    Hell, if I had to choose between a food processor and my music collection, I would gladly sit in silence with Andrew while we ate. If I had to choose between my processor and my computer, I wouldn’t think twice about selecting the food machine. Besides writing this journal, the computer is only useful for checking to see how the final colonies across the southern states are doing. I used to enjoy emailing some of my old classmates to see where they were living and what life is like there, but in the past couple of years it has become too discouraging. The amount of responses diminished every year, and I kept adding more checkmarks to the list of kids I graduated high school with who had grown old and died. Yes, I can do without the computer. All it does is remind me of my daily concerns, whereas the ice cream I get from the food processor takes my mind off any worry. The dogs can howl as much as they want, the bears can growl until they’re purple, they can even lumber up to my patio door and snort in frustration—as long as I have my bowl of mint chocolate chip I don’t mind a single bit.
    The food processor’s only rival is our television. If Andrew and I didn’t have it to watch old movies every day, I don’t know what we would do with our time. Sometimes I read books out loud. At least that way Andrew benefits from them too. I often feel silly, though, reading stories to him as if he’s a little child needing to hear fantastic tales before bed, rather than a grown adult the same age my parents were when they passed away.
    Tonight I programmed the processor to make lasagna. Ten minutes later I had a white and red dish that smelled and tasted exactly like it came from Italy. The hardest part of making the meal was going back through the processor’s user guide to find which setting would produce the meal I wanted. I’ve memorized the settings for seasoned steak, crab cakes, and orange chicken, but lasagna hadn’t been selected in a long time. The Johnsons used to come over and recommend new settings I would never think of trying. “#6731 makes a sausage casserole that’s incredible!” or, “We finally tried #2601 last night. Did you know it makes ahi tuna?”
    The only difference between the lasagna I had last night and the real thing, which, by the way, my mom made perfectly when I was a boy, was that it didn’t come out of the machine in l daily struggle. other ayers of pasta, cheese, and sauce. The food processor can recreate tastes and smells, but was never advanced enough to mimic each delicacy’s presentation. It comes out as a bowl of lasagna with the meat interspersed with the cheese and pasta, rather than a square with alternating levels of ingredients. Brownie sundaes come out with the hot brownie mixed in directly with the ice cream rather than having the chocolate treat on the edge to