“What will future people think of our culture if the only archaeological artifact they have to go by is a spork?” Henry asked over Ramen noodles.
“A spork?” asked Mom.
“You know, one of those spoon/fork thingies, the plastic ones?”
“It won’t be a problem,” I said. “In the far future the people will all be cockroaches. They will know what a spork is because of racial memory.”
“Euuw!” said Mom. “Not cockroaches!”
“Yes,” said the Princess, “cockroaches can survive nuclear winter… They said in school that they are radioactive-proof.”
“I don’t think they can ever become intelligent,” said Mom. “They don’t die when you cut their head off. Um, well, they don’t die until they starve to death because they have no mouth to eat with.”
“But nuclear winter will make food harder to find eventually, and the smarter cockroaches will evolve,” I suggested.
“I don’t believe in evolution,” Mom said.
The kids looked at me and grinned, shaking their heads.
“And if it is true, they will run out of food with all the people and animals dead,” the Princess suggested.
“Ah, the cockroach population will boom with all the dead things to eat, and the rotted stuff will grow mutated plants and fungus that they can learn to farm,” I said.
“And the smart ones can eat the stupid ones,” said Henry. “There will be lots and lots of those.”
“So we are all agreed that cockroaches will rule the earth, and it won’t matter if they know what a spork is or not, right?” I concluded. So we basically solved the problem of repopulating the Earth after Armageddon. Of course, Mom is a Jehovah’s Witness, and believes in a Paradise on Earth for forever, so we wish her well getting along with the evolved cockroach civilization.
Catch a Falling Star 