Survival of the Fattest

A typical day begins. I re-arrange the jars of animal parts preserved in formaldehyde in my bedroom alphabetically, thumb through my favourite bits in a book about Graham Young and add a small dose of thallium in my housemates' chamomile. Just so I have something to write about later. I then flip through the newspaper while I wait for the kettle to boil. There's an article about a couple of miners trapped a kilometre under the surface. Then another. And another. An interview with one of the miner's sister-in-laws. An interview with an expert on geology.

I turn on the TV. Every channel has something about these two guys who have been stuck underground. I phone a friend to see if the same thing is happening to his television. 'Dude, are you getting an over-saturation of this news report about two miners being trapped in a cage without any food or water for six days in the dark?'
'Two minors being left in a cage? In the dark? For almost a week with nothing to eat or drink save a puddle of rainwater and their own urine? Sounds like boarding school.'
'Miners you dunce. Not minors.'

It seems every media source in our country has dedicated at least 30-pages to this 'tragedy' and quality shows (like re-runs of M*A*S*H) are getting invaded by 'updates' of the rescue which generally consists of two solemn looking guys saying things like; "The only way we can get this chicken sandwich to the men down there is to use a blender until it (the sandwich) becomes liquid then feed it to them in a tube."

Now, I'm interested in stories of survival. Be it someone who managed to hack off their own arm that's been trapped underneath a boulder using nothing more than a toothbrush or how the plane crash survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 fend for themselves on a mysterious island with weird number curses and populated by polar bears, monsters etc. But please...can we leave the fanfare until after they get rescued?

Waiting for the kettle to boil,
Fatman