So there I was, last man on Earth. I do not need to tell you what had happened to all the others. Suffice it so say, they were no longer there, so I was free to do whatever I wanted. Finally.
I spent a year drinking alcohol and eating. I would have used drugs but I could not find them. Or when I could find them, if I could get to them, for example in police evidence lock up. My drug problem existed probably because most of the time my mind was in a state that made problem solving… problematic. So I settled for good old alcohol and food which were both available in mass quantities.
Ingesting mass quantities made my body lose its youthful charm. However, I found myself unmoved by that, as there was no society to hold me up to standards. So I debauched, bauched, and then debauched some more, until the nihilism of it all became too boring to bear.
My next phase was meditation, exercise, reading, prayer, and self-discovery. That was an uneventful period, as I was unable to reach any kind of enlightenment or communicate with any higher power.
My last, third phase, was acceptance. (Suck on that, seven phases of grief, or whatever you call it.) I found myself a nice place by the sea to live out the rest of my days. One day when strolling in the sun, I saw a piece of wood in the sand and I quipped:
“Looks like some morning wood.”
Then I looked around and said: “My biggest regret is that there is nobody to hear my funny jokes.”