Hello, welcome to my mountain hideaway. Watch out for the dobermans -- they don't usually attack to kill, but there's no telling their mood. Come back behind my cabin here to this unassuming door with a corrugated metal roof that appears to be an ordinary root cellar. However, as we pull the creaking door aside, scraping roughly over the dirt and pine needles, the darkened interior reveals a solid steel hatch in the ground. Help me turn it, will you?

Within this labyrinthine subterranean maze of hatches and cinder-block tunnels, you can see I've stored away all the essentials. The air undergoes triple-purification after being pumped from the surface. 96% of water used is recycled, with tanks giving me a six-year supply. Come here, see this? Heating. And this generator here supplies the power. I've got a year's worth of fuel, and provided the surface solar panels and wind generators aren't liquefied in a direct nuclear assault, that can balloon out to ten years of uninterrupted power.

Here we have canned food. I like beans. Further reason for the triple air purification.

And here, sealed behind this two foot thick vault door in a climate controlled safe room with shock-absorbing two foot thick re-inforced concrete walls hundreds of yards below the surface of the planet ... THIS is my PC center. This quadruple-lined conduit here houses my broadband connection. It runs less than a mile underground in EMP-shielding piping straight into the west coast Internet backbone. On this wall behind the earthquake shelving I've got every PC game ever made from 1997 to the present, with two copies of each multiplayer game. But the real ace in my survival strategy is here -- my FilePlanet Personal Server account. Some crazy bastards want to nuke the good old U S of A? I'll be DAMNED if those pinkos are gonna stop me from being the first to get the Counter-Strike patch. Can I get a wha-what? Thank you.