The Human Survival Handbook: Part 1 – So You Have to Deal with Humans

Hello and welcome to my survival guide.  There are lots of survival guides out there.  Zombie survival guides.  Apocalypse survival guides.  There is even a survival guide to being filthy rich.  But let’s face it, what is the likelihood that you will ever run into zombies or be in the apocalypse or win the lottery.  You’re more likely to grow an extra arm or be killed by a bear carrying a shark that shoots killer bees.


Yeah, it really exists. You’ll never need it, but it’s nice to know it’s there.

But humans are everywhere.  And you have to deal with them.  A lot.  Like every day.  Sometimes several times a day depending on your job and your daily habits.

This handbook is designed for two kinds of individuals.

The first is humans.  A relatively intelligent human who is interested in learning about their fellow human beings can use this guide effectively to increase their knowledge and understanding of the humans and their society.

The second is non-humans.  And non-humans are really who this handbook is written for.  This book will help a non-human function in a human world.

If you are a human reading this, you might be wondering what non-humans are.  And that is a valid question.  There are any of a number of non-humans.  Some examples include:

  • You might be some sort of interstellar traveler from a far away planet who is visiting Earth for a vacation.  Or more than likely you are stranded on Earth trying to find pieces to fix your busted-ass space ship because, seriously, if you can travel through space, Earth is the last place you’d visit.
  • Perhaps you are some sort of galactic prisoner exiled to Earth as punishment, because after all, hell is other people.
  • You are some kind of intelligent monstrous humanoid like a vampire or gorgon that wants to know more about humans to better supplement your diet or your life-size, stone figurine collection.
  • Like the Highlander or Dorian Grey, you are an immortal who figures if you’re stuck here forever you might as well learn a little bit about humans because “they’re just so darned interesting.”
  • You are some sort of android, robot, or holographic doctor who is striving to become more human.

Lookin’ at you, Commander Data.

I know what you’re asking.  What qualifies me to teach you about surviving around humans?  That’s a valid question.  A very human question, but valid, nevertheless.  I’ve been studying humans for my entire life.  And quite possibly for several lifetimes.  But my immortality isn’t the focus here.  The real point is that in all my years of studying humans I’m still standing.  I’m alive.  I’ve survived the humans and their mental and social onslaughts.  And I’ve taken notes along the way.  Not always particularly good notes, but notes just the same.  And I’m willing to teach and share.  And you can ask anyone that I’ve taught.  I’m a great teacher.

Now that you kind of know what you’re getting into, the choice is up to you.  If you’re a typical human, you’ll just say, “Whatever, I’m a human!  What more do I need to know?!”  But if you’re not a typical human, or if you’re a non-human, then you’ll be ready to devour the rest of this survival guide with the utmost anticipation.

About BatDoc

I’m a dynamic figure, often seen scaling buildings and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train and bus stations on lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention and reducing high-traffic areas. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees and write award-winning plays about pastry. I manage time efficiently. Occasionally, I make meatloaf. I have been known to woo women with my sensuous and god-like electric air-guitar playing. I can pilot riding lawnmowers up severe inclines with unflagging speed and accuracy and can cook 30-Minute Brownies in 20 minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Brazil. Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon River Basin from a horde of ferocious smaller-than-your-pinky-finger fire ants. When I’m bored, I build full size models of airplanes out of Popsicle sticks. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, I repair TVs and VCRs free of charge. I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Last summer, I toured Wisconsin and Minnesota with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat 400. My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me. I can hurl coat hangers at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read War and Peace, Moby Dick, and Great Expectations in one day and still had time to repaint the exterior of my house that afternoon. Though not a narc, I have performed several covert operations with the CIA. I can recalibrate and repair gas lines with blinding speed and precision, and I don't require a face mask. I still find time to sleep eight hours a night; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation to Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me. I balance; I weave; I dodge; I frolic; and my bills are all paid. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a jello mold and a toaster oven. I used to breed prize-winning killer dolphins. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, performed open-heart surgery, and have spoken with Elvis. I have been to Area 51 and seen the complex. I enjoy cake and my best friends are Edmund the Penguin and Dr. Narco the Intelligent Thermos. I tied Jose Canseco in home runs last week, and I’m mere words away from completing a New York Times crossword puzzle I started on in 1988. Volumes and volumes of written works have been produced about me, but they were all lost in the fire. I am an extrovert. I’m marginally more popular with feminist than Rush Limbaugh. I don't scrape my vegetables onto my grandmother's plate when no one is looking. Hard as it may be to believe, I have never lost a pole-vaulting competition. I was nowhere near the grassy knoll on November 22, 1963. I’ve never hit a silver-medalist in the knee with a club. I wear sensible clothing, and I did not mastermind Julius Caesar's death. That was Cassius.

Posted on February 7, 2014, in A BatDoc Original, Original Series, The Human Survival Handbook and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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