What are you going to do when the bird flu comes knocking at your door? Thankfully, I've been too busy these past few years to return my bunker, generator, and small arms cache I accumulated during the Y2K scare. Also, the meat I have hanging in my smokeroom should be nice and cured by now, and I've been lucky enough to assemble a small harem of comely young Mormons willing to retire with me to my outpost in the Tetons, should the avian influenza reach our shores.
I can only hope that the rest of you are as well prepared as I, but if not, please don't come round rappin' on my door. I will shoot you and eat you, tan your skin as a hide to don in the winter, and give your bones to my large and talented group of progeny as makeshift musical instruments.
I welcome the bird flu and I pity you, for you are arrogant and lazy, and your end is nigh.