In the first episode of Will Forte’s new show, his character, Phil Miller, moves into a mansion, raids a full grocery store, pours Cheez Whiz into $10,000 wine (turns out, it tastes pretty good), builds a margarita bath, and generally screws around. The catch to this freewheeling lifestyle? It’s the year 2020, the rest of the human population has been wiped out by a virus, and he believes that he’s the last man on earth.
To celebrate The Last Man on Earth series premiere (March 1st, 9 PM EST), the Maxim staff contemplated what each one of us would do if we were the last man or woman left in an otherwise fully intact world.
I have a constant need to be around people and a nearly non-existent sense of shame, so being the only person on Earth would be a terrible setup for me with no real novel freedoms. But if I had plenty of time to kill and no need for money, I’d find an extravagant bathtub, fill it with Cheez-It, and eat my way through my snack tub while catching up on my Netflix queue. I would also never wear pants again.
Since I live in Manhattan and there would be no sentient beings left alive for me to hang with, I’d swing by the legendary Keens Steakhouse (est. 1885) and start cooking up whatever meat is hanging in the aging room before it spoiled. I’d start by throwing their signature mutton chop on the grill, then move on to a bone in rib eye (both medium rare, of course). I’d also assemble a ridiculously tall raw seafood tower of lump crab meat, oysters, lobster, and clams, and wash it all down with several bottles of their wine cellar’s finest Chianti. And if I craved an after-dinner smoke, I’d simply pluck a pipe off the ceiling, which houses the world’s largest collection of hard clay church water pipes. Bring on the apocalypse!
I eat all of the remaining food stock which, by the time I wake up after the apocalypse, consists entirely of Hostess pastries. Then, I hit a home run in each major league stadium, no matter how long it takes me, and spend most of my time in the closest functioning hot tub. Then, I go to the files of the FBI and CIA and finally find out who killed JFK. (Oh wow, it actually was XXXXXXX. Wild.)
Think I’d spend a lot of time on Facebook and less time on LinkedIn.
If I were the last man on earth, I’d try and take a turn for the spiritual: Move out to Marin county, get into hiking (which I hate), crush a lot of wild herbs with my fingertips, anoint a lot of trees with turmeric, and read Emerson for the first time. Also, I would eat soft-serve right from the machine.
First, I take off all of my clothes, because I won't be needing those anymore. Then, I strap on a pair of rollerblades and 'blade from New York to Mexico City where I spend the rest of my life drinking tequila and penning my sexual memoir.
After ticking off the standard stuff (riding an ATV in the Louvre; drinking the last remaining can of Crystal Pepsi; achieving the high score on all pizza shop Pacman games) I'd construct a skyscraper treehouse in Yellowstone National Park and subsist on a daily regimen of pulled pork sandwiches, Iberico ham, and Pappy Van Winkle until my heart gives out.
Photos by FOX