Okay, okay,' I said to my husband as he picked up a food dehydrator off the table and shot me a look. 'Maybe I did get carried away. Maybe the world won't end in a year, maybe it won't end until 2028, when the Aztec calendar stops.' 'The Bugles will be very old by then,' my husband said. 'They will have lost their snappy crunch.' 'They weren't to eat,' I said. 'They were to put on our fingers and poke the eyes out of looters.