Entry 735: This is it. I am down to my last rye cracker. The bunker door seems to laugh as it groans against the radioactive winds—it knows that I have lost the one thing keeping me alive. Not by mere sustainance, mind you—I still have a few months' worth of various other provisions, and the grubs I have been farming make a lovely cold salad (with some relish, of course). No, I mean my *soul*. The crispy ambrosia that is the näkkileipää has passed from my life, and with it, the bright light of anticipation. But the door, laughing away as it does, will not expect what comes next—my pure-rye diet of the past two years has resulted in a 500% increase in my muscle mass; my bones are now as dense as tungsten. I will tear this bunker open as if it were a UPS parcel, and emerge into the burning wastes to search... ...for rye

Back in 2015, I was gifted two cans of surströmming by a friend from that odd place to the west of finland where they used to build ships which sink on their maiden voyages. How he got them to Switzerland shall forever be a mystery, since they're not allowed on airfreight. One can has been consumed immediately, the proper way of course, not the way American idiots do it on youtube. Recently, I've been adding single packs of FDF crisp bread to my orders, always intending to use them to share that last can with friends, but always ended up eating the bread with other things. Well, no more I thought and figured, ordering the box of 50 packs will help with that plan. I am confident that it will work before I consume the last pack, though I must say that I did NOT consider the sheer volume of 50 packs when placing the order.