If, like me, you dared to unscrew the hatch of your Y2K bunker on January 1, you too were probably shocked and disappointed by what you did not see: mushroom clouds on the horizon, gunfire in the streets, an airliner burning where your neighbors once had a house. And, like me, you probably felt a little silly gripping your copy of "Millennium Meltdown: Spiritual and Practical Strategies to Survive Y2K" on what turned out to be just another crisp winter morn. What to do with the 40 tons of poured concrete buried in your backyard:

Rent it as a dump for publishers of Y2K books.

Throw a party First, spruce things up a bit. You'd be amazed what a coat of paint and fresh flowers can do for rebar. Hang festive streamers from the air pump, put some bouncy music on the solar-powered radio, then cut a hole in the barbed wire and welcome in the neighborhood! Surely the Joneses will stop referring to you as "the wacko" once you've plied them with a year's worth of soy-protein pellets and powdered milk.

Move your Bible study underground Nothing rekindles one's apocalyptic fire quite like reading the Book of Revelations in a room built to withstand nuclear attack.

Fill with water, add chlorine Remember how the kids whined when they learned they were getting a fallout shelter instead of a pool?

Fill with 10 inches of water, add epsom salts, kill the lights Presto-you've got your very own sensory deprivation tank! After floating in it for a couple days you'll emerge feeling less stressed out, more optimistic and better adjusted. I know it's just what I needed.

Open your hatch to ROBD and SOBBN Two newly formed support groups, Refugees of the Big Dud and, its sister, Survivors of the Big Bad Nothing, need places to meet.

Climb back in and batten down After all, some say the new millennium doesn't actually begin until next year.

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