David Lakota is a self-absorbed, sanctimonious, vision-seeing hippie who can kiss my moose. He doesn’t like mankind, and holds himself above it. He lives in Hawaii, and is terrified that a massive tsunami will scour the low-lying coastal cities off the map. Because he’s “special” and “spiritual” he believes the tiki tiki gods (or some other mystic crap) will give him warning the night before a tsunami to give him time to escape.

Because he’s special.

David’s arrogance aside, this isn’t an irrational fear; Hawaii has been hit by more than 50 known tsunamis of various sizes and intensities over the years. Compounding the problem is that Hawaii imports 90 percent of its food, so if the ports are wrecked, it will be very difficult to offload supplies.

Rachaelle is David’s new-age girlfriend, and she buys into his nuttiness. Their brilliant plan to survive an island-killing tsunami? They’ll paddle 15 miles along the shoreline to reach a distant location with nothing but the clothes on their backs (or, in Rachaelle’s case, a bikini) and live off the land.

Yeah… this is going to end well.

But before we even get off the beach, spiritual Dave manages to stab himself with his paddle in the foot, deeply. Since these geniuses didn’t bring anything in the way of supplies, Rachaelle has him chew up the pulp of the noni plant, which she claims is one of the most medicinal plants on the islands, and then spit the chewed up mess concoction into the open, sandy wound. Did I mention that modern science has found virtually no medicinal use for the noni plant at all?

Gaping wound packed with fruit-spit, David and Rachaelle now tackle an ascent up a 4,000 foot mountain, barefoot.