There’s not going be so many dead people from Florence that Trump will have to declare that they are not dead, which is what he did with Puerto Rico. Declaring people not dead is a new path for the federal government, and some details of it obviously need to be worked out, because alternatives to those people being dead have not been advanced. Perhaps FEMA should suggest that maybe they are just avoiding bill collectors by lying low, or that they are hiding out in the Everglades.
But in the case of Florence, if you need rescuing and want to make sure you get on the A-list for it, there are steps that are advisable. Attach the biggest Confederate flag you own to the roof of your house or trailer. This lets rescuers know you keep your heritage proud by voting Republican, even though you are currently begging for help from the government that kicked your noble forefathers’ asses.
If you don’t have a Confederate flag, do you really deserve to survive? Just kidding, there are other things you can do. FEMA is aware that all of your Confederate flags might have been ripped up or burned by antifas or gay people. MAGA hats are good. Even make your son-in-law who is a Democrat put one on, if you think he is worth rescuing. Or if you’re tired of him canceling out your vote, just push him onto one of those logs full of snakes floating by.
If you left all your MAGA hats in your truck parked by the creek, though, and said creek is now a half-mile wide torrent of raging water, making your wheels hard to find, get creative. Hold up a sign. “FLORENCE=FAKE NEWS” is a suggestion. Also, “I DON’T SPEAK MEXICAN.” And, "YOU'LL BE ABLE TO PULL MY GUN FROM MY COLD DEAD FINGERS IF YOU DON'T RESCUE ME SOON," is excellent, if a trifle wordy. But if you have enough cardboard and people to hold it up, probably the best would be “THIS HURRICANE IS NOT A SYMPTOM OF CLIMATE CHANGE.”
Misspelling it is okay. “THIS HURCANE IS NOT A SIMTUM OF CLIMUTT CHANGE” might get rescuers to the roof you are clinging to even faster. And as you sit in a shelter with a thousand other displaced people, sipping hot chocolate that only tastes marginally better than the mud your living room is filling up with, you’ll thank me silently for this advice.