**EXCLUSIVE: Kerr County’s Emergency Plan—‘Just Hit Snooze’**

In a shocking turn of events that absolutely no one could have predicted—except, you know, the National Weather Service—Kerr County officials have revealed their groundbreaking emergency response strategy: sleeping through it. That’s right, folks. While floodwaters rose, children screamed for help, and first responders scrambled, the county’s top brass were snug in their beds, blissfully unaware that their jobs might involve, well, doing something.

County Judge Rob Kelly, who was conveniently at his lake house when disaster struck, defended his absence with the classic excuse: “I was checking on my wife.” Ah yes, because nothing says “I take emergency management seriously” like prioritizing a marital wellness check over, say, preventing mass casualties. When pressed by Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick—who, by the way, was actually in Kerr County that day—Kelly shrugged and essentially said, “Oops, my bad.” Truly, leadership at its finest.

Meanwhile, Sheriff Larry Leitha and Emergency Management Coordinator W.B. “Dub” Thomas were also fast asleep, proving that the real emergency was their collective inability to set an alarm. Thomas, who was on paid time off (because nothing says “public service” like clocking out before a crisis), was awoken at 5:30 a.m. by a panicked caller. His response? “Based on the data we had at the time…”—which, let’s be honest, was probably just his pillow—“…there was no indication of a catastrophic flood.” Brilliant. Just brilliant.

Lawmakers, baffled by this masterclass in incompetence, asked the obvious question: “So… you guys just weren’t available?” Sheriff Leitha’s solution? “Maybe they can call me earlier.” Yes, because in the middle of a life-or-death situation, the real problem is that flood victims didn’t wake him up politely.

But wait, it gets better. The Upper Guadalupe River Authority—the folks in charge of, you know, the river that flooded—admitted they’d been cutting property taxes instead of upgrading their flood warning system. Because why invest in saving lives when you can give taxpayers a few extra bucks? Their big plan? A $73,000 public-facing dashboard. Because nothing says “early warning system” like a glorified Excel spreadsheet.

And let’s not forget the pièce de résistance: County officials now want more resources to prevent future disasters. That’s right—after proving they can’t handle the resources they already have, they’re demanding even more money. It’s like giving a toddler a flamethrower and then being surprised when the house burns down.

So, to recap: Kerr County’s emergency response plan is hope for the best, sleep through the rest. And if that fails? Blame the weather, blame the cell service, blame the deep state—just don’t blame the people who were literally paid to be awake.

Wake up, sheeple. Or, you know, don’t. Apparently, that’s an option too.