Wednesday, June 4, 2014

happy apocalypse!


No, this is not me saying farewell after I’ve received a double top secret message from A Former Military Intelligence Agent Who Believes In Democracy And Wants To Save America who just happened to be scanning through his Rolodex and saw my name and decided to give his old buddy a heads up and then of course I’d have nothing better to do with impending doom descending upon me than to slowly pedal into town so I could get an Internet connection and warn all my minions which let’s face it even though I love you all it isn’t like any of you have moved out here and volunteered to become part of my Bison Army Of Doom so I think the odds of me sharing that kind of information are pretty slim.  This is rather an article on happiness, and like all these other weird arcane topics I seem to want to discuss which leave you scratching your head in befuddlement as you wonder why I can’t just be like every other of the eighty-three survival blogs out there and just cover mulching and machineguns, this is yes indeed very pertinent indeed to your future survival.  If you can’t figure out how group dynamics work, you WILL get bit in the ass repeatedly by that.  And, yes, I too would much rather be some Jerimiah Johnson mountain man lone wolf hermit sonofabitch who spits on society and all the rat bastard worthless oxygen wasting morons but in reality we are going to need all those skeevy  whores for a viable community and so we have to deal with them.


I was watching a show on my fav commie lapdog company PBS on happiness.  It seems that all these docs were focused on miserable droopy hangdog downers of sad excuse humans, like that is a job you can really spring out of bed for ( “Honey, I’m going to listen to other peoples sad and pathetic problems all day long and hope none of them offs himself and his survivors sue me, I’ll be home for dinner!” ), and it wasn’t until the Eighties that one of them decided to focus of happiness instead of depression.  So it is a relatively new field.  And here was a rather surprising conclusion. In general, all things being equal, everyone is only able to control their own ability to be happy 40% of the time.  You are born with the ability or not, which is about 50% of your propensity towards happiness.  If you were born under a cloud, the odds are against you being happy, even if you are a millionaire and you have a young trophy wife with a nice rack.  The other ten percent is circumstances.  Whether you are a poor rickshaw driver baking in the sun and only having enough fairs to buy nothing but rice for dinner, or a top executive, that is only 10% of if you are happy or not.  If you were born happy, and you decide to be happy, that 10% matters not on iota.  All those self-help books telling you to be happy and riches will follow, are preaching about the 40%.  It might work, or it might not.  Come the apocalypse, some people will naturally adapt and be okay and others will just be miserable fools trying to bring everyone down to their level.  Of course, recognizing the problem, and then having a solution are two different things.

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  1. **************


    Can't we all just get along?



    Special note, brother.

    James, You and your grease hair are my hero.


    Rodney King.

    1. Rodney- I'm everyone's hero. Hell, even my own

  2. Ronald Reagan and I share the same favorite joke:

    "The joke concerns twin boys of five or six. Worried that the boys had developed extreme personalities - one was a total pessimist, the other a total optimist - their parents took them to a psychiatrist."

    "First the psychiatrist treated the pessimist. Trying to brighten his outlook, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with brand-new toys. But instead of yelping with delight, the little boy burst into tears. 'What's the matter?' the psychiatrist asked, baffled. 'Don't you want to play with any of the toys?' 'Yes,' the little boy bawled, 'but if I did I'd only break them.'"

    "Next the psychiatrist treated the optimist. Trying to dampen his out look, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with horse manure. But instead of wrinkling his nose in disgust, the optimist emitted just the yelp of delight the psychiatrist had been hoping to hear from his brother, the pessimist. Then he clambered to the top of the pile, dropped to his knees, and began gleefully digging out scoop after scoop with his bare hands. 'What do you think you're doing?' the psychiatrist asked, just as baffled by the optimist as he had been by the pessimist. 'With all this manure,' the little boy replied, beaming, 'there must be a pony in here somewhere!'"


    I love that joke. As yes, I'm a "digging in the manure looking for the pony" type of person.

    Idaho Homsteader

    1. You can't cure optimism. Now we know why, if you are born to it.

  3. Dear Mr. Dakin.

    In apocalyptic times, you will be an asset that many groups will want to posses. The secretions of oils and grease from your hair con be a life saving for all of the non-stainless steel arms.

    I urge to take measures that in case of an apoc event for your security.
    My suggestion is to shave that glorious hair of yours or risk captivity that will exploit your god giving nature.

    The General.
    You can always join our brigade and avoid being capture.

  4. Hey Fatso.

    By the way you look. You don't have to worry much about the a-pork-alypse.


  5. Interesting. I guess I'm just a happy pessimist. Thanks to very low expectations, I'm pleasantly surprised often.

    1. I'm always too busy looking for whoever pissed in my glass to be all that happy.