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Friday, October 31, 2014

thirty year


THIRTY YEAR BAIT

Yesterday I ran into a short comment over at Zero Hedge over a forgotten article ( I can see why ‘Ol Remus started including those quotes in his weekly publication-a lot of times the comments trump the article [ ‘Ol Remus Dude: if you ever get the writing bug after publishing ceases, feel free to submit a guest article here.  You can just submit it as Anonymous if you don’t want a bunch of asswhores bothering you with questions such as, Why Don’t You Spend All Your Free Time Giving Us A Free E-Magazine? ] ) which succulently summed up the last thirty years of middle class survival.  To paraphrase, by rolling over their debt to lower interest rates for the last thirty years, the middle class stayed alive.  You do remember that for about the last forty years, wages adjusted for inflation have shrunk, right?  So, perfect summation.  Then, I was later returning from an out of town donation pick-up, I notice again a huge advertisement banner nearly as big as the mobile home it was on.  ONLY $528 monthly for 23 years.  They were so proud of this deal, they were bragging about it rather than trying to hide it in the small print.

*

Granted, for this town that is cheap.  You live out in the boonies, $100 a month land payment. A loan for a well, a septic and perhaps power hook-up, another $300.  Property taxes, under $100.  So pretty much a grand a month and you’ll own the whole deal in twenty years.  If I broke it all down, a TERRIBLE deal all away around and able to be substituted way cheaper.  But to middle class Yuppie Scum types, this is roughing it.  This is sacrificing and being frugal.  And this is how, so easy, every swinging corrupt scumbag out there has jumped on the bandwagon to suckle dry most working stiffs.  Even two minimum wage drones could, barely, swing this deal ( assuming they are financed, I know- not possible ) financially.  One pays the land and shelter, one buys the groceries and makes the car payment.  Oh, they’d probably do it smarter.  Buy the half size mobile for half the price.  $300 mobile.  $100 land.  $100 payments on a generator and a bunch of panels.  Haul their water.  Then, they’d be paying half what a rental anything would cost.  Right there, you are buying a mobile home and land for just $125 over what a travel trailer lot rent alone would run you.  Which is REALLY enticing, isn’t it?  The Siren call of debt to save you money.  Which only works if you desire above all else to be middle class.  If you desire security, you avoid debt and middle class status symbols entirely.  Just saying.

END

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 Post-Apoc Movies, ( free )
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Thursday, October 30, 2014

ten percent


TEN PERCENT

On this big ‘ol ball of mud we call a planet, just ten percent of the place has arable land suitable for crop production.  There are several problems with this.  First, a lot of people who are not farming that land live on that land.  Right smack dab on a fertile chunk of land lies bowling alleys and movie theatres and homes.  This isn’t just here in the US but a leftover from the last seven thousand years or so when there wasn’t modern transportation but rather folks needed to be right next to the crops they planted.  You needed to roll out of bed and start hoeing your asparagus immediately.  In some places such as the Nile, you couldn’t do that because of the annual flooding that re-fertilized the ground.  You pretty much had ALL the arable land available for planting ( which is another reason they were the other successful long term empire ).  If transportation wasn’t an issue than neither would the amount of available land be.  But we are stuck with all that farmland being shared with non-farmers.  Which means that historically the great majority of the population lived on that ten percent.  What has happened recently was that as transportation became easier and more widely available people moved away from the ten percent of land and food was shipped to them.  But the 10% kept increasing in population at the same time.  So here is where we are today.  A LOT of population lives both on and surrounding the arable land we have.

*

So, here is a very simple question for you.  What happens when fuel for transportation becomes scarce?  If you said “everyone living on crap land moves toward arable land in a desperate attempt at survival” you win a Bison Loyal Minion Brownie Button.  Follow the migration patterns in Africa.  It doesn’t matter if folks walk away for weeks towards a possible death by the hands of border guards, bandits or refugee camps.  To stay is certain death.  To go, at least a small possibility of survival exists.  This is the herd mentality you will see in our very near future.  Folks will gravitate towards farmland.  If you are there, you are a target.  The areas already overcrowded are going to get even more crowded.  You can take that to the bank.  Is that where you want to be living?  While it is true that growing food is paramount to long term survival, being in an area already overcrowded because its fertility and soon to be drawing far more people is NOT good for short term survival.  This is what keeps me sleeping soundly at night- I’m in a place nobody wants to be.  The few idiots that desperately cling to this area like piglets on a sow trying to suckle at the corporate left over wealth of mining will desert the place as fast as the money dries up.  You put so much effort into avoiding nuclear targets or natural disaster sites and have instead put yourself on ground zero so you can garden.  Good job.

END
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 Post-Apoc Movies, ( free )
 Improvised Munitions Book, ( NOW FREE!!! Free, I tells ya! )
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Wednesday, October 29, 2014

no quarantine


NO QUARANTINE

No Ebola Quarantine Rules now in effect for little more than a desire to avoid lawsuits.  I mean, okay, I can understand this since this is New Jersey we are talking about and despite having an average home property tax of $10k ( which is a bit ridiculous since this IS NJ we are talking about and since The Boss escaped from there forty years ago to sing some rock and roll, nothing good has happened to the place and those kind of taxes for living in NYC’s toilet is a smidge high ) the state is dead ass broke and after a big chunk of the boardwalk took a swim in a mild tidal surge during a hurricane there is no more tourists going there.  They can’t afford a lawsuit, and what are the survivors of Ebola going to do, sue the state for protecting civil rights?  Obammy, NJ Governor’s bestest butt buddy now, will back him up on that one.  Personally, I’ve never heard of such putrid bullcrap.  A nurse goes to Ebola Central to be a good Samaritan, then gets all butt hurt when we prefer she doesn’t come back and start an epidemic.  I’m at pains to figure out if we are just incredible stupid or if the government actually wants all of us to die.

*

I hate conspiracy theories that are taken too seriously.  They are great for entertainment, but not as serious problem analysis.  And yet, this almost makes me wonder if all these Ebola related Evil Plot ideas have merit.  But instead of that, let’s ask another question better attached to reality.  Could this be nothing more than just an unintended consequence?  Here is my two cents worth.  We all know how Ghetto Dwellers get all worked up over anything.  They have definitely carried over their original cultural trait of superstition from the home world and kept it alive for centuries ( which is easy to do when you refuse to assimilate to the new forcibly presented Borg.  I’m not saying I don’t understand the behavior ).  Most likely, just as in West Africa, here in Ghetto’s across the land the inhabitants are convinced Ebola is a government plot to kill them ( or, the reaction to Ebola is, same difference ).  They will riot and burn if quarantine is enacted.   Again, I don’t blame them.  I trust the government about as much.  So, by pacifying the ghettos, the FedGov is inadvertently going to allow Ebola to spread ( IF, a big IF, it does go pandemic ).  It isn’t that they are evil, but blind to their own stupidity.

END

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My books available on thumb drive:
 Post-Apoc Movies, ( free )
 Improvised Munitions Book, ( NOW FREE!!! Free, I tells ya! )
 my bio & biblio
*
If my Blogger page ever goes down, I will start to post at my regular web site:
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*
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Tuesday, October 28, 2014

back daily


BACK DAILY

Okay, I THINK, and let me repeat that just in case anyone misheard for their own benefit and then later I’d have to hear whining and caterwauling, I THINK I’m pretty sure I’m going back to the every weekday format.  Yes, it was a great relief to not have to pull a not so fresh idea out of my ass every day.  I was greatly relieved when that was no longer an issue.  So allow me to explain what happened to change my mind.  It was really simple.  Yesterday I went to start writing the next weekly article and I blanked out.  Instead of starting to write a long introductory segment, I could barely get a full article of 500 words ( the average length of the once weekly being 2k words ).  And it wasn’t like it was a subject I had issues with.  It was another angle on the attack against living on or near farmland ( I already wrote the damn thing so you’ll probably read it tomorrow since there is no need to waste it ).  I should have been able to get a damn book length treatise out of that subject.

*

So, I don’t know if it is just the many years of short articles that I’m used to, or more likely perhaps since I’ve covered almost every conceivable subject I’m a bit bored and don’t want to stretch out writing about too familiar items.  Perhaps a bit of both.  I suppose if the daily habit gets me too stressed again I’ll just do a several part series on one subject to give me a rest from the “daily article idea blues”.  If any of you have a good idea for a 5k booklet, like the last time a minion gave me the subject for the “6 months prep and rat race escape”, that would also give me a rest from time to time ( I’m under impressed with my last booklet on the weapons devolution subject and likely will never finish it unless I get desperate, and then likely give it away as a free book ).  Also, don’t be alarmed if I’m only averaging 400 words per article rather than the 500 I’ve been doing for years.  In my busy schedule, 20 minutes writing verses 30 can sometimes make a huge difference.

*

The Woodpile Report will cease publishing after another issue or two, according to ‘Ol Remus.  I can’t believe he hung in there so long, for so little reward.  I’ve always been very impressed with his efforts and will be sad to see him go, but like Seinfeld, it’s better to go out at the top rather than dragging things on to where product suffers ( HEY!  No comments from the Peanut Gallery about this blog ).

END

Please support Bison by buying through the Amazon ad graphics at the top of the page. You can purchase anything, not just the linked item. Enter Amazon through my item link and then go to whatever other item you desire. As long as you don’t leave Amazon until after the order is placed, I get credit for your purchase.  For those that can’t get the ads because they are blocked by your software, just PayPal me occasionally or buy me something from my Amazon Wish List once a year.
*
The Old Bison Blog on CD 
Over five years of work and nearly two million words of pure brilliance. Here is the link to order:
http://kunaki.com/sales.asp?PID=PX00KX7Z1I
*
My books available on thumb drive:
 
 Post-Apoc Movies, ( free )
 Improvised Munitions Book, ( NOW FREE!!! Free, I tells ya! )
 my bio & biblio
*
If my Blogger page ever goes down, I will start to post at my regular web site:
www.BisonPress.com
*
My books on PDF available at
http://www.lulu.com/shop/search.ep?keyWords=james++dakin&sorter=relevance-desc
*

If you want them on kindle, just search with my full name: James Dakin
*
By the by, all my writing is copyrighted. For the obtuse out there.
 
 
 
 

Monday, October 27, 2014

that's offensive


THAT’S OFFENSIVE

Probably due to the overwhelming customer base of Yuppie Survival Scum being overly religious, the Basic Survival Writers Guide To Wealth stipulates preaching a very narrow worldview that will NOT offend this sub-genre ( to be clear, I have zero problem with religion on a personal level.  As long as it ain’t State Sponsored, and as long as your religion doesn’t make it okay for you to kill unbelievers-such as myself-and as long as you respect my decision to remain comfortable agnostic and refrain from trying to convert me, I respect whatever deity you worship ).  Basically, it is okay to mow down all who oppose you, but first you have to feed all their women and children and then can only retaliate for attacks.  You aren’t allowed to be offensive or proactive.  Now, to me this is just flippin silly.  While Tommy Tactical Manuals proliferate amongst the adherents of said worldview, the larger strategic understanding is missing and absolutely no comprehension of logistics is present ( stockpiling is not logistics, nor is transportation.  Logistics, especially post-apocalypse logistics, is all that AFTER resources and infrastructure are identified and procured ).  Because New Testament thinking is dominant, there is a lot of hugging and loving and charity and political correctness of other ilk.  There is little in the way of Old Testament fire and brimstone and hate.  So, how can there be any understanding of naked brute force that will once again predominate?  Realpolitik.

*

Look, I engage in lively discourse against the many and varied asswhores throughout history which raped and pillaged and then ended up in history books as near divine angels of perfection.  Dripping penile funguses like Washington and Lincoln and FDR.  But I still understand why they did it.  It was politically necessary for our empire to grow.  You can’t have a Constitutional Republic AND an empire, not when the Constitution supposedly limits the federal government to little more than a referee for the sovereign states.  From the very first, our country was all about stealing land and enriching those that climbed to the top ( anda big difference between here and Europe was that here you weren’t limited by birth to be part of the ruling elite- you could climb the ladder ).  All that freedom gibberish was for mass consumption, but at least back then even if there wasn’t true individual freedom at least there was a better and improved version of economic freedom.  A better sharing of the pie for the downtrodden ( today’s welfare for the poor is really fedgov subsidies to corporations such as EBT card transactions enriching Citibank, Food Stamps going to BigAgri, Section 8 enriching construction and construction loans, college grants enriching private schools who are raising tuition to subsidize their Mass Opiates Football, etc. ).  Today, amidst a deluge of individual freedom propaganda ( which is merely the freedom from responsibility as we lounge about in our cages ), there is no longer any pretext of economic pie sharing and the only choice you have now is how much debt you wish to assume.  Don’t get me wrong, I always have been and always will be an Anarchist, but despite whatever idealistic leaning I hold steadfastly I also remain a realist. It is what it is, not what we’d like it to be.  And that reality orientated survivalist viewpoint is far from universally shared.

*

There is a shared distaste for the average idiot with a gun and his willingness to immediately upon any catastrophe significant enough to break down law and order ( and sometimes, not even until then ) start preying on anyone with food and other supplies he needs.  We all know a short butt ton of these people.  They are everywhere.  Almost anyone you talk to about the world ending has this view.  It would be nice to discard them as insignificant beyond target practice but there are so many of them that they cannot be overwhelmed ( as another wise Jim who left a good looking corpse once said, they’ve got the guns but we’ve got the numbers ).  This dictates adopting the smarter than the average bear strategy of hiding out until most of the killing is done and then reemerging.  Let the flaming retards kill each other off, trading multiple magazines worth of carbine rounds for the moldy scrapings off refrigerator shelves.  Not only is this the smarter way to do things, it is far cheaper.  Why buy a farm now when you can have one for free later?

*

My point is, most survivalist writers can’t distinguish between being unprepared and being a bandit during the die-off, and what happens AFTER the die-off.  If you are unprepared for the collapse, you are part of the problem.  You are an oxygen wasting armed moron.  Hopefully a redneck will snipe you with a bolt action from beyond the effective range of a 223 and take you down like the evolutionary dead end you are.  If you make it through the die-off, you were prepared.  Also lucky, but that is beyond anyone’s control.  From then on however, if you don’t act like a bandit, you are at a distinct disadvantage militarily.   And by banditry, I’m referring to being an unsporting aggressive unprovoked stealer.  You take because you need and you steal because one day you will need.  You wipe out distant tribes not because they threaten you but because they sit at an important strategic crossroads, have a surplus of crops, have slaves you need for a construction project, have women you want for keeping the gene pool uncontaminated or they sit atop a mountain containing ores you need for your arms industry.  In short, your tribe must act like a nation state jockeying for imperial status, and non-tribal members be damned.  To those whose image of a post-apocalypse idyllic life is permaculture villages and peaceful coexistence with neighbors, you are living in a damn fool’s paradise.  The real world doesn’t roll like that, yo.

*

History is replete with small tribes at constant warfare with one another.  And it wasn’t just resource theft.  That is the ultimate species survival aspect of it of course, but as the saying goes “to a hammer everything looks like a nail”.  Since aggressiveness and theft are on display, cultivated and practiced, they come in handy for things other than just waiting around for a famine before you get brutish and nasty.  A lot of primitive warfare was actually between trading partners.  The bride price was withheld, all of the promised forthcoming crops were not delivered, an expected reciprocal gift was withheld.  That sort of thing.  Since there was no enforceable body to mediate disputes, after copious amounts of alcohol ( one imagines ) and a few questions to ones buddies about their manliness, a war party went off to redress grievances.  You need to think back to our oft repeated mantra, It’s About The Food, Stupid.  Every behavior in a culture/society can be traced back to its effectiveness in feeding a group better.  Boys are not raised from birth to be warriors, nor do adult men lounge around merely to lazily pick themselves up once a week to go hunting and on occasion help defend the tribe against aggressors.  That is a waste of resources and probably is based on the teachings of a modern lesbian feminist who has penis envy issues.  If war did not pay, if it did not bring in more food to the tribe, it would not be a near full time occupation ( nation states on average wage a war every ten to twenty years whereas in primitive societies it is about every two to four years ). 

*

You need to be ready to ignore present day indoctrination against violence ( modern nation state man is just as violent as primitive tribes, but since the state monopolizes violence there are problems associated with doing away with a day-to-day aggressive practices ), when the time comes-which is AFTER the nation state implodes, not before so don’t jump the gun- and embrace old school daily violence against others outside your tribe in order to gain an advantage for your group at the expense of outsiders.  Let’s zero in a bit on concrete examples to illustrate.  Obviously, die-off to die-off over is not a straight line.  You don’t go from fighting for survival to orderly newly installed government keeping peace overnight.  When I stated to hide out until the die-off is over, I didn’t mean you could watch for a traffic light switching from red to green.  It is a messy overlapping process.  I tend to think our food supply available after modern transportation is brought to a standstill is only a matter of weeks, not months, but there are too many variables to bet one’s life on.  Once you’ve determined it is indeed game over for good for our present form of governance, you can only play it by ear as far as when the worst is over.  You can’t rely on outside communications ( remember the radio signal trap in the one zombie movie?The “Resident Evil” one ).  You can only react as best as possible to local conditions.

*

You look over to your neighbors.  They were not bad, as that sort went.  Minimum of noise from their dog, minimum loud radio or construction noise.  After things fall apart, you write them off as unworthy.  The husband is out of shape, on medications.  The wife is fat and past breeding age.  The son and daughter are prime examples of modern Wigger Angst, wastes of sperm good for nothing oxygen befoulers.  They have been feeding themselves, and you know they have some kind of weapons.  But, as the dog disappears and everyone becomes slim and trim, you know their time is near.  Desperation can’t be too far away.  What do you do?  Answer: in the middle of the night you fire their place with them in it.  Any running torches get bayoneted to save on ammunition.  Granted, they did nothing to you.  They were peaceful.  But they were going to become a threat sooner or later.  There was no guarantee.  They could have just sat back and starved to death.  But being proactive means you assume the worse and act accordingly.  It means you act before things deteriorate because now you have the advantage and later you are just playing against the odds.  Welcome to the Apocalypse.  You were sold a bill of goods, where neighbors facing starvation acted like good upright law abiding citizens, where if you treated others fairly they would return the favor.  As if!

*

A near-ish neighbor might be a prepper.  Nothing definite but there are subtle hints like furtive UPS package delivery unloading, glimpses of Costco loads being backed into the garage, gun cases stealthily marched back into the house as if from the range, construction to heighten the back yard fence, what appears to be truck-loads of dirt being driven away.  You’ve tried to strike up subtle conversations at the Post Office but the guy kind of seems like a real prick.  After the die-off, do you approach again under a white flag and try for an alliance, a strength in numbers kind of thing?  Hell no.  This is just the kind of guy who is likely to turn on you when things get tough.  Not because he is a rude bastard but because he was realistic enough to prep so he might be realistic enough to guess where things are going and knows he needs to be on the offensive first in order to survive.  The best defense is an offense.  This doesn’t mean everyone degenerates into a Hobbesian blood bath.  It means until tribes are formed, you can’t trust anybody.  Once tribes are formed, you give blanket trust to your group and distrust all other always ( with appropriate dissuading mechanisms in place for your own group, of course ).

*

Your small town has a mini-homesteader on the outskirts of the far end.  You don’t know the guy, but he’s a bit of a hermit.  He has sheep and chickens and has been raising them for years.  The smart choice would be to approach him and exchange protection for his livestock raising abilities.  Your services include keeping potential looters far away from his spread, but shortsighted ingrate that he is, he rudely declines your offer.  After your messenger receives a load of birdshot in the ass, take him out with a sniper.  Someone else is going to have to learn to care for the animals.  At the next farm, things go a bit better.  In exchange for half your men ( the other half need to stay on patrol ) helping clear land and when the time comes harvesting crops, and for protection ( and, in the future, for procuring more land for the farmers sons ), you are granted a twentieth of the output.  Wasn’t that easier?  Once you’ve practiced and perfected your offensive craft, and word getting around doesn’t hurt, you easily fall into the warlord slot pretty easy.  Your sensibilities may offend you that you killed innocents, but when the odds are that they are going to become a threat to you anyway, that is just life on the sharp end of the spear.  Get over yourself.  The period between an ordered civilized one and another civilized one is full of violence and fighting as the slot for the new governing body is contended for.  The people that keep an area protected and laws enforced can’t do it with a kind word and anyone that threatens their monopoly on force which is needed to secure an area must be eliminated.

*

From the safe comfort of an office chair in front of their computer, a great many folks protected by the empire that gave their fellow citizens enough bread and circuses to pacify them and keep them docile, proudly and fearlessly proclaim with all their might their absolute fealty to the notion of peacefulness and love to their fellow man.  I hope for my sake they all continue to be self deluded. 

END
More Below
Loco Gringos Fiction:
Chapter Nine Continued
“Look at those annoying fucks hanging around at the entrance to her apartment.  Here we are in a burnt out post-apocalypse de-industrialized urban environment uninhabitable with carbon fuel inputs and instead of scrambling for supplies they are smoking and joking.  Each cigarette they are now blissfully unawares in discarding half smoked will soon be a barter item of paramount importance.  Each 40 ounce beer the last of its kind.”
“I thought beer skunked in a few months.  And if these cretins are indicative of their kind, it was bought at a Habeebs where the bottler sold at a steep discount on account of that fast approaching Turn To Crap date.  In this case I’d think it better to use it than lose it.”
“Randy, you continue to amaze me with your insistence on shitting on all tirades and rants I insist on instigating.”
“Hey, just focus on their revolting tendencies at steadfastly disregarding the race and culture of their birth, mocking the far off ghetto they try to emulate with little to no understanding either on an anthropological or sociological level.  Fucking Wiggers.”
“Racist, much, my friend?”
“Not race aversion.  Stupidity aversion.  Playing poor and imprisoned with no comprehension that the realities they wish for would be beyond their abilities to function in.”
“So?  Fuck with them?  Shoot them?”
“Just be ready to drop the first stupid fuck that spouts off.  No, I’ll do it.  Fuck trying to save all my ammo.  I’ll pop the idiot and he’s bound to have some barter items on his person.  That should pay for my troubles.  Otherwise, ignore their stupid asses and let’s go get Big Butt.”  Randy was put into a suddenly sour mood at this last exchange.  Mirthfully mocking others from afar was all well and good.  Being confronted personally with a real life example of what he previously laughed at was depressing and just made him angry.  Stupid brain lock skinny White kids, slim with the help of liquid meals and crack cocaine, damn crooked baseball caps and jeans hanging down off emancipated hips as if anyone wanted to see their pale pimply asses, looking out at the world in unfeigned slack jawed confusion.  Trying to be rappers and nonconformists.  And ending up being uniform fucktards.  Memories of similar antics from yesterday made for further complaints.  Not that he was necessarily complaining too much.  The real article, Blacks in the inner city, had real warrior skill sets these small time punks could never fathom.  Randy would be at a severe disadvantage with real ghetto soldiers.  These wet behind the ears slacker jag offs were just training exercises to get him up to speed.  He needed to realize that and ignore the present spectacle and get happy again.  Sometimes he wondered if he was a bit loopy, manic depressive or some such shit. 
*
The Wiggers of course gave the two of them the perceived notion of what was supposed to be Ghetto Stink Eye, and Randy imagined that thirty hours ago that would have given him the willies.  Even knowing he most likely wasn’t in any danger, just the thought of a potential increase in danger would have awakened the Ancient Lizard part of his brain and sent the wrong chemicals flooding his brain and screwed up his responses and thinking process.  But since then he had been shot at more than once and by now the novelty had worn off, the Dread Of The Unknown had been replaced by experience and a feeling of comfort.  He had always been too analytical and not nearly responsive enough, always acted like a deer in the headlights when confronted by danger.  But now he knew that all the time that had merely been a White Persons Danger.  Not really life threatening, just a dim memory of it, a shadow diluted by each generation as his culture decayed from luxury and apathy.  When real danger struck, he had responded well enough.  Okay, far superior to the play warriors acting tough.  Any real danger would have killed him, but here he was blessed in this under populated serene desert backwater where real danger had no economic interest.  He had been able to dip his toe in rather than be pushed into the deep end, unable to swim.  And now he was comfortable, knowing he could respond sensibly and correctly.  So instead of being worried, he just flashed the group his deepest felt smile, blew them a kiss as he absentmindedly caressed the handle of his belt sheathed bayonet, and turned away without a qualm and followed John to the apartment door.
*
John knocked.  “Susan, it’s John!”
Nothing.  Randy shifted.  Nothing.  Suddenly, elevator music came to his mind, from some movie where there was an interlude from action and danger as the characters boarded a lift and the pause had a cheery background sound.  What the hell film was that?  Oh, that was going to irritate him until it came to mind.  “Susan?”
“Dude, I’m sure she isn’t home.  I mean, if it was me, I’d have already stripped off my blouse and threw my bare heaving bosom into your arms and thanked the gods my white knight had rescued me.”
“Randy, you have the soul of a shriveled genie stuck for all eternity in a lamp, bitter and withdrawn, plotting revenge and nurturing your hate by the millennia.”
“My soul is white and pure and only turns black at the thought of fat bitches, bitches be so fat they are Pear People.  I live in fear of Pear People.  My liver spotted shrunken member nestled amongst my graying pubs retracts into its body cavity at the thought of Pear People.  True story, biologic evolution has favored the female hourglass figure as a sign of better heath and genetic makeup.  That does emphatically NOT include Pear People.  You see a large quivering backside through lust covered lenses and I see an evolutionary dead end, the very present danger to our species you so blindly ignore.  You sir, are a traitor to your species, wishing irrevocable harm upon its collective goodness.  You seek to destroy millions of years of positive selection.  I spit on you and your defective genes wishing to survive by mating with like material!”
“John, you stupid fuck!  I’m over here in this apartment.  How drunk were you the last time you came over here?  Come over here, but leave that pinche puto over there.  Jesus help us all if he thinks his babies are going to survive and be the future of mankind.”
John looked over his shoulder and grinned sheepishly at Randy as he started walking away to the other wall of apartment doors.  Randy couldn’t care less.  If he actually followed John into the building he might be cornered and face imminent annihilation if Susan body slammed him after he couldn’t escape, then landed on him with all her might and crush his spine like a Mob caddy in a car compactor with the body of an informant in the trunk.  He was just worried she would eat all their food rather than live off her fat ass for a time.  Bitch looked like she could put away twenty tortillas at a time, even whole wheat ones.  He looked into the room window across the quad, morbidly fascinated, unable to turn away.  Just how large was her ass compared to her boobs?  He didn’t remember them as being symmetrical, but like all guys he was deep DNA programmed to forever keep checking out the same female form, a continuous pick and choose, ready to sow his seed to the superior form on a moments notice such as when he wiped out an enemy village and could only keep one female breeder alive, or when an asteroid had just collided with Earth and he only had moments to go before the shock wave arrived and he needed to inseminate the best candidate quickly and then cover her protectively with his soon to be lifeless body.  DNA sure didn’t mind playing the long odds to survive, crafty bastard.
*
Randy was tempted to go fuck with the group of Wiggers, taunt them for amusement, but he knew the odds began to amass against him the closer he got to the group.  Best keep fifty yards between them.  Then, pathetic nine mils got dragged out they could fire wildly around him and he’s have time to aim back without too much worry about getting hit.  He was getting a bit bored here however.  Hold the door!  What was that?  Looked like Susan did indeed have a friend and she was definitely NOT a wide load like her friend!  Sure, her face looked like it had been pushed from the top of the Ugly Tree and hit every branch on the way down, but for a gal near middle age she had enough respect for her body to stop at just one cheeseburger and wasn’t half bad looking.  Nice rack, yo.  Okay, things were definitely looking up.  No guarantees, obviously, but Randy was sure his charm would do the trick soon enough.  He’d have to keep an eye on Bush, though, make sure he didn’t hump her leg too God-awful much.  Now he had some motivation to put a bit of pep into his step on the way back.  Whatever magical potion of bullshit John had served up on the gals, it seemed to have worked as they appeared not too much later with backpacks and large jugs of water.  Skinny Friend even had a small bore shotgun in hand, proving her worth for more than a mere two week supply of mobile pantry on her hips.  Okay, more like two months.  Susan was already sweating and jiggling a few paces from the front door.  Fucking seriously?  Randy stared daggers into John’s back but the poor deluded fool just kept on with a smile plastered on his face, happy for once in his life at the prospect of wallowing in that sea of blubber tonight.  God!  Randy thought he could even feel a wad of bile form.  “I’m Pam.  John told me your name, Randy.  Hi.”
Randy felt a stupid ass smile forming on his own face, incapable of doing otherwise.  The Little Brain was obviously in charge again.  The end of civilization and all he could think about was humping.  Worse than that, perhaps even putting his own life in danger to protect this gal even before he could hump her.  Christ on a cheese cracker!  Oh well, it was as good a hobby as any.
And then, on cue, the Wiggers drew down on them and started swaggering forward.  They must have wanted Susan’s pink Hello Kitty backpack.
END

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