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MALTHUSIAN PREPPER

I detest wishy-washy pussy-men who can’t scare up the good sense to be worried about the future.  They are so afraid of minimal conflict, minimal loss of luxury and minimal effort beyond earning money, they would rather die along with their families in a suburban fairy tale land than acknowledge even a glimmer of the reality that is going to be our future.  Even more, I detest the Mammon worshiping snake oil salesmen who flock to churn out the least offensive pap needed to woo their customers into a false sense of security.  When men were men and sheep were nervous, hard talk about reality wasn’t such a taboo subject.  Of course, since some time back we seemed to have turned a corner and en masse embraced a collective dream of Potemkin Villages, every single activity and cultural practice nothing more than comforting façades ( such as female Marine infantry, imprisoning drug users longer than rapists or murderers, emasculating males in the workplace, to name but a few sickening examples ), I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that a case of MRE’s and a shiny AR-15 is all that is required to survive the complete and utter destruction of the Global Industrial Age along with all its dependents.  Let me be very clear here.  You can’t wish away the laws of physics.  And every soothing utterance sold at high dollar from the prepper hucksters attempts to do just that. 

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At a time when those afraid of our future most desperately need an idea of what to do to save themselves, they are surrounded by drooling brain dead Jerry’s Kids offering glasses of Grape Kool-Aid.  If any of you are even remotely connected to your primitive reptilian brain functions, you sense unequivocally that ill winds blow strongly now more than any time since the 1970’s.  You may not be able to articulate the reasons, but we all know, deep down past self delusion, self denial and wishful thinking, the gravy train has already derailed.  The conductor is cheerfully rambling on as if nothing is happening, while insurance salesmen are collecting insomniac passengers money as if they will make it off the train in time to spend it, and the 90% still asleep won’t wake up even as the first collision on the face of the cliff below the bridge throws everyone asunder.  The answer to survive is to open your friggin window and leap out, grabbing a sapling or branch, and suffer a few scratches.  Yet nobody wants to leave their fellow passengers.  They would rather buy worthless insurance and stay with the doomed crowd. 

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Hey, I get it.  We are social monkeys and act with exponential abilities with crowds, but with reduced capacity while truly alone.  No one is asking you to go it all alone.  Hell, it is almost impossible to BE alone anymore, every water hole packed way beyond capacity after a century of overpopulating as we grazed from the petroleum trough.  But you do need to exit the gravy train.  Which doesn’t even cost all that much money-but takes courage and willpower.  Everything in life has a simple answer.  We just are rather adapt at ignoring them.

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