Wednesday, July 2, 2014

false signal


As was just discussed the other day in the comments section- which I would assume everyone peruses as it is the next best thing to a third or fourth article each day-when you live at your rural hovel/retreat/Gaia sloppy kissing sustainable permaculture estate, there are nearly no repercussions for responding to a false signal of collapse.  All these goomba dillholes that work in a large metroplex to earn the humongous bucks ( I give a pass to those that are just an RCH [ red crotch hair, the finest unit of measurement visible to the naked eye ] away from earning a pension in said hellhole and are rolling the dice that by remaining in danger a bit longer they will improve their prospects for survival long term by being able to live away from the need to earn an income.  Those staying in the city just because they worship mammon and think only the rich deserve to live after the apocalypse get no such allowances from me and as we all know such approval is paramount to them ) seem to miss this crucial point.  If they respond to a false signal, they lose everything near and dear to them in the city, money, and so they will err on the side of caution and so most likely will misread the signals and die a horrible elongated death slowly boiling alive in a stewpot after they have been sodomized and tortured.  Not that it could have happened to nicer guys like the lawyers and quack doctors that they are.


The excuse for staying in town is that a retreat must be thick cement walls atop a mountain with ten years of MRE’s and your armies must be armed with AR’s or AK’s and surveillance drones and night vision devices so you Can Own The Night and then you need a military grade Hummer to get there and it never ends and the real reason is simply that you don’t want to pay the trophy wife the exit price because you are a greedy pig.  The guy that moves to far less than perfect retreat doesn’t need the high level soon to be extinct job to finance this militia porn wet dream and he can work locally and if he ever has to react to a collapse scare, the worse that happens is a called in sick day.  The far city bug out guy will lose his job if he ever does less than sixty hour work weeks or ever takes even a half day off.  Unless the mobs are actually attacking his place of work and his boss takes a direct hit with a Molotov cocktail, Yuppie Survival Scum won’t respond to any alarm.  Do you see my magnificence?  Even though I loathe and despise rich twats thinking they are survivalists, I still try to save their lives with my superior wisdom.  You are welcome, ingrate vermin.

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  1. True wisdom Lord Bison. I think my singlewide 14 miles from anything is a good start. And anything just got their first traffic light a couple years ago so I'm further out than you would imagine.

    I have one of those pensions from my career in law enforcement and given a couple years I could quit working altogether and dig my B-POD.

    1. I think considering your relatively populated area, you are doing pretty darn good. Probably better than I am.

    2. A traffic light only 14 miles away?!? man you are far too close. Its 10 miles to the nearest stop sign from my land, and another 2 to get to 'town' with a post office grocery store, etc, the next nearest town of larger size is a 2 hour drive away in any direction....
      Of course the downside is everyone knows almost everything about everyone in the area and I'll still be a 'newcomer' for another decade...

  2. You know those Yuppie Scum?

    They fear you.

    And they especially fear your hair.

    After work the Yuppie Scum go to their local cocktail bar. I happen to know for a fact that the Yuppie Scum actually pride themselves for drinking something call a “cocktail.” They give the bartender approving looks as he pours various ingredients into a metal cup and proceeds to shake the hell out of it.

    After getting a good buzz on after consuming several of these so called “cocktails,” your Yuppie Scum will begin discussing their hopes and fears in low, almost whispering voices.

    The bartender will continue shaking the hell out of the various ingredients in his metal cup, a small and knowing smile on his face.

    One of the Yuppie Scum will say, “You know that Bison Prepper dude?”

    The other Yuppie Scum will nod as the bartender continues shaking the hell out of that metal cup.

    The Yuppie scum will continue in an even lower voice, “I fear him…but I especially fear his hair…”

    The bartender pretends he isn’t eavesdropping on their conversation. But you can tell he is by the way he’s stopped shaking the hell out of that metal cup and turned his head slightly.

    The Yuppie Scum leans into the conversation as if he is about to reveal an intimate secret. He continues, “They say that if you stare into the radiant beauty of his hair for too long, you will turn to stone!”

    The Yuppie Scum nod gravely and finish their cocktails. They signal the bartender for another round. The bartender refills their glasses with whatever he’s been shaking the hell out of in that metal cup.

    He stands behind the bar and considers the term “cocktail” for a long seeming time while twisting the ends of his mustache. He finally dismisses the word “cocktail” as too “faggy.”

    1. I applaud you for taking that long writing that up-and it was actually quite engaging.

  3. GUN PORN for Lord Bison!!!!

    See ya in a couple of dayz...


    1. Thank you, but I'm only using the ammo for reloading components for the Enfield. Nothing can shake my faith in The Queens Own Battle Rifle. NOTHING!!!!!!