See, I just used the negative
term for middle easterners, Habeeb.
Which can be anyone not White, Oriental of Black. Hindu’s, Paki’s, Persians, whatever. You know who I’m talking about. It is almost like to get into this country
from that region you have to contractually obligate to open a convenience store
and run it twenty four hours a day, with all ages and genders of family members
working their shifts. Which, come to
think of it, is actually probably a pretty smart way to make making kids a
paying proposition nowadays. Think about
it, no matter where they came from, they can’t afford farmland, not with
today’s population densities. They come
here, they still can’t farm because we are so busy turning farms into suburbs (
because of our own over-population ) that land might be affordable, but usual
not, and if it is only through being in debt for a lifetime. So, your culture which supports lots of kids
has met up with post World War Two American colonialism which displaces most
peasants to the city as the countryside is turned into dirt cheap commodity
farming run with machines by big corporations ( both in this country and most
everywhere else ). You figure out one of
the few scams that works. US law allows
unpaid workers if they are your offspring.
You come to the US, and pop out kids to work behind the registers of
your retail store. Boom! Competitive advantage out of the wazoo. See?
I’m actually envious of their success and business acumen. Sure, I call them disparaging names, make fun
of their accents. But you think I want
to work in a convenience store? The new
Ghetto Supermarket? Hell to the no.
So Doug, he might or might not
be hung like a horse, and I assure you I only think about this occasionally and
when I do I usually find myself in need of a stiff drink afterwards because
thinking of that skinny crackfuck banging uglies with my stupid ass sister is
disturbing to say the least, but for whatever reason he is allowed to stay in
her apartment all day in front of the TV.
And in this case, I don’t care what all those righteous bitches say
about the negative effects of television on peoples brains, the kids are
probably still actually reared by the boob tube and are better off for it even
if Doug is physically present. Hell, my
sister at least works part time. Doing
hair or some such crap, paid under the table.
Can Doug even get off his narrow ass and go sell dope or something? Nope.
Nope on the dope. And do you know
why she went to work? A lot of diapers
needed to be bought, the dumb ass refusing to listen to my pleas to switch over
to cloth diapers ( we were fifteen years apart, she being a really late
accident, and while my diapers were cloth, hers were not. Nor does her generation probably even know
about them as actual real alternatives ), and for a time I played along as her
financial crutch. I’ll have to tell you
a story or two on that in time. Once I
got to the point I got tired of it, their two tiny pea brains combined unable
to grasp the concept of a budget, she went cold turkey. At least she is smart enough to not go
selling her ass for daily cash, a job I’m sure Doug wouldn’t mind her doing as
long as the cable bill got paid. She
actually networked and found a job she could handle. But Doug, he just sits around, chain smokes
and talks like he is the world’s biggest bad ass. If only his back didn’t hurt. I wouldn’t have thought he could read well
enough to steal that idea for an excuse.
Or maybe be heard that from a cellmate in some country jail
somewhere. Whatever. If Sis wants that kind of babysitter, who am
I, right? Except Doug for some reason
thinks we are buddies. Or
something. I actually fantasized about
killing the fuck slow, plenty of times I’m stuck at Thanksgiving or Christmas
over at their place ( I don’t invite them over anymore, seeing as how too much
stuff disappears every time ).
The kids I can barely
stand. I know none of this is there
fault, but there is some half breed with snot running down his nose like a
water cannon in a Watts riot, a complete blank look on his face like Tammy (
that’s my sister ) was totally mainlining heroin during pregnancy and killed
all his higher brain functions or some damn thing, tugging at my shirt which is
untucked due to eating three helpings of mashed potatoes and gravy, mumbling
some fucking thing I can’t comprehend like the little shit has marbles in his
mouth, and I just want to backhand the bastard.
I know that is wrong. I do. But sometimes I fantasize about picking up
one of the little nigglets, swinging him over my head a few times, connecting
up aside Doug’s head to knock him out, then kick his balls enough times until I
see blood staining his crotch, all the time screaming about wiping the kids
nose and opening a book for the stupid fuck.
My God, Dr. Seuss would do wonders for the retard. He starts thinking about green eggs and ham,
that stuff sticks in your head. Wants
more of the Seuss, right? Those pictures
are cool as hell. That escalates. I bought them a few, and of course Doug goes
to sell them to someone for some pocket change.
He says for diapers. Right. I did push him around a few times on that
one, banged him up a bit. He tried to
get all Angry Whigger on me but he whipped around like a candy wrapper in a
windstorm. And I wasn’t picking on the
bitch. He has a good six inches on me
and should have been able to kick my ass.
But he is so much a pussy from sitting and smoking, he has zero stamina. I think Sis must have to get on top during
sex ( okay, I‘m sorry. I don‘t like the
image any more than you do ). So, yes, I
already knew he was an easy target. I
could have just beaten him down instead of shooting him. But we already talked about why I did. You can’t exactly just shoot a tied up
prisoner, you know? He should have been
capable of fighting back. But, no,
frozen like a deer in the headlights.
Part of it was his whole life, he got away with acting tough because of
his height. Part was, he thought I was
family. I never encouraged that crap,
but there you go. The stupid shit
thought I would bale them out, not turn on them. Right.
I had one years supply of food, for me and my shack-up. That was it.
Mindy. That’s my significant other. Matt And Mindy. The first time I heard that ( you know,
because of the old TV show Mork And Mindy ) I should have found another
girlfriend with a different name. But
she’s got a nice rack and can cook, so I put up with that shit. Plus, while she doesn’t believe in the
Apocalypse, the stupid fuck, at least it isn’t like she is pushing for marriage
or anything, so I’m free to spend some of my own money on preparing for The End
Of The World. Not that you need all that
much, despite what all the idiots on the InterWeb tell you. I was never a Special Forces Super Ninja
Warrior, nor was I ever independently wealthy enough to move to north Idaho and
live in a concrete bunker atop a mountain.
I’m in Elko Nevada, a rustic small burg in the middle of nowhere. A big enough place to offer job
opportunities, but small enough to be less of a problem come the collapse. Not perfect of course. According to all the experts I need twenty
acres of pasture and woods and a bubbling brook. Fuck the experts. I’ve got my one acre of high desert ( more
cold than hot, unlike the southern part of the state which I wish wasn’t part
of this once wonderful state. Hey, any
place that allows Open Carry, 24 hour drinking and legal prostitution, and yet
still attracts extra Mormons-go figure that one- can’t be all that bad ), far
enough off the beaten path no body is going to screw with me. My place is away from the highway, away from
the power lines and away from water. You
have to be lost to get here. I have my travel
trailer buried underground, both ballistic protection and camouflage, naturally warm in the winter-even at twenty
below outside-and cool in the summer
without electricity. Not that I have
anything other than a solar panel for juice.
And I have a nice pantry.
Yes, it’s only a years worth
for two people. I should have gotten a
lot more. Please pardon the crap out of
me if I didn’t find out about the Apocalypse until late in the game. Most people, which used to include me, aren’t
stupid about things but merely innocent in the ways of reality. We believe the government and its economists
and scientists. We are busy earning a
living and staying sane in a crappy job, so we take what little news we bother
to listen to and take it at face value. Jesus,
you should take a gander at my job. It
would drive you to drink, with no brain cells left to decipher the news. And I’m not talking Budweiser The Belgium
Brew ( we sell our own grandmothers into white slavery in this country, as long
as the profit is handsome enough. Now
fuzzy foreigners brew our All American Beer.
Well, did. Sorry, I might revert
to present tense most of the time.
Habit. Still coming to terms with
it all going or gone ) but the hard liquor crap that is maxed out in proof, strong
enough to burn a hole through your esophagus.
I started out in security ( after the military-which I’ll cover later )
but then they had an opening in the slot department in the casino. The tips were wonderful, pre-2008 economic
meltdown. So I went over and soon enough
made department manager. Small casino,
not one of the majors. So, before you
know it, I’m living at my present salary.
Which ain’t hard to do here. This
was one damn expensive place to live.
The rents are high due to the bubble inflating in the gold mines (
greedy fucks move here in hopes of high wages ), then still high in down times
due to the constant shortages of houses ( the town is old, for Nevada, and the
city limits were meant for a railroad/ranching population long ago ). Gas and groceries are a bit high, also. Not Alaska or Hawaii high, but close. A lot of empty highway to haul stuff here.
Well, I’m not a complete
idiot. After I woke up to our economic
trajectory, courtesy of a work mate mixing doom and gloom with after work
refreshing adult beverages, I cut back on expenses and started prepping-buying
the land and trailer and stocking it, arming myself, etc. So I had to keep my job for that expense. And I’ll admit, I was drinking heavy for the
stress. So I was slow off the gate due
to the dumbing down there. I was
prepping slow, thinking of it as a Just In Case insurance rather than the Panic
Immediately Life Boat it turned out to be.
Hey, don’t think survivalists are any more immune to surprise when the
end actually happens than unaware civilians are. We might talk tough, tote out our arsenal and
proclaim in macho mutterings about how we shall smite the starving hordes, but
we are also busy living life like the electricity will never actually go
out. We are more afraid of the End than
the general population, hence the preparing, and so when it happens we go into
just as high of an anxiety level. Them,
because they have no food or heat or protection. Us, because we have studied just how bad
things are really still going to get, the grid down just a warm up. So, we also secretly deep down also deny it
will ever really truly happen. Most
“preppers”, a term I despise because the mush heads are really just
“survivalists light/faggot survivalists”, never prep past the Three Week
Electricity Outage From A Hurricane.
They can’t think of a scenario which would take away the middle class
lifestyle they want to attain ( not that they ever will, that dream died
decades ago, but they spend themselves into debt like the dream is alive and
not a nightmare. I realize most guys go
along with the dream because the wife, seeking status amongst the herd of hens
she socializes with, want it and guys just want to bust a nut, so what the wife
wants, guys want. But to be so blind to
economic/geological/political reality
that you devote your life to chasing a whisper of smoke, I don’t see how you
can then call yourself an educated prepper ).
And most survivalists are so scared they eventually become total
recluses or go alcoholic or put some other form of coping between themselves
and reality. Luckily, I hadn’t got that
paranoid. If I had, I might have been
better prepared, but also a lot more dysfunctional. But I’m here to tell you, reality during a
collapse is nothing like fiction accounts imagined. Well, someone might have written about it
realistically, but it never got published.
That shit is simply too stark raving mad to earn its keep. At least, outside of Death Row in a
prison.
Another prepper coping
mechanism is to downplay a total collapse.
They know the whole system will crash, yet claim “overnight” collapses
are impossible. History shows three
hundred year collapses. Overnight
collapses are Hollywood fantasy. I
suppose their proof is that global thermonuclear war never happened. It almost did, many times. You never hear the details because the C
Systems ( capitalism and communism ), while needing to scare the shit out of
the populace for total control, don’t need people dropping out of the system
totally. Which is what they would do, at
least enough of them, if they knew we kept getting closer to global decade
nuclear winter every incidence. But even
putting that aside, that historical study can be a bit selective. There have already been incidences of human
population bottlenecks due to drastic abrupt climate change- those being such a
high rate of die-off that human beings as a species almost went extinct due to
too limited a number of breeding pairs.
Just studying the Roman and Mayan collapse, a systematic collapse that
lasted centuries, and ignoring other events to support your paradigm of long
slow collapse ( which, just coincidentally, is a viewpoint rewarded handsomely
in book royalties since it places a band-aid on worriers fears ), is intellectually
dishonest and really, getting down to brass tacks, retarded.
But then, the bald faced truth
never wins you any friends, either.
Without sugar coating, no one will take their medicine. So, yes, even dedicated survivalists don’t
always do the right thing in getting ready.
Here I was, hundreds of miles from naturally watered farmland, one
barely fed stream from a diminishing snow pack mislabeled a “river” for water,
with a mere years worth of food. I’m no
fan of long pork, either. Human meat is
the worst way to consume protein. I
still laugh uproariously thinking back to a doomer novel I once saw, where
humans were raised on gruel, in cages, for meat. That grain would feed a lot more chickens or
pigs, and return a LOT more calories.
And some moron in New York killed trees publishing that one. For every bottle of whiskey I drank, I could
have had another hundred pounds of wheat, good for another three months of
starvation diet. For every month I paid
the cable bill, almost another year of food.
That bottle was by reality distortion lens. But, no crying over spilt milk. Here I am still, as the others are getting
killed off. That counts for
something. I guess the least stupid win
the survival lottery.
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END
That's it for the free sneak peak. I'll let you know when the whole thing is done and available on Kindle for a buck.
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