walking away from equity

WALKING AWAY FROM EQUITY

Walking away from an investment is never easy, but the issue is when it is so difficult you decide not to walk away.  You think you are staying in the frying pan out of the fire, but this does you no good if someone flips over the pan.  Walking away is a strategy in and of itself, one I’ve never had a problem with.  I wonder if it has to do with growing up in the country?  I know it’s a cliché, but when death is normal you definitely get an understanding you can’t hold on to everything.  Of course, I’ve also never had a huge attraction to money past a use as a tool, so there is the ease in which I don’t earn much and then don’t much care what happened to the last paycheck.  I don’t want to see it go to waste like to some prick landlord that jacks rent up 10% a year and gives a crap less how his customers can afford it than if that is the correct amount the market will bear.  But once I put it to good use it is over and done to me.  I don’t look back and say, gee, I wish I had that $500 I gave my daughter when she needed a start on tuition, or the same amount I spent on Russian ammo.  I say, I’m happy to be buying her forgiveness ( you can’t buy love, so I’m trying for redemption ) and I’m happy I don’t have to worry about reloading supplies now.  And I also don’t look back and regret bad investments, as long as I’ve moved on to a better place.

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In Florida I moved from renting an apartment to buying my own mobile home- a tax return bought an older model.  So old the pipes were not copper or plastic.  It was a great little place, under a giant tree so we didn’t need air conditioning, and since it was paid for it cost me just lot rent at $175 a month.  Then I got the silly notion stepdaughter needed more space ( her room was a half the screen porch walled in ) and we traded in and started making payments on a bigger unit in the same park.  So what happens, of course?  The one bitch moves away from home and other stops working so I have to make home payments myself while my child support payments and taxes take 60% of my pay.  The wife starts working again, we both get tax returns and put three grand down on a $12k mobile in a better park and walk away from the current home losing all equity.  And then the wife loses the next job and once again we are screwed.  After holding on as long as possible, having roommates even, it just isn’t working and we move from Florida.  A good ten grand lost in mobile home payments.  I overpay for a travel trailer in Carson, then we move in to a bigger one I buy for cash from a 401k check that was manna from the post office from my old job I didn’t even know we had.  When we tried to move to Elko I gave that trailer away- but lesson learned.  Between the two I only lost $4k equity.  I could make a long list of other poor investments.  We all make them, mostly because we can.  Because we are in living amongst a surplus even if it isn’t what it used to be.  But life should be a journey, not a pile of toys.

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apocalypse compliant

APOCALYPSE COMPLIANT

Cheese Dingus Yuppie Scum, desperately seeking to retain their fishwife mate, all their shiny and pretty possessions and status symbols and every stinking Greenback they possibly can, because, you know, our great and wonderful government would NEVER devalue our currency, are so worried about not looking like some Redneck sum bitch stocking his hand-dug root cellar with canned opossum meat, is busy as can be following the North Idahoan Worthy And Special Survivalist Plan Of Concrete Bunker Acquisition With ONLY Semi-Auto Weapons Allowed Inside and has just spent $356,347.67 and is now prepared to live in luxurious comfort after all infrastructure failure for the grand sum length of three and a half months.  Or until the propane runs out if he is using his liquefied gas adapted generator to run his deep freezer to stockpile frozen lobster bisque.  I think we can do a lot better.  You know, being trailer trash irregulars and all.  A shopping list to get you through the very long Dark Ages following a true collapse ( despite the proffered wishful thinking from Jesus Thumpers insisting God himself will save his privileged country by only seeing us through a teeny tiny tribulation ).  As I’ve said before, a one year grain stockpile is old school wishful thinking.  A year ain’t rancid Obammy sweat.  Start at three years and get a minimum of five and strive for ten as the ultimate goal.  The most pathetic minimum wage earner such as myself brings home a grand a month.  On your own land, that is a bloody fortune.  About $150 bucketed wheat from the feed store, and $200 a year worth of wheat from Wal-Mart.

http://www.walmart.com/ip/Augason-Farms-Emergency-Food-Hard-Red-Wheat-26-

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I wouldn’t be comfortable with less than three grain grinders.  Get the Corona from Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Victoria-Commercial-Manual-Grinder-Hopper/dp/B00JZZKLHI/ref=sr_1_5?s=kitchen&ie=UTF8&qid=1405705195&sr=1-5

These are a lot more expensive than ever.  I would spend double the Chinese made versions myself ( the Corona’s are made in South America ).  You do not want a piece of crap grain grinder, and you always want back-ups.  Your water filter, again three for back-ups, is both high quality and high quantity:

http://www.amazon.com/Katadyn-20743-Ceradyn-Replacement-Element/dp/B0007U0116/ref=sr_1_22?ie=UTF8&qid=1405705569&sr=8-22&keywords=katadyn+water+filter

You are already up to $1400 for a single person with five years of food.  You need to add two to three rifles at $1k, and at least $300 in ammo ( if you buy the bolt action in 762x39 or 223 you can buy steel cased ).  I would have a minimum of one thousand rounds per rifle.  So, three rifles and three thousand rounds are around $1600 to bring you to $3k.  Each person in the family just needs wheat only in addition, so a family of three is $5k total.  Throw in a lot of junk land, a rudimentary shelter and I can’t believe any family needs more than six months wages at minimum wage to survive longer term after a collapse.  If both of you worked, camping on the land as you made land payments and biked into town to work, in four or five months EVERYTHING here is bought cash on the barrelhead.

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survival divorce 9

SURVIVAL DIVORCE 9

Living frugal is no big deal.  We’ve all done it while going to college ( and if you didn’t that meant mommy and daddy spent gobs of money keeping you in high style and why in the name of all that is holy would you be reading something like this because I’m sure they are also using the family lawyer to ruin your soon to ex-wife, AND I’m sure they have a mansion in Paraguay down the street from the Bush ranch so that you and all the other insufferable rich pricks can survive the Apocalypse you helped cause ) or starting out after the military, or whatever.  All you need to do is be out of debt, not have a car and live in as low a rent district as you can without having to pay Tyrone protection money.  For most people this was the “character building years” as you struggled mightily and manfully to create a better life your yourself and soon to be blushing bride. The problem is that after you’ve built your life up to a middle class existence you don’t want to devolve back to those years.  You’ve got the whole status thing going for you.  America might not have a class structure that is recognized, but there is a shadow, quite plainly understood hierarchy based on money.  Those on welfare are scumbags and get crapped on for the price of survival.  Those in entry level positions, if they don’t have better-off family as an indicator of their position, are barely better and had better stay on their part of town.  The middle class will never be allowed entry to the 1% but they are allowed to emulate the trappings of power and wealth by staying in debt forever, enriching their betters for the privilege of erecting a façade. 

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That is the life you just left, and that is the life you are being forced to keep your ex in.  Wow, such a loss!  I feel for you, bro!  Okay, not really.  I’d actually like to slap that sad and pathetic boo-boo look off your face because you have just been freed from your golden handcuffs and you are too completely friggin ignorant to process this.  Wake the crap up.  You just gave up a thirty year mortgage and a perpetual car payment and the need to have a two income earning family unit and all the stress you get from being two weeks away from bankruptcy and living under a bridge.  Even with vastly reduced take home pay you can live a much freer and carefree life.  You just have to leave the middle class.  Okay, it kinda sorta sucks one step down the socio-economic ladder.  Bitches be crazier.  But, friends tend to be truer rather than money hungry and shallow.  And living frugal is no big deal.  It is simply reclassifying what was once thought of as essentials as luxuries and being content with what you have rather than always striving for more.  I’ve got a big old fist full of reality for all those Yuppie Scum out there- the God Mammon you worship is constructed of paper fiat money worth absolutely zero.  Keep chasing him and you will find all you hold dear to have the same value.

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boot knife drama 2

BOOT KNIFE DRAMA 2

Okay, a bit on the short side this time.  I had oodles and gobs of time yesterday and wrote three articles ( I’m taking a vacation day Monday, so only one morning posting and no comments answered ) and today I’m harried and tormented and they are being all needy and crap so I barely have time for one and a half.  This is the price you pay for me working a regular job- slight irregularity ( just like your bowels as they struggle to process cheese doodles and Big Macs ).  The benefit is that while it is nice, I don’t actually need your money to survive and so I don’t need to bend over and spread my cheeks and invite advertisers to sodomize me.  And hence you- but we won’t dwell on that since now you are REALLY irregular ( remember “Bad Santa”? ).  Anyway, pushing aside haunting images of Bubba and banjo playing, the eagerly anticipated and minion longed for update on my travails adapting a boot knife to a belt knife which in the great scheme of things isn’t too important but I had a bee in my bonnet about it.

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I wanted a regular knife, not a folder, to wear at work.  I’m not anticipating the homeless attacking me and stealing the rotted food I drag back to the food bank, but I do worry about coyote pack attacks ( if I lived in an area with wolves, I’d be a lot more worried.  I know coyotes attacking is a remote possibility, but my neighbor did report aggressive behavior to his person one year when they were emboldened enough to come down to the river bottom and attack calves- I’m just being nicely paranoid ) and possibly having to flee an instant collapse scenario where I’m needing to defend myself to get home ( same reason I always wear earth tone clothes for when I go overland ).  I don’t need the hassle of locking the blade into place.  And I love the boot knife because it is discreet, it allows wearing while getting in and out of the truck, and it looks semi-professional. Alas, I couldn’t get the damn clip to glue shut so it was secure on my belt.  The problem, it turns out, was using the putrid crap Super Glue.  It failed repeatedly, even after carefully following instructions.  Well, I hate throwing good money after bad, but I hemmed and hawed and decided to splurge $3 on a tube of Lock-Tite ( however you spell it- the stuff recommended for scope mounts ).  It was at Family Dollar at the front check out, a blue package with the tube having two side squeeze spots to get the glue out without a mess.  And it worked wonderfully.  Problem solved.

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Update- HA!  You doubting Thomas Mother Humpers.  I got it to just about the regular length.  Good Gravy, I’m good.  See you tomorrow, same Bat Time.

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cheesecloth

CHEESECLOTH

Cheesecloth is yet another of those neat and cheap items you really want a lot of on hand for the Apocalypse.  I’m not sure exactly what it does in the kitchen as far as straining gravy or other bizarre crap like that because I’m a manly man who only uses that room to char meat and grunt wildly as I tear off chunks of dead animal with my teeth and hands.  Well, I really like gravy.  I’ve tried to make it on occasion because if there is one thing I like more than dead roasted critters it is bubbling pools of said animals fat and what better way to put a civilized face on consuming fat than in gravy?  I never seemed to get the hang of it though which is a little embarrassing because it is just fat and flour and water.  So maybe I need to learn all about cheesecloth and how to use it in the kitchen.  But that will just have to learn to wait for another time because we have far more important fish to fry here.  As I’m grumbling the other day about stinkin French Press’s and how that can’t last a damn year before I fumble one and break it and glass shatters everywhere and a tiny voice in the back of my mind is screaming, “You giant fool with perfect hair, your minion warned you about how he sliced up his hand on one of the damn things and had to go to the hospital but you wouldn’t listen to him oh no because you are a friggin know it all and look how this glass just fairly exploded with malefic intent and almost injured you and or the cats who might have stepped on one of the shards and as their very life force was ebbing from them they would have looked up at you with wounded pleading eyes and gave one pathetic meow and expired and your dreams would have been haunted by the majestic creatures you destroyed!”, I’m thinking on how I now need a back-up to the re-useable coffee filters I’m using with the vacuum thermos’s to make coffee now.  Now that I have finally hastened to listen to the minions voice before someone is seriously hurt.  And guess what will work swimmingly as a filter in the event that the three mesh ones I have ever all break, are stolen or melted into goo?  That’s right-cheesecloth.

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You can also use the stuff to pre-filter water before you take your bucket full of rancid river water full of twigs and bugs and floating fish turds and subject your expensive water filter to working overtime.  The better you pre-filter, the longer your filter lasts doing its primary task of getting microbes out of your drinking water.  Need mosquito netting?  Cheesecloth.  We get squeeters every few years or so- whenever the river rises and deposits pools of stagnant water on the banks.  As you can imagine, in a 500 year drought that doesn’t happen every year.  I still have healing dumps all over me from the little whores buzzing, divebombing and eating us.  A single glove of garlic crushed and put in cheesecloth hung by each door kept the little bastards away immediately.  I remember my mother using cheesecloth to dry fruit with.  We had the wooded framed wire screens stacked up and over the top she draped the fabric.  You also drape over your bowl of rising bread to keep out the bugs.  And of course, wrapping cheese.  It was used in aging cheddar cheese primarily, but if you take cheesecloth and put a slight bit of vinegar on it, then wrap the cheese, it should keep mold off of other less dry cheeses also.  Got cheesecloth?

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BBQ at the border

BBQ AT THE BORDER

NPR radio has been larded up with border baby stories, and for some strange reason, transgender stories.  Which I’ve yet to figure out unless they are trying to gross us all out and make border bitch stories more palatable in comparison.  Now, Occam’s Razor tells us the simplest answer is usually the correct one but if it were just a case of gross incompetence to rival the grossest incompetence of all times of all politicians of all governments in all time lines, this wouldn’t be much of a story.  So I’m putting on my tinfoil hat and going with an implausible but amusing conspiracy theory that all the Central American kids being lured up here by black bag funded agency advertising in local papers is for another reason.  And once up here, the kids aren’t being detained and then given to relatives but something far more sinister.  I don’t think this is just to open up the borders- they have been de facto wide open for a very long time to enrich the elites through wage dampering and overconsumption.  And it certain isn’t about any humanitarian impulses.  The only impulse the Kenyan Kunt has is to go golfing.  He certainly isn’t humane.  And I don’t think there are enough bodies to adequately spread toxic tropical diseases effectively.  I don’t think I’m understanding the whole picture, certainly.  But I wonder if this might just be a dry run in “disappearing” some of our domestic population.

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There is perfect deniability.  If the Chicago uncle says, “where is my bambino?”, Uncle Obammy says “we flew him back home”.  When a call to the home village doesn’t turn up Little Juan, then the vicious gang violence around the airport is blamed for a kidnapping or whatever.  Or, he died in the holding camp here of one of those tropical diseases.  And in the meantime the Feds have plenty of practice hiding and lying.  I’m not saying this is necessarily true, just that it is an intriguing possibility.  After all, the more insistent a régime is in loving children, the worse they treat kids.  Look at that unholy twat pleading with Satan himself to sodomize her daily, Hilary Clinton.  “It’s for the children”, “It takes a village” even as sharpshooters are given medals for not hitting held infants ( if they are dropped as the mothers head explodes from a sniper bullet, their tiny heads flattening on ground impact, that doesn’t count against their score ) and groups of small children are burned alive in Texas by BBQ Reno ( “we had to destroy the children to save them” ).  Look at Bush Jr. destroying sanitation facilities and water treatment plants and food distribution networks so that they could save the children from Saddam.  I could go on all day. 

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lights off & sweathers on

LIGHTS OFF & SWEATERS ON
I talk a lot about my superior greatness and how special I am and how Baby Jesus loves me above all others and how I can live on 50 watts of solar power a day and the last winter I only used a single five gallon tank of propane to heat the B-POD.  One might get the mistaken impression that I am just gifted and this stuff is easy.  You actually have to work at it.  I watch the power usage like a beat cop patrolling for vagrants and other riffraff.  The lights are allowed on from dusk to bedtime.  If we wake up the next morning and it is too cold to go up to the trailer ( having my comfortable thrift store $20 recliner back, away from the evil clutches of the stepdaughter, it is now a slice of ecstasy to relax upstairs during the day ), the lights do NOT get used.  I don’t care if the day is sunny, the day after that might not be.  The penlights are used ( the Pit has two small windows on either end.  It is never pitch black inside, but you are moving about in gloom ) and to read there are book LED’s that clamp on and use AA batteries ( it took awhile to find a book lamp that was an LED, not a filament bulb, and used standard, not button, batteries and was affordable ).  When the battery controller light turns green, only then are we allowed to turn on the overhead light.  That is how you survive on so few panels and batteries.

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And when it is cold inside, averaging fifty degrees with regular coffee brewing ( forty to forty-five otherwise ) unless we are in an extended cold snap, we don’t play Yuppie pussy and turn on the heat.  You stay bundled up in the winter, even inside.  Sitting around with little activity, I need to wear the same amount of sweater I do when I’m outside in fifteen degrees in the sun out of the wind at work- a thin wooly under a thicker one.  We also wear beanies inside most of the time.  Outside, I wear a polyester cap under a wool beanie and am warm. Or, my new preferred mild winter head gear, a genuine Eastern European Commie Cap.   In severe cold I have my rabbit fur hat.  During dinner, the place heats up from cooking and then the heater goes on for an hour if needed.  I bath-uncomfortably, granted.  Fifty-five to sixty is a gold plated bitch for bathing but sometime it doesn’t get any warmer.  And that is how you don’t use much heat in the winter.  You stay bundled.  You do the Jimmy Carter in the White House wearing a sweater bit.  My dad hollers he will never wear a big feather down parka in the house, whenever the heating bill issue comes up.  He also grew up in southern California and is forever spoiled in a “lounging about in a T-shirt” way.  I say, it is far cheaper to buy a wool sweater than to pay a heating bill.

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