Peak Oil, Bird Flu, Terrorism, Debt, Global Warming. The experts agree, we are in for a shit-storm. Call it the Blue State version of the apocalypse.
Books with titles of doom have been on the shelves as long as I can remember. “How to survive the coming crash” came out in 1982, right before the longest period of prosperity the world has ever seen. I get excited about each prediction of doom. Stock Market Crash of 1987, Savings And Loan Scandal, Right Wing Militia movement, I always want to believe the shit is going to hit the fan, but it never does and I end up with a basement full of Textured Vegetable Protein. So, instead of taking radical steps to prepare for a CGS that may or may not materialize, I’m hedging my bets a little by preparing smart:
- Gain as much weight as possible. This is my best hedge at the moment. Store today’s prosperity right in my body where it can never be taken away from me. No more one-breakfast mornings!
- start hording free stuff that might seem useless now, but will be priceless during the CGS. For example, I’ve got empty plastic bottles up the wazoo. If the CGS never happens, no loss. If it does, caravans will traverse the great plains to trade with me!
- Convince friends and relatives to start hording costly survival gear that will only be valuable during the CGS. That way, my buddy has the basement full of squirrel traps and water purification tablets and I’m holding insect proof bottles, twist ties, and scrap paper.
- Start behaving like I own guns. I’ve hung some deer antlers and squirrel pelts on the side of our garage, put a few signs out to the effect that my property is insured by Smith and Wesson and strut around early in the morning in full camouflage as if I’m going on some hunting trip when actually I am going to Linden Hills to sip lattés. I’ve got a sticker on the family minivan that says “Those who beat their swords into plowshares will plow for those who don’t” Everyone for a few miles around will label me in their heads as “gun nut” while everything is comfortable and then during the CGS they will avoid me ( or flock to me for protection….)
It’s this type of Primate Browflash post that makes me reconsider my theory that Maggie gets her love of drama from Grandma Carol.
And you should admit that you saw the “this property insured by Smith and Wesson” sign on one of our romantic evening strolls around Ottumwa.
Tim I’ll come knocking when we need some scrap paper.