Did you know there are 37 critical items to stockpile in case of a zombie apocalypse? Or governmental breakdown, which would be pretty much the same thing, so why make a distinction? When the grid actually does shut down and we have to fend for ourselves, there are going to be some very surprised and ill-prepared Starbucks-swilling scarf wearers out there. This is good, because they’ll feed the brain-eating zombies while those of us smart enough to have 37 items stockpiled in our buried buses get to our buried buses. That we may or may not have. If we tell you, we’ll have to kill you.
First rule of prepping: Never talk about prepping.
That’s how you know for sure all the weirdos with 14,000 jars of pickled eggs on television(broadcasting to the world exactly where their cache of pickled eggs is) aren’t real preppers. Real preppers are that sweet Mormon family across the street, with a fully automatic arsenal and a year’s supply of food in the basement. The clean-shaven, soft-spoken Dad can either invite you in to hear the word of the Lord with him or kill you with one swift thrust to the larynx. Those are preppers, and those are the people you want living on your block when the it all hits the fan.
George isn’t a prepper, but he’s extremely prepared for almost any situation. Our friends call him “MacGyver,” because he’s always got something somewhere that can fix the broken thing you never thought would break in the first place. He’s also known fondly by our children as “Container Man,” because he has hundreds of little containers to contain his hundreds of little fix-it kits.
I’m not knocking it, I’ve been on the beneficial end of his Boy Scout ways more than once. He packs a mean first-aid assortment, and I would have surely ended up with an infected dog bite out on the road had it not been for the iodine swabs and sterile water. I have no doubt that if I ever fritz out on him, he’d find a way to de-fib me with a roll of quarters and the inverter. He’s good like that.
You can prepare all you want, but if you don’t have any common sense you’re not going to survive anyway. This is why I’m certain all 15-year-old boys will perish. They’ll wander around en masse, looking for a place to plug their phone chargers in until they starve to death. I watched our son, during the last snow storm when the power was out, take a flashlight over to the washing machine so he could have light to put his wet clothes into the non-functional, electricity-dependent dryer. And I wept.
On March 18, Weddle’s trailer crossed over the centerline of the highway, ...