BACKING UP THE BEST
Before we start today, I decided to be nice and go with a G rated joke. Well, okay, perhaps it’s a PG rating if you feel like you need to insulate your spawn from reality. You know, because it works out so well as they grow up. But let’s say you want to shield your child from the reality of death. I had pets dying at an early age, left and right getting hit by cars or whatnot. As a result to me death is just normal. Although I might be a bit TOO callus, refusing to go to my grandmothers funeral and not giving her passing a second thought other than making jokes about it ( “you move slower than my grandma, and she’s been decomposing X number of years” ). I guess I’m pretty good at compartmentalizing. Anyway, perhaps you don’t want to raise an uncaring unfeeling little bastard, so be wary about telling this joke which humorizes death. A man goes into a vet and wants to know if his beloved companion of many years is actually dead. He can’t accept it. The vet offers a test to make sure, calling in his Labrador Retriever who walks around the corpse and sniffs it. The dog frowns and shakes his head and the vet pronounces a dead verdict. Still not wanting to accept this, the man demands a second opinion. The vet calls in his cat who circles the corpse, smells it, hisses at the vet and runs away. The vet pronounces the deceased verdict. Finally, the man knows his pet is dead and asks the vet how much he owes for the visit. No charge from me, says the vet, but there will be a charge for the Lab work and the CAT scan.
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Visiting everybody’s favorite Yuppie Survivalist site, one soon runs into the motto “two is one, one is none”. It makes perfect sense, and is just another extension of the Boy Scout Motto ( which used to be, Be Prepared, but recently has turned to, Don’t Let The Scout Master Sleep With You In Your Tent ). You need a back up of everything, and preferably a back up of a back up. But like all good theories, it runs into problems when the rubber hits the road. First you start with your house, stocked with a trophy wife from back when you needed a BMW and Brooks Brothers suits to impress the boss. The wife was another “look at me” accessory. The house is half a mil, the wife at least that much over her lifetime ( trophy wives are what skews the national average for the number of times a married couple has sex. The average redneck couple probably copulate several times a week. There is an actual incentive to please your mate tying into the lack of perception that you are friggin princess, plus a need for two part time incomes to pay off the mobile home. A Barbie Doll wife gives it up maybe once a month. She holds all the cards in that she will rack you financially at will. So you pour money her way without much compensation. And you wonder where I get my loathing of Yuppies ).
You each have a car. College tuitions and credit cards. Medical insurance. All told, you are going broke making eighty grand a year. Now, start to add in a retreat. A bug out vehicle. Food storage in number ten cans. An arsenal of semi-auto’s with palletized ammunition supplies. Night vision and other military toys. Let’s be nice and assume a low ball of a hundred grand. You are financing a house at two grand a month, two cars for another grand, the insurance at $500 and at least another $500 for wife expenses. Four grand a month. I’d say that if you aren’t pouring in another thousand in preps, nothing concrete is getting done ( remember, this in keeping with Only The Best ). Now you are broke near the hundred thousand dollar salary. Now, let’s add in the Back Up costs. Another retreat, perhaps in another country. Multiple bank accounts, another bug out vehicle. Stockpiles buried elsewhere. When the least expensive piece of equipment is a $800 handgun ( oh, sorry, a $1500 handgun after magazines, holsters, laser pointers, spare part kits and ammo ), and the next is a two thousand dollar “We Own The Night!!!!!” vision goggle, backing up everything gets mighty expensive. Corporate CEO type expensive.
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If you seriously expect me to believe that the average reader of Rawles can pull a cool million out of his ass for a middle class house and car, a middle class wife and a middle class Yuppie Survivalist wet dream, you are a darn fool. Even at a hundred thousand a year, you only take home about seventy grand. Sixty of that is basic expenses. The average prepper doesn’t spend ten grand a year, but even so you need twenty years to achieve a desired luxurious lifestyle after the collapse. Granted, in the 70’s contraction, who knew we had another two score years left? Not many. Of course, we also had the possibility of nuclear war, so back then as now, it still paid to be ready for no tomorrow. Calling for twenty years of prepping is to ignore the whole reasoning behind prepping, and to be little more than a hawker of adult toys feeding another type of fantasy. Nothing wrong with fantasy. I love to escape into history. But when fantasy becomes your reality it can be a bit problematic. And, disclaimer, Rawles provides a needed service and I don’t blame him for all the ills of the survivalist movement. That started long before he was around. I blame people for not being able to glean from many different sources and decide a realistic path for themselves. Hey, you all have a splendid weekend. I might have an inside track on a cheap used trailer. I’ll know in a day or two. This might be a much cheaper path to The Bison Pit Of Doom.
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