May 17, 2010
Doomsday Protection Under a Desert
BARSTOW, Calif. – A company with a doomsday plan is taking money for what it promises will be a comfortable, nuke-proof bunker under the Mojave Desert, with an atrium, gym and jail, and sloppy joes and pearl potatoes on the menu.
See here. What would we want in a clusterbunker? Probably not sloppy joes and pearl potatoes.
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One of those tank/gardens that you pee in one end and then the fish recycle the water and poop out minerals that grows the foods. Environmental.
Champagne.
Records and a record player, perhaps some sort of hand-crank kind.
“will Jesus still find me down there?”
I think it shows a lack of faith to want to get a place in such a bunker. At least that’s what they will think (I hope). Although with all of that beige, who else would want in? Poor marketing.
Oh, and I think we definitely need one of those pianococktail machines.
I think I’m with Daryl on not wanting to hunker down in a bunker to preserve the human species as we know it. I think I would rather face the wall of flame rushing toward me, with a pianococktail in hand, raise my glass and be engulfed.
Yep, I’m a Ground Zero kind of guy. The alternative reminds me of the way I feel when old men appear to think their guns will stave off death–and then they die and the kids figth over who gets the pistols and who the shotguns.
Whatever happened to the belief that one ought to be ashamed to show fear–and in particular fear of a tyrant who hopes to instil fear? In America fear is used in so many ways as a blunt instrument of social manipulation that courage in the face of it has become the anomoly. Maybe it’s just my age that makes it easier to say this, but if any power says to me “Join us or suffer for the insult of not doing so”–my answer is going to be Bring it on, asshole. And I’m not talking about doing anything more violent than standing up and facing whatever comes.
Sloppy joes and pearl potatoes? There’s no room for pretension in the New World Order. Loose meat sandwiches and potato chips.
Humility and dignity will prevail…until the water purification tablets and deodorant run out.
I know a couple of things about cat ranching that could see us through this period of adjustment. So, am I in?
Daryl, though we may be standing hundreds of miles apart when/if apocalypse comes, we will stand side-by-side in that moment.
Crates and crates of cast-off clothing and miscellaneous props so we can put on little shows for one another. And pretend to be other people.
My wonderful former boss, Larry Sall–the man who gave me the phrase “aggressive stupidity”–used to say that if a nuclear bomb were heading for Dallas, he’d go out and sunbathe on the lawn of Texas Instruments. I want to be there, too, along with Daryl and Rick.
Side note: I was just thinking that the other side of a sense of unreachable wealth is the dream of a personal stash in a world denuded of all sustaining goods. Apocalypse is the poor man’s shot at wealth. Such a situation replaces (as they see it) intelligence and high position with simple cunning and a prescient forecasting of doom. They actually dream of advantage in a ravaged time. They think that in a time when almost all ammunition has been used, their one held back box of .223 shells will make gods of them. I have wanted to write something about this for a long time, in the context of examining the psychology of post-apocalyptic novels and films. It’s the dream of being on top with nothing more than what one already has.