As many of my brethren on the Eastern seaboard know, it’s hurricane season up in the heezy. Those of you in the panhandle of the Sunshine State, know it a just a bit more than you probably care to acknowledge. You guys are repeatedly hit with the brunt of Mother Nature’s shit show. Up here in New York City, we generally don’t give two shits about no stinkin’ hurricanes – that is, until we do. City dweller’s typical idea of hurricane preparedness is ensuring the subway’s running and making damned sure that the nearest local watering hole has an available stool or two. That’s why I’m shocked as shit when I visit the local grocery and big-box stores, 3 days ahead of Hurricane Sandy’s predicted landfall, only to watch in horror the soccer moms, old farts, and just about everybody else start prying every last pseudo-survival item off the shelves.
My day job sent out a somewhat disturbing mass email yesterday urging all employees to stock up on essential survival items and stay home the beginning of next week if you must. That’s something they just about never do. Hizzoner the Terrible is running around all the local radio stations and leveraging print media to sound the alarm about up and coming The Mother of All Storms. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, people? Maybe he’s still reeling in embarrassment at the massive City snow cleanup failure 2 Winters ago. Who knows?
Last year around this time, we had a similar storm warning situation, resulting in the evacuation of every hipster and hooligan from Greenpoint, Williamsburg, and many other “low-lying,” coastal areas of the City. In the end, what wound up happening was absolutely nothing.
This time, however, something in my bones feels way the different. I had to do something to prepare for the inevitable TEOTWAKI about to be unleashed on NYC come Sunday. I mean look… Naked zombies have been eating homeless people. Other possessed cray-cray folk have been chopping up roomates and searing up their body parts with some finely sliced garlic and fresh truffle. Even cops are getting in on the action this week – plotting to boil hundreds of their hos for a nice bouillon. It’s a fucking Zombie Apocalypse about to go down – I can feel it.
I’m not going out like that.
I’m a bartender dammit. What’s a good bartender to do to get to survive the end of the world? Well, I don’t have to do much because I’ve pretty much got my supplies and plans down pat.
I’ve been watching way to much TLC and History Channel testosterone-laced programming. Shit like Preppers, Yukon Men, Alaska: The Last Frontier, Sons of Guns, and the like subliminally fuck with a dude’s brain. I’ve got learn to stay away from SurvivalistBoards.com. My YouTube Hickock45, NutnFancy, and DEMCAD subscriptions must be dropped – erased from my mind.
A dude like me, who thinks he can (and tries to) do anything and everything, slowly becomes convinced he can do anything. FEMA “Death Camps” and potential Martial Law slowly start looking not so far-fetched. Al Sharpton and Vermin Supreme start sounding like their making sense – legitimate presidential candidates.
So, over time, I’ve just accumulated shit – things that potentially could be essential to surviving an SHTF situation. Basically, you’re looking at a small representation of my “bug-in” zombie defense supplies – the stuff that might prove essential in getting through the first couple of days of a disaster (bars closed), before figuring out what the fuck to do next like potentially “bugging out” (finding open bars).
As you can probably tell, clearly, the most important key to survival is proper lubrication.
You’ve been warned. Get ready.