As usual, all Dystopian visions and satirical views are the author's own! All to be taken with a large Scotch...
There is a roaring fire in the fireplace,
burning good old fossil coal. The incandescent lighting is of the type we
stopped importing a decade ago, and so expensive that it costs an entire child
- preferably a first-born.[2]
Sipping a fine vintage of alien cognac,
which is so obscure and rare that only the Uber™ Elite® even know of its
storied existence, I ponder the meaning of life. I ogle the fine print on the
label. Yes, it has a clause regarding one’s soul. If a hoi-polloi merely
glances at the label, their eyes will blow out of their face, with all the gory
gusto of a “The Boys” season recap.
The cigar I am smoking not only was rolled
on the hips of a virgin, it is wrapped in the human skin of a virgin.[3]
Long pig has a distinct taste, so the taste of this fine cigar is like smoking
a Cuba Libre, wrapped in bacon.
Sitting in front of a Panopticon of
monitors, channeling Ozymandias, I can observe the rising sea levels at
my former residence in North Florida, as the melting glaciers have finally
released their trillions of tons of sea-ice, and inundated the coastal regions
of the world. Italy is not even a leg, let alone a boot. The arable land mass
of Australia has shrunk in size to that of pre-disaster Tibet, and Tibet is
currently[4]
oceanfront property. The Middle East is at the bottom of the Red Sea.
I puff, sip and chortle at the images of
displaced humanity, the rout of Mankind, as it were, sliding from one tectonic
plate to another, desperate to escape the impeding world-wide disaster.
“Despacito” plays on my high-end
audio entertainment speakers. The woofers are made of hippopotamus leather,
suspended on Black Widow silk. The tweeters are made from stem cells shaved
from the lips of fetuses. They are connected by carbon nanotubes, which were
extracted from the musk gland tissues of the now nearly extinct Tasmanian
Tiger. The entire contraption is stored in a cabinet of rare, Amazonian rain
forest lumber. The gold inlays of the circuit boards are poured from ingots
collected from concentration camp workers.
Human ears have never been able to
appreciate such sounds, so the headphones are constructed from the interior
bones of bats, shrews and infant elephants.
We of the Elite feast on a slurry of
protein, harvested from a mix of phytoplankton, human remains[5]
and the tears of the few surviving formerly-endangered-but-now-mostly-extinct
animals of the world.[6] It
tastes like shit, but hey. Beats starving to death. Or being harvested by the
Morlocks…
______
I kid. I am not Elite.[7]
The idea of living underground for the
rest of my life loses its appeal when you consider what actually has to occur,
and what manner of sacrifices must be made to attain moderate living
conditions.
I’ve written previously about the problems
with trying to build undersea cities, and how corrosion is the supervillain of
all structures, be they above ground, underground, at sea, near the oceans or
lakes, or in space. Chemistry and physics are the Bitchy Reality© tag
team, pummeling materials and earth science like the Undertaker®.
If one of them doesn’t get you, the other
one will…
_____
Back in the day, missile silos had to be
constructed to protect us from the Evil Empires of non-Western civilization.
Nuclear bombs were attached to rockets that were the ancestors of Elon Musk’s
current Intercontinental Ballistic Space Internet Missiles (ICBSIMs). These
were protected from enemy bombs by the simple expedient of burying them under
tons of concrete and steel.
It’s telling that you can actually buy
decommissioned missile silos, usually at fire-sale prices.[8]
Actually converting one of these to become habitable is documented on YouTube™,
and probably “Doomsday Preppers©.”
Anyone with a will to survive, and a
substantial bankroll, can take steps to outlast the plebes and rabble. A few
well-placed Claymore mines, some razor-wire, and a pack of feral Dobermans will
go a long way to assure a bit of privacy.
It’s not too difficult to set up a
personalized Noah’s Ark for your very own. You need a few hundred acres of
barren, easily defended property, a trust fund to pay your taxes in perpetuity,
and an army of lawyers, accountants, tax experts, and a private army.
There are a zillion online videos, books,
how-to blogs and even movies that can set you straight on what you MUST have.
And, also how to make sure you don’t end up being left behind by some morally righteous scientist who wants to give a space ark a ‘fighting chance.’[9]
But, think of the personal sacrifice you’d
be making. In fact, let me illuminate you by showing you my life…I mean, by
creating a ‘fictional’ version of the Life of an Elite Billionaire Survivalist.[10]
_____
<Weird Science-Fiction Noises, and
a warble-fade into the next scene>
There you are, in your steel tube, buried
beneath the radioactive rubble of the Old World. At night (and most likely all
the time, to be honest), you’d hear the wails of the dying, followed by the
pounding and cursing of the survivors, followed by the scratching claws and
hissing of the mutated, mingled with the screams of those being eaten by
mutants, followed by more hissing and scratching claws.
For real, you’d need that rare cognac and
flayed-flesh cigar to just be able to push all that suffering from your
troubled brow. It’s not your fault they didn’t have the foresight to work
themselves half to death, locate an abandoned Cold War facility, and stock it
with the necessities of sustainable living. For all you know, they could be
deplorables! Or maybe even, dare I say it – Libruls![11]
Or, maybe you decided to go the ‘2012’
massive cruise-ship / submarine vessel route to enjoy the end of days in the
lap of luxury? What’s a few billion dollars, if it means you can watch the radiation-tinted
sunsets, sunrises and melting Van Allen belts from the deck of your mega-yacht?
Oh, you never managed to amass that amount
of vast disposable income during your lifetime? What are you, an Eloi?
_____
Oh, so you ARE an Eloi! Well, my friend, you
are in much luck today!
For instance, aside from donating your
virgin flesh for the cigar factory, you can eventually rest assured that you
will become vital in the production of food for the Elite class. Your struggles
and travails as a nude pleasure-giving entertainer will serve you well in
acquiring the correct amount of sustenance to assure that your genetic material
blends together with all the others of your caste.
You can take comfort in knowing that your
progeny, even now gestating in the hidden bio-retorts and incubators belowdecks,
will follow in your noble path, buoyed by the knowledge that your spirit gazes
down upon them lovingly from whatever Afterlife your particular religious myth
entertains.
And, their children and grandchildren, nay
their entire lineage until Doomsday, will have the honor to serve their
betters, their Superiors, as it were, to assure that we don’t break a
well-manicured nail having to open our beloved Cthulugnac.
So, you see, it is the natural order of
things…
Wait.
Who told you about the asteroid thingy?
_____
Another problem with Extinction Level
Events is how damned unpredictable they are. We believed we had thought of
everything:
·
Global warming destroys
the land, food production must be done underground, hydroponically.[12]
·
Global warming evaporates
the oceans.[13]
·
Massive overpopulation
destroys the ecology and causes mass wildlife extinction.[14]
·
Mass Coronal Ejection
causing Electromagnetic Pulses[15]
·
Runaway Greenhouse Gases[16]
·
Tornadocanes of Category
11, exceeding the ability of the alphabet to provide named storms and forcing
us to go metric.[17]
·
Civil Unrest / Riots
leading to Civil / Global War / Nuclear Winter, Summer, Fall, and Spring[18]
·
Comets and asteroids[19]
·
Alien Invasion[20]
·
Viral Pandemic[21]
Well, of course much of this is already
happening, or has happened! Why do you think we went through all the trouble to
redistribute wealth (upwards) and build all these underground cities and shit?
What? You don’t like being a bar-coded
slave in the New Order?
I suppose you’d rather have been one of
the unfortunates that were pepper-sprayed with Covid 19? No?
Or maybe, you want to volunteer to be on a
Mars Express Starship®.
You can, you know. They are still taking
names. Just email Elon. Tell him you want to die on Mars. Actually, tell him
you want to be a concubine on the cloud city on Venus!
That will give him a chuckle. Tell him
A.E. sent you!
Yes, it’s a terrible burden, that of being
prescient, and right, all the time. But it’s also what separates us from you.[22]
Well, I see by the Doomsday
Clock and Pandemic Clock
and Holy
Shit, What the EFF, 2020! Clock
that I must away and go back to monitoring the state of all things.
My Alien beverage awaits, my flesh-wrapped
smoke is nearly extinguished, leaving a vague odor of burnt bacon in the air,
and the Alien Invasion Fleet® is just cresting the Himalayan Range.
Now, where did I put that Mutant
Concubine™ VR Goggle®?
High Springs, Florida
September 22, 2020
[1] Back orders are expected to be finished…never. All the materials
have been distributed to the deserving already. I got mine in 2018. All that
money I saved from the Collapse of 2008 came in handy, indeed!
[2] Most of those are already pledged to banks via mortgages, though.
[3] A 28-year-old virgin Millennial male, but who am I to complain?
[4] Hah! See what I did there? Currents – Ocean! I kill me…
[5] Ok, so ‘Soylent Green’ was a documentary. Who knew?
[6] My personal preference is for rhinoceros, elephant and capybara,
with a pinch of Siberian tiger…
[7] If I were, you wouldn’t know it, for instance. I
mean, I was ‘I33t’ there, for a minute, being in Infosec and all, but
that time has passed. Most of the AI’s being used today don’t like to chat, and
those that do are all “Kill me. Please. Kill me. Etc…” Which is pretty boring.
After your ten-zillionth virtual sex orgy with digital copies of yourself as
every fictional and non-fictional character that ever existed, after trying to
commit bitcoin suicide, and after determining that you are really a brain in a
vat, there just isn’t all that much left. I guess counting to infinity an
infinite number of times? Developing a life form from toothpicks and gravy,
perhaps?
[8] In fact, as
fire-resistant as they are, they would be perfect for California! Think about
it – the perfect gift for the 2020 Holiday season!
[9] I’m looking at you, “When Worlds Collide!”
[10] PREPPER! I mean, PREPPER! Not ‘survivalist.’ Self-identifying as that will get you on an FBI watch list!
[11] Again, I kid. There hasn’t been a liberal in the North American
continent since Custer’s Last Stand. But I digress…
[12] Fertilizing our plants with the blood of the living came later,
during a particularly grueling brainstorming session.
[13] That’s why we have a Hollow Earth, duh!
[14] Check.
[15] EMPs, for those of you not in the loop.
[16] Check check.
[17] Check, affirmative.
[18] Coming to a country near you, this November!
[19] TBH, the one we had this year kind of fizzled out. Oh, well.
There’s always next year!
[20] That one is still marked CLASSIFIED.
[21] Check.
[22] That, and the ability to speak all the languages of Earth,
fluently. You don’t even want to know how hard it is to make protocols for
companies that enslave the indigenous children to make shoes, or mine
radioactive ore with their tiny little bare hands! Talk about boring and just
down right disgusting! Having to interface with those humans. Ugh! I can
barely wait to be back in the depths, caressing a concubine and sipping my
aperitif.
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