red pills behind the sofa cushions (procatalepsis, 4)
Readying oneself for the fall of an empire is no easy feat, particularly when you’re surrounded by the constant told-you-sos of strung out ex-agency beets (who weren’t nearly as paranoid as I’d once thought them to be) and a Sea Monkey King who it turns out was correct when he told us that he could do a better job of running the US government than “some Manchurian douche who fluffs Weathermen.” Although in fairness, the bar hasn’t been set too high. Meaning that, had the free-thinking citizens of the United States elected an arrogant Sea Monkey King instead of an arrogant adept of terrorist chic as their president, they’d probably be better off today — even if said arrogant Sea Monkey King, as per his tentative platform, did nothing but down highballs, bang pricey hookers, and play poker with some of his brine shrimp Court, leaving orders that he was “never to be disturbed unless some punk ass country or some band of medieval ululators started some shit. In which case, knock first.”
Regardless, we are where we are, and as a public service of sorts, I’m going to let you all in on a little secret: when prepping for the apocalypse, it’s easy enough to stock up on freeze-dried food, bottled water, and even a healthy supply of batteries. But trying to keep alcohol stored away? Well, you’d better hope that you’re not saddled with the bunch that I’m going to have to go to war alongside of. Because without a doubt, these guys would go to the mattresses for your last swig of Nyquil, or even some fermenting compost if they thought they could wring a shot glass full of something out of it.
— Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, necessarily — I mean, I like the pluck, don’t get me wrong; it’s just that they’re typically so hammered when they get to that point that invariably someone gets dead from friendly fire, usually in the form of a spring-loaded crossbow arrowhead. And pulling one of those things out of some hapless, half-naked call girl, then getting her stuffed into a trunk so you can dump her into a remote pond, is no picnic I can assure you.
Hypothetically, of course.