I am now reporting to you on the fourth day of what will someday be known as “The Great Sequestration Apocalypse.” The Old Lady and I are holed up in the Eastern Krasnovian bunker pulling two-hour shifts on security. The front gate is chained up and booby trapped so as not to allow easy access. Crew-served weapons are in the gun pits and range cards have been filled out. I took the time to put out some Target Reference Points in the yard and disguised them as garden gnomes… oh, and I booby trapped them too. The commo net has been established, and I am doing hourly radio checks with the neighbors down the street.
It’s a wretched scene here. House fires are blazing away with no first responders left to put them out. Packs of wild dogs are roaming the streets carrying off small children in the night like dingos–all because the dog catchers have been furloughed. Gangbangers and groups of armed hobos now control the general area and we lost several people on the roads, intercepted by men in leather chaps with Australian accents in the unending struggle for a tank full of “juice.” It’s positively nightmarish.
We’ve had to work with the rest of our neighbors here to take turns stoking the funeral pyres ever since the mass graves filled to over capacity. We’ve no more fuel for the bulldozers to dig any more of them. We’re still able to move emaciated corpses around with wheel barrels, so I think we’ll be able to make do for the time being.
A 747 fell out of the sky yesterday and crashed into the local animal shelter. You could hear the screams of dying kittens for miles–it still gives me the shakes just to think about it. The only upside to the whole episode is that there weren’t any puppies there when it happened… a group of starving school teachers and social workers ate them days ago.
We remain vigilant… until our last can of beans runs out.
Pray for us.