Prepper Helter Skelter

  
Collapse Porn, or how my life would fare in as many collapse scenarios as I can Imagine without drinking ayahuasca.

Part One

Prepper Helter Skelter

This is the most popular of the apocalypsi to the average Trump voter. All cities, check that, all cities with a substantial minority population…you know who you are…are devastated by marauding hoards of melanin. It’s the Rodney King verdict but the battle cry is “Can’t we all just kill whitey”. 

My family lasts a week at most without even breaking into our long term storage or my wife’s canned goods. We spend a few days peering furtively out the windows a la Anne Frank, and hoping our incredible whiteness of being continues to be overlooked. The electricity gets cut off after a day or two and we realize that cooking on the wood stove will alert everyone to our urban prepper (idiots!) status. Cold beans it is.

Eventually, either because of the conspicuous nature of the stillness surrounding our front and back doors, or because ruffians of color are led here by our neighbors, all of our fruit trees are ripped out of the ground and the bricks from the alley way are pulled up and used to shatter our windows. The end comes with the front door being bashed in and machete bearing men hacking us all to bits. 

Rural survivors hope that, after remorselessly killing all of their Caucasian human shields, the forces of Helter Skelter will be bombed into oblivion by the military overlords who’ve usurped the weak civilian leadership of the armed forces, but doing so may put at risk enormously expensive elements of infrastructure that the entire region depends upon. A decision needs to be made as to whether or not the value of the sunk costs in the urban areas outweighs the immense loss of white lives necessary to retake the territory. Either carpet bombing or house to house combat ensues. One course leads to a stalemate, the other to a devastating loss of the most basic elements upon which the traditional American Way of Life depends. 

In the end a swath of land from Maine through to upstate New York becomes the only remaining viable place to live in the northeast and this region aligns itself with or becomes part of Quebec, as the only substantial east-west transport link is the Saint Lawrence River. Portland, Brattleboro, and Oswego thrive under the new order. Everyone learns French, plays hockey and grows Swiss chard. Every city south or west of Portland looks like this:

  

Yeah, if that happens, I’m screwed, but at least I don’t foresee having to deal with the uncomfortable aftermath of the apocalypse (ugh, the mess), and I won’t be wracked with the angst of wondering if we might have been ok if only I’d put by three more boxes of Ronzoni! Nope, catastrophic fractal wrongness, that’s what Prepper Helter Skelter means to me.