With the temperature climbing into the 70s this week, like it has for most of March in Pennsylvania, I'll be making the final decision on the bunker since it appears that we're headed for Climageddon. Now, I won't be going the route of Robert Bast who reportedly spent nearly half a million on a luxury Apocalyptic abode. In truth, the bulk of that coin went to secure a plot of land to build his fallout fortress, but this fortified man cave is an engineering marvel, with every conceivable amenity that makes is the Taj Mahal of bunkerdom. The design shows a spacious, multi-leveled realm interconnected by a series of spiral staircases, making it the envy of any Doomsday designer. It's one badass bunker.
Unfortunately, I do not have the financial means to construct such an extravagance. I can only salute my fellow survivalist on his creation. As for me, I'm still opting for the econo-model, one that won't bust my endtimes budget. Granted, it's a bit of a tight fit, as I don't have much space once all my supplies are stored. That giant disco ball takes up more room than I thought. Hell, Neil Peart's drum kit is bigger than this unit, but at least it's a retreat from the mammoth locusts set to invade.
I just finished excavating the location, creating a 12x14 divot in my back yard. Now the unit is ready to be installed. Only one minor setback during the digging. I hit a gas line, sending a ball of flame skyward that singed my balls and took out an eyebrow. Other than that unfortunate mishap, the excavation went smoothly despite the daily procession of onlookers who strained to see the earth churning under the grip of a rusted backhoe and a flatulent operator who came with the rental. Their curiosity intensified late Tuesday evening when a flatbed carrying the M-51 Brougham Bunker pulled into the driveway. I've become a reluctant celebrity, giving impromptu lectures on Seven Seals survival techniques and tours of the M-51. I've also hosted a Get-To-Know-Your-Neighborhood-Survivalist party, trying to erase the stigma of the crazed loner who's stockpiling illegal weapons and writing rambling manifestos.
The bunker looks like a large thermos, its steel exterior resplendent in gun metal grey. It's a starter bunker, I'll admit, but it what it lacks in size, it makes up in charm. Now, I should be stockpiling the bunker with bottled water, jerky and an assortment of canned goods, all of which are staples for long-term sustainability. However, I have a Doritos wall. In fact, I have a junk food motif, with large areas dedicated to Ring Dings, Butterscotch Krimpets, Wheat Thins and Twizzlers. If I get the munchies, I just rip off a pack from the snack wall. Pure heaven. I even considered naming rights to my bunker, but my overtures to soft drink companies went unheeded. Seriously, who wouldn't warm up the the slogan: CHAOS GOES BETTER WITH COKE. So now this will be my home as the calendar creeps toward Armageddon, and I'm satisfied with the choice. Incidentally, I christened my bunker before lowering it, cracking a bottle of Maddog 20/20 on the edge. I named it Lisa.
A recent article in TIME claims that this winter could be one of the warmest on record in the Northeast, a fact that was made apparent by the unveiling of my neighbor's beater tee in mid-January. The story further states, which was written by longtime Global Warming watchdog, Bill McKibben, that the climate has warmed 1 degree Celsius, which may account for the spate of tropical storms that have plagued this area. These violent outbursts have caused severe damage, like encountering the Chunkendales in a buffet line at closing time. The prospects look bleak since the speed of consumption concerning fossil fuels far outweighs any advances in attitudes, or the offsets in private and public programs. And now I learn that many countries are foregoing nuclear power in the wake of the tragedy at Fukushima, adding to the rise of fossil fuels released into atmosphere.
This all leads to one conclusion: We're fucked. The glaciers are abandoning the arctic at an alarming rate, fleeing like a frat boy after waking up next to a fattie.
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