We’re catching up our gentle readers on what kind of fuck-all craziness has been going on since we got to California about a month ago. For you tens of readers who have seen this already on FB, we apologize. Rest assured, there’s so much new shit going on every day that you too will have new stories to read that will shock and amaze! Only seen here! For a limited time only!
Day One in District 7, aka CalCascadia
The citizens have adapted; as a visitor I was unaccustomed to the New Dystopia. At Ralph's (grocery store), a guard at the door let small groups in at a time, spraying their hands with disinfectant as they walked in. Many people wearing masks. Bare shelves: no chicken, few eggs, little meat, in spite of a limit of 2 on many items.
THERE WERE NO POTATOES.
Day 2 Despatch from District 7 CalCascadia
Took the Matriarch to the ER today*. Was stopped at the door by a begowned and masked tech who barked at me to BACK UP. Mom was whisked inside and I was left standing at the door wondering what the hell just happened.
Alert: you have truly become a shithole country when one has to wonder if taking someone to the ER for care means you just signed their death warrant.
So fuck you trump/repubs and your "back to business" and stock market bullshit. If karma really existed, you and all your parasitical spawn would get the virus.
At least I was able to sanitize a piece of cheesecake and "smuggle" it to my mom this evening, ie hand it to a security guard to hopefully pass on.
(*she recently started cancer treatment, became dehydrated, her levels were off, etc.)
Day 3 Despatch from District 7 CalCascadia
Leaving to bring mom provisions; in a lesson from my Soviet Union days, I am bringing a supply of boozy jam/cherries so that she can “butter up” medical personnel as needed. In the battle for scarce resource, we do what we must, so step aside, hipster.
On another note, I am eyeing this grapefruit tree for later guerrilla foraging. I am surrounded by the elderly here at Leisure Village; they may try to guard said resources, but this is a battle I will win.
I hope. #theoldsarefeisty
(Apparently we’re going to be euthanizing the elderly anyway, so.)
Day 3 Despatch, continued
The time to mince words is past us, as I marched into the hospital with the items for my mom.
Nice bemasked hospital guy, sharpie in hand: Okay, for Rm. 308. What's in the bag?
Me: PAJAMAS AND BRIBES. Do you like pickles?
I left a few minutes later, having successfully used the NDC (New Dystopian Currency) of Canning Underground products to ensure my mom being at the front of the line for scarce resources. Nice Hospital Guy got a jar of Slim Gin Pickins; my mom has Boozy Cherry Bitterness and our new Little Miss F*ing Sunshine to give out. We don't fuck around here, folks.
Now if you'll excuse me, we are looking for leather chaps and creating an unnecessarily spiky armored car, as these are clear requirements for citizens of District 7 CalCascadia.
12003.4 NPD (New Pandemic Date), Captain’s log, District 7 of CalCascadia
The matriarch remains in the hospital. I have instructed her to keep me informed as to whether her treatment is acceptable; if not, I am prepared to write a letter. She is improving, and does not have the Virus. Oddly, she claims all the nurses "are so nice!" to her, yet the bribes (aka boozy jams) remain in her possession.
Midnight foraging is proceeding apace - #TheOlds have not yet caught on, but we are prepared to o̶f̶f̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶ ̶m̶a̶r̶m̶a̶l̶a̶d̶e̶ fight to the finish if need be. Kingsly has been deputized and is keeping order in the District. Just this morning he began barking and growling ferociously, staring into the kitchen. Investigation revealed that the dishwasher door had fallen open, but luckily we were able to close it with no loss of life. #sobrave
12003.5 NPD, Captain’s Log, District 7 of CalCascadia
The matriarch is at status quo. We were able to drop off provisions, aka bribes, to ensure her status at the head of the line for key resources. With value now being measured by the new SWC (Societal Worthiness Calculation) dictate, I feel the Canning Underground creations will bump her ahead of any IPA-brewing hipsters with bad lungs from vaping.
Kingsly and I then went to patrol the local fields, where we found groups of subjects using the royal courts that Sir Kingsly likes to romp on playing some pickle-oriented sport. I immediately put in an order for them to be vaporized. As we say, absolute power is of no use unless it’s used at whim.
12003.6 NPD, Captain’s Log, District 7 of CalCascadia
It is clear that by now, the gentleman at the front desk of the hospital and I have an understanding. I drop off today’s provisions for the Matriarch, who remains in her Overlord position at the hospital, and give Hospital Man a jar of Little Miss F*ing Sunshine.
“Here’s today’s tribute,” I say, with a meaningful arch of my eyebrows.
He feigns puzzlement, but I know he’s pleased that I’m holding up my end of the bargain. Meanwhile, the Matriarch informs me that she gave the jar of Slim Gin Pickins to a nurse who noted that her “daughter loves pickles!” I…did not inquire as to how old said daughter is.
Kingsly and I patrolled the grounds this morning as usual, and as he alertly surveyed the scene, did not signal any infractions. While those subjects thus avoided being added to the vaporization list, I am adding the children who run around yelling and screaming in front of the house all day, as these hooligans consistently interrupt Kingsly’s royal sleep, which cannot stand.
Later in the day, we made a necessary trip into the city, and while there were cars on the road, we did not sit in traffic once. On a Friday afternoon. In LA.
Winter is here.
12003.7 NPD, Captain’s Log, District 7 of CalCascadia
Kingsly has embraced his new deputization, as he has been insisting on starting his patrol at 0630. Each morning. Saturday too. Not being one to deny such devotion to his creed, I accompany him on his rounds, today in expanded territory: tennis courts, coffee drive-thru, unpatrolled dog park. His unbridled ferociousness is clear: though technically there are no people around, if there were, I am quite sure they would immediately throw jazz hands, ie how we in the District now signal retreat.
Kingsly is not pleased with the new social distancing dictates, as he is usually suspiciously sniffing everyone to discern their intentions. This change in his routine is unwelcome, and for this we blame the Dotard, aka The Hated One.
Speaking of hate, we were filled with unending rage today, at every word that emanates from the bloviating buffoonic sociopath currently squatting in the White House. So much rage. So much death and suffering on his narcissistic soft tiny hands, and on the hands of every person who’s supported him in his criminal acts. Our tribute today at the hospital went to a new hospitalist.
Me: I have brought you the most appropriate of boozy jams, The Great American Blueberry Sazerac Shitshow.
New Woman: Oh, that sounds really good!
Me: Our offerings from the District are known for their excellence.
The Matriarch is still unable to eat, and out of rage at being unable to visit, we have decided to bring ridiculous tchochtkes every day. Today: a crown and a shark straw.
It is past time for a revolution.
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