When I think of a prepper, I think of some douchebag mall ninja dressed in XXXL tactical clothing popping radiation tablets and talking about fighting the government. So when someone asks if I'm a prepper, I always answer, "No, I'm but a prepper but I am prepared." At any given time I have two or three cases of bottled water on hand, a generator with gasoline, two or three weeks worth of dry and goods (for The Boss Lady and Bianca), batteries, flashlights, tarps, and of course ample means to defend mi casa (and my neighbor's casa). But you can only be so prepared when you're talking about doing this passively; I can't keep hurricane shutters up 24x7x365 and there's only so much food you can stockpile before it starts to go bad.
But now we here in SWFLA have entered what meteorologists call the Cone of Probabability. I of course, call it the Cone of Buggery, because anyone in said cone stands a substantial chance of getting buttfucked. As of this morning, we now begin what I like to think of as, active preparation. Outside plants and decorations get brought inside. Hurricane shutters go up. Candles get dug out and unwrapped. Flashlights get checked and batteries and bulbs replaced. Gas cans get dumped into the generator, freeing those cans up to be refilled. Photographing my house and its contents. Plastic bags get set aside and electronics get unplugged and ready to be wrapped up. Food gets sorted and prioritized. Magazines get loaded.
All signs point to Irma continuing as shown and then Saturday night/Sunday morning, when it's directly south of the western coast of Florida, take a dramatic 90 degree right turn and sending it north and directly into my fucking living room. So at this point, I don't think it's a matter of if we're going to get hit, but how hard. My hope is Irma drifts to a more sourthernly track, taking it over Cuba -- aka "American's speed bump" -- which saps its strength before it makes that swing north into Florida. But only time will tell.
Until then, preparataions will be made. And don't be surprised when I post a GoFunme to put my fucking house back together.
humanity in houston
Drivers in Los Angeles are nothing but show off assholes.
damn motor vehicle accident training, you scary
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meanwhile, a carjacking
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deploying snack radar in 3... 2... 1...
he doesn't want to see irma any more than i do.
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as a dog owner, i can completely relate
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