apocalypse

Library of the Apocalypse: Humour Section

I know most of the library acquisitions in the bunker have been to get us prepared for the coming conflagration, but as we suffer through the death throes of society, I can’t help but think of the need for some humour. Things will be grim. We need laughs.

Of course we need the collected Austen because:

For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?

And in close quarters for long periods of time, we will need all the elegant snark we can get:

I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal.

Barbara Pym is a must, too, though her sadly disappointed characters might also be a tad depressing at times. Dorothy Parker without question: mordant wit may be among our few escapes from the gloom. Gaskell‘s Cranford stories for quieter times, when you want to know the ladies have got your back. And Georgette Heyer for when you’ve just finished re-reading all the Austen and can’t bear another dull conversation about cleaning out the air vents.

Bunker Am Dram cannot survive without a production or two of Aphra Behn’s The Rover.

And I must say a special word for my much adored inspiration, the lovely Winifred Watson. If you’ve not read the novel behind the delightful Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day you are in for a treat.

Who are your favourite fun writers? I admit most of mine are, alas, beyond the veil. Got some more modern recommendations?

Pantries! Pantries! Pantries!

pantry 1Katemandi here: I can’t say enough about pantries! For the end times you need food. Sure, you might be out hunting in the woods for some critters or foraging in the underbrush for mushrooms and other edibles, but stocking up your pantry ahead of the collapse is just good sense.

Of course you need food that will last a while. Perishables are useless! Think dry dry dry. You’ll be adding water of course in most cases, of course. If you don’t have water — well, honey, I got news for you: you won’t be surviving. So think powders, jerky, dried grains and nuts. Salt! In the medieval and ancient worlds, it was a precious as gold. Not just for flavour but for its preservative qualities.

Which brings me to another point: spices! You don’t have to belong to House Atreides to recognise the importance of spice! You’re going to be eating a lot of bland food that’s been reconstituted. You’ll be grateful for those spices. The good news is that spices keep for a long time if they’re completely dried and well sealed.

Speaking of sealing: have you learned canning yet? The techniques for storing delicious fruit in jams, jellies and preserves is not to be overlooked. You can even can meat, my friend Mary tells me (I got these snaps at her fabulous home at Universal Pathways). The skills are out there: learn them before you need them. You don’t want to poison your crew with poor pantry skills. Be safe, be delicious.

pantry 2

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Beware the Monsters

The movies trained us well: drop a plague, survive the monsters, find your weapons and kill the infected in ever more creative ways; then onward to foil the conspiracy that lurks in the shadows.  There’ll be more monsters, that much is inevitable.  Comrades will fall to traitors, to the infected, to the corporate clean up ops, to silly accidents, to reckless infighting, to other survivor groups who are never as good as your group.  Some of them will eat you.  Some of them will try to force their end times religion on you.  Some of them just resent your presence and will try to disappear you from their lives.  None of them know better than you the best way to survive the world that is now.  Nowhere is safe and everyone is out to get you.  All the stories told us so.

The stories said: beware the mindless hoards, for they are legion and will overwhelm you.

The stories said: beware the monsters.  If it isn’t you, shoot it.  Different is dangerous.  Different is threat.  Different will lull you into letting it in then will strike when your guard is down.

The stories said: beware the dispossessed; they will steal your resources, corrupt your comrades, infect your people with something new.

The stories said: beware the world.  Build your walls, set your traps, shrink your territory to the place you can defend.  No one else matters.  Nowhere else matters.

Except.

We are the monsters.  We are the not-so mindless hoards.  We are the different, the dispossessed, the ones outside the walls and we will not be destroyed.  We will not be silenced.  We will not be held back, no matter how beaten and bloody we become.  We fight.  We move.  We talk.  We scream.  We increase in numbers.  And when the world falls, as it has fallen a hundred times before, we build and rebuild, connect and rise, stronger, smarter, deadlier.

We are the monsters.

A New Recruit Arrives..

Apocalypses come and go, but there will always be people needed to survive. You see, if no one survives an apocalypse, how do we know we’ve had one? I mean, until we get *clever*, and start digging around in the dirt for things, uncovering evidence and all that… Which is great, if the apocalypse you’re looking into is off the back of a huge chunk of frozen space metal hurtling into the planet, causing earth-wide devastation…

Times have moved on since then.

I rather suspect that more recent apocalypses have gotten a bit more sneaky in their approach…

 

Enter stage left.

A pink haired, doc marten wearing, emergency go bag carrying gal walks into view. You get am immediate sense that she doesn’t take kindly to crap, and has a veteran look about her. Oh yes. Definitely been around the block a couple of times and seen some things, this one. Her eyes expertly rove around the room, mentally checking off a list, though you aren’t quite sure what that list is; good points for duck and cover, who’d be easiest to kill, or simply what shopping is needed to make dinner; in any case, it’s a little unsettling.

After a few moments, she seems to have made up her mind, and the boots come off, and she makes a cubby in the corner of the room, still watching, and waiting on the coming storm….

 

 

 

How to crash and burn (otherwise known as crashing the GGSA website)

Well as the apocalypse may be well and truly on us, it is worthwhile learning how to join together with like minded souls, so you can all pull together and put the world back together again. And in this day and age it’ll have to be over the internet (hopefully the electricity will stay on for a bit longer or we’re doomed). So today I am learning how those magic words get from my keyboard to the world wide web and putting out a huge hello to those original members of the GGSA, and I’m saying I’m here for the fight (and the cake, well mainly for the cake).

Facing the end of the World

Ok Apocalypse fans, we are getting the bad back together.

In 2012 we started this project as a fun way of looking at the apocalypse from an alternate view point, all the manuals seemed to be by men. This was our Sarah Connor guide to the end of the world. Against a backdrop of the end of the Mayan calendar this was fun, a little flippant.

We have been quiet for a long time, because 2012 passed and life was busy and the future bright. Now however we feel perhaps we aren’t the only ones who need the GGSA again.

We hope to maintain our sense of fun, but there is a darker edge to the GGSA now, we are older, more cynical and working against a political backdrop that is, to say the least, less optimistic.

It is perhaps fitting then that the GGSA team are pulling on their combat boots and arming for bear on Inauguration Day.

Cheers!

The Girl at the End of the World

Anthology call for submissions that might be of interest to the apocalyptically minded.

It’s all been pretty quiet on here. I suspect we are all a tad disheartened by the complete faliur on t he worlds part, to end in 2012. Still, it never hurts to prepare and I for one will keep on planning for every eventuality.

I’ve been clearing the garage to make room for supplies, also found my axe which is excellent news. I’ve also been thinking, perhaps if the world doesn’t end, we should be seeking to take it over because i’m generally disappointed in many things at the moment. I reckon we could do a better job in charge.

Something to think on. Plans for world domination ladies?

Honeybadger out.

 

 

 

Simple Preparation

Even Apocalypse Girls have Dad’s and mine is a believer in preparation.

He recently got me a wind up torch to keep in the boot of my car. It’s a cheapish one from argos that you can charge by hand winding or through the car cigarette lighter. An essential part of any Apocalypse Girls go bag. 4

This is the one I was given, but there are lots of options out there for a wind up torch.

What Hurricane Sandy taught us about the Urban Apocalypse – Part 2


(Mark Segar – Reuters)

It was unsettling how things changed. From the safety of social feeds, we watched as photoshopped spoofs and Michael Bay rip-offs paled before the quiet aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. Smouldering burns scarred into whiteboard neighbourhoods. A suburban block turned to some vast waste dump. A seafront bar dragged across a bay, a boat perched on railroad tracks. More than the Boxing Day Tsunami, this felt uncomfortably close to home.

We may be incredulous of the naive expectations of the massive storm; or the religious leader who blamed Sandy on New York State’s acceptance of gay marriage. Yet, what lay in front of us was a solid lesson in where the future may lead for many cities across the globe.

In Part One of What Hurricane Sandy taught us about the urban apocalypse, we looked at Corporate Sponsorship, Disaster Parasites, and the not-so sweet smell of the apocalypse.

Past the cut, in Part Two, we’ll be looking at the comfort of petty theft, how hipsters decorate their fallout digs, and why it’s not over til it’s over…

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What Hurricane Sandy taught us about the Urban Apocalypse – Part 1


(Spencer Platt – Getty Images)

It was unsettling how things changed. From the safety of social feeds, we watched as photoshopped spoofs and Michael Bay rip-offs paled before the quiet aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. Smouldering burns scarred into whiteboard neighbourhoods. A suburban block turned to some vast waste dump. A seafront bar dragged across a bay, a boat perched on railroad tracks. More than the Boxing Day Tsunami, this felt uncomfortably close to home.

We may be incredulous of the naive expectations of the massive storm; or the religious leader who blamed Sandy on New York State’s acceptance of gay marriage. Yet, what lay in front of us was a solid lesson in where the future may lead for many cities across the globe. Past the cut, here’s the first of a two part blog on what Hurricane Sandy taught us about surviving the urban apocalypse.
 
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