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So let’s just imagine for a moment—a purely hypothetical, totally not real, definitely not unfolding-before-our-eyes scenario:
The year is… basically now.
Inflation’s a bitch, the border’s more open than Hunter’s laptop, energy costs are spiking, and the only people thriving are fentanyl dealers and TikTok influencers.
The cops? Defunded. The military? Focused on pronouns. The grid? Held together with duct tape and ESG talking points.
And you're sitting in your overpriced apartment, watching CNN pretend this is all “mostly peaceful.”
Let’s say the lights flicker. Then go out. The water stops running. Your phone’s dead. You can’t order Postmates, and the DoorDash guy just looted a Walgreens.
Now what?
Welcome to the Collapse. Brought to You by Progress™
You voted Republican. You knew this was coming. But now you're stuck in it too—because collapse doesn’t check party registration.
So here’s what you’re gonna wish you had stashed away, not because some prepper YouTuber told you to, but because life under clownworld management requires insurance. Not Allstate. The real kind.
Let’s walk through the day society finally dies—with some totally unrelated mentions of gear that may or may not be available on Amazon.
Morning: No Power, No Water, No Apology
You wake up. It's quiet. Too quiet. Your fridge is warm. Your phone’s a brick. The neighbor’s screaming at a pigeon like it's customer service.
You head to the sink—no water. Cool. So much for that “basic infrastructure” thing. Good thing you might’ve grabbed a LifeStraw a while back. It lets you drink pond water without dying. Comes in blue. Tastes like regret, but not cholera.
You step outside. Half the street is wandering around like Sims with no pathfinding. Someone's charging a vape with a solar panel.
That guy? He brought a crank radio. The RunningSnail model, if you’re curious. Charges phones, picks up AM/FM, NOAA, possibly alien signals. Not sexy. But neither is dehydration.
Noon: No Food. Just “Equity.”
You check the pantry. Half a bag of quinoa, three expired Clif Bars, and some “climate-neutral” almond paste.
Walmart's been looted. Again. Target's boarded up. Again.
A guy on a scooter offers to trade a rat carcass for a charger.
You could’ve had a ReadyWise 150 Serving food bucket tucked in a closet. Just saying. It’s not steak, but it’s hot, it’s calories, and it doesn’t scream when you eat it.
And if you were really smart? You picked up a compact stove and a ferro rod fire starter. Not because you're Bear Grylls—because the power grid runs on rainbow stickers now.
Afternoon: The Shelter Shuffle
Your city announces a “safe space” center for vulnerable citizens. You show up, they say you’re not “vulnerable enough.”
Guess who’s sleeping outside?
Good thing you snagged a Go Time Gear Life Tent—fits in your glove box, and doesn’t smell like urine and failed socialism. It sets up faster than a liberal can yell “fascist!” on Twitter.
You wrap up in a Mylar emergency blanket. Looks like tinfoil. Feels like dignity. Keeps you from dying when the sun goes down and climate change forgets to keep things warm.
Evening: Things Get Weird
Someone tries to sell you “filtered water” out of a Mountain Dew bottle. You decline.
Then you hear yelling down the block. A scuffle. You grip your Gerber StrongArm knife—not to be Rambo, but to open cans and cut paracord. Probably.
You’ve got a Surviveware first aid kit in your pack. Just in case you end up playing field medic because someone thought a Molotov cocktail would make a good nightlight.
You climb back into your tent, zip it shut, and read a few pages of the SAS Survival Handbook—because there’s no Netflix, and you figure you should finally learn how to trap a squirrel.
Midnight: Reflection (And Gunshots)
You stare up at the stars—beautiful, terrifying, quiet.
In the distance: a siren. Then silence again.
You think about how we got here. How we let people who couldn’t change a tire run the country. How “defund the police” sounded smart to people who think TikTok counts as a résumé.
And you remember that time you spent 20 bucks on a crank radio instead of brunch. That time you stashed a tent in your trunk “just in case.” That time you didn’t laugh at the idea of a portable water filter.
You’re not winning. But you’re alive. You’re dry. You’re fed.
And most importantly?
You’re not one of them.
Final Thought:
When the people who broke everything tell you “we’re all in this together,” just nod, smile, and pull another foil packet out of your stash.
Then eat it in front of them.
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