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Surviving the zombie apocalypse


If I kept all the cash selling marijuana to the jet set, I’d have filled several closets with hundred dollar bills.
But, I was smarter than your average bear and I invested it wisely.
It’s not rocket science. Why taking care of money is so hard for some folks– I recently read that 70 percent of pro football players declare bankruptcy. I don’t know, because you really only have to do a couple things: one, invest in a variety of stocks, bonds and real estate and, two, don’t mess around with it. If it were possible to time the market, there’d be people doing it and getting rich. Warren Buffett being the exception proving the rule. Keep a year’s worth of cash on hand to weather surprise events, a safe with a half dozen guns and don’t forget to buy some land.
I’ve always been blessed with good common sense, not sure why, but it allowed me to see the end was near. When a failed sports promoter like Rush Limbaugh starts controlling the masses, it’s time to start digging hiding holes. And, when the likes of Donald Trump is actually considered presidential material, it’s best to gather up the family and take them to it.
Of course, when the “Calypse” hit on Nov. 11, 2016, we lost whatever we had in banking and brokerages, but kept clear title to the 40 acres of prime Iowa agricultural land a few miles outside the town of Solon.
Best investment I ever made. It provided good cash flow from the start. We bought the 42-acre site, no buildings, at $4,000 an acre. I cleared off a closet shelf and cashed in the c-notes to pay for it.
We subdivided immediately and sold off two acres close to the drive for $80,000 of clean money. Besides the early return, the property was a cash cow. A farmer paid us $3,000 a year to grow crops on the 12 best acres, and the U.S. government chipped in another six grand a year for the 28 acres in the CRP (Conservation Reserve Program.) So it was bringing in nearly 10 grand a year without the income from the dozen or so super-high quality pot plants tucked in around the switch grass and Canadian thistle.
I used the money to build a subterranean stronghold. Actually, if you’re reading this letter, you’ve most certainly found it. As you can see, it isn’t very big, only 20 by 10 feet, but it was big enough to hold a half-dozen well-oiled guns, plenty of ammo, a box of hundred-dollar bills, a small bucket of Krugerrands, a couple of cases of cigarettes and another couple cases of high-end liquor. As I predicted, the money or gold only helped in the first couple days of the collapse of civilization, but I could buy a man’s soul for a carton of smokes or a bottle Tanqueray.
I also put a chemical toilet in a far corner, a few boxes of food, small cooking stove, two sets of bunk beds and water. Sabra and I, the kids and grandkids hunkered down here for a few days when the crap hit the fan but it didn’t take long for things to settle their way out. The initial wave of looters, robbers and plunders coming down Interstate 80 from Chicago crashed in on itself quickly. Everyone was armed to the teeth and they soon killed each other off. The citizens of Solon, led by the commander of the American Legion, rallied together for a while, but soon joined the infighting.
Only the zombies were left.
Technically, they weren’t true zombies in the traditional sense because they were still alive, but they might as well been dead. Starving and exposed, they traipsed around for a few weeks eating anything they could get their hands on, including each other, and anything dead, even if it was half-rotted.
I noticed they were attracted to sound, so I drew them away by making gigantic wind chimes made of pipe and hanging them from the various cell towers around our property. From there, the vast remainder of humanity took care of itself through cannibalism and nature’s course.
By 2018, it was just us. No traffic on the highway and not a peep on the radio.
And that’s pretty much my story.
Help yourself to the Marlboros and Dewar’s if there’s any left. The hundred dollar bills work well to start a fire.