A storm's a-brewin', as they say, and for those of us in the greater tri-state area, things are about to get... interesting. This Hurricane Irene business has already proved to be a more hostile, high-speed run on commercial goods than this winter's Milk and Eggs fiasco - bottled water flying off the shelves, the newly-militarized Knights of Columbus are stalking the streets with bats and chains, looking for loosely secured goods, generators, tarps, anything that isn't buckled down, really.
That's right! You best hope that your genny is running if you've got one, and if you don't, you can kiss your milk and eggs goodbye because when the power goes out this time, it ain't coming back for a fortnight minimum. Mid-September's trash will be rife with those steaks and gallons of chili you forgot about in the back of the freezer. By Wednesday, there will no longer be such a thing as ice cream, only the memory...
But I'm no fool! I don't subscribe to such tomfoolery! It's all an idle threat - at least to me. I have a lead on a black market deck cannon from long ago decommissioned WWII Navy Heavy Cruiser that went by name Greta, and enough Silver Iodide to blast Irene into the Sixties. Now the only question is how to get that big gun mounted on my roof.
Of course, all things being equal, and let's just say this big bitch does in fact rip through my perfectly manicured back yard - I will be ready. The human body can subsist on canned goods and booze for many weeks, if not years, and we are chock full of that, man! The only thing left to consider is this: How many horrible, man-biting sharks is this hurricane going to pick up, with their soulless eyes, and mouths full of chomping razor death? And who do you call to remove these flopping, sashimi-grade station wagons from your yard?
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