The Adventures of Milk and Cheese

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This blogger can be added to the list of those who survived. Gotham was shuttered and while the sidewalks were not rolled up, the active rolling stock of all major light and heavy rail were hidden away least they be crushed under the coming snow of the historic event that Gotham was to have, and then didn’t. Which makes “a historic event” not only something in the future but when it happens it will not be remembered. At least not remembered the way people predicted. However, any true student of History can tell you that things do not go simply into that book of the Long Night but take upon shapes and forms that those who lived through the events cannot know nor control.

We will remember Juno as a frightening time. Or a time we were made to be frightened of. I will admit that I didn’t break out the INCH bag, open any TEOTWAWKI MREs, dive into my TSHTF EFS. I did break in to the ITSDABOW bottle (It’s Tuesday So Drink a Bottle of Wine). The reason for this may have to do with a certain misanthropic sardonic rationalism mixed with gushing romantic sentimentality … basically that I believe and trust no one, but I really like cats and get really sad when I see a lost child’s toy because it reminds me of all those things I have left behind in my life…

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Ahem….

I do not believe the current state of our weather.  The reporting cannot be removed from the current state of journalism, such as it is, or the culture of hype and consumer production.  But what, Dear Sir, do you know about the European Model or predictive qualities of price transfer policies? Well, no, nothing at all of the sort. Looking at the map I noticed a certain secondary cold front sitting over Cleaveland and between that front, the Alleghney and Appalachian mountains, the track of the Gulf Stream that [currently] comes in close in to the Confederate States of America and then goes out to the open ocean by way of Montauk, Martha’s Vineyard, Malden, Maine, and the Maritimes, there was little chance the storm would head directly over the land mass and would, more than likely, push out to the open and unrestricted ocean.  Great storms, like all centers of power, are surprising effected by subtle forces. Like blowing on a cork floating in a pool. Also, with the number of press conferences, proclamations, provocations, prognostications by Our Dear Leaders and the MSM, I just refused to believe it because it was so…. all over the top. For every predicted inch of snow there was a foot of bull shit. “Nothing is going to happen,” I told someone.  “How do you know?” that person said or just in my mind I asked.  “Because every time they talk about a thing, that thing doesn’t happen.”  However, just to make sure, I turned to my knowledgeable friend Uncle Internet.  He always brought me better information – however, this time he didn’t.   Between the storm terror stories I did see that there is this one crazy trick and you won’t believe #14.  So I waited.  And when Delaware didn’t get slammed it seemed certain that Gotham was not in the blind eye of Jake (I have named the storm myself just to take back a little power from the MSM) but we would have a night of some snow in the season we used to call winter and an event we used to just call, a bad storm.
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I took out my old Weather Rock ™ the one I bought when I was a kid back in the days I attended Camp Wazamadau and I placed it on the window sill. The instructions read: if rock is wet; rain, if hot; sun, if white; snow, and if you cannot see it; it is nightime.

I figured I had my weather station set up, so now off to prepare for Doom by going to the store. Now, I am not a real Sergeant Prepper since I do not have three to six months of dry beans in buckets which, by the way, I would rather kill myself than eat beans for six months let a lone a few days. I did buy the Emergency Food Supply buckets but they are stored empty upstate and used primarily for beer making, storing garden produce for a few days, and to have yet one more thing in the way that I have to move to get to the other things behind them that I need or want or want to now put in the way so I may one day move them too.

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Bethatasitmay, I wanted to go for another reason, perhaps a more important one. Shits-n-giggles. Yes, to watch frantic people attempt to survive an histronic event by donning their best worst clothes and rioting for food at the local Trader Joe’s, Fairways, or Western Beef. I was unable to get into any of the named institutions of chuck in order to stock up on … bread. Milk. Toilet paper. & junk food. Of course junk food. I think the current usage of “nomnomnomnom” to represent satisfaction is because we have run out of food worthy of a buen provecho, bon appetit, or tuck in chaps! Whatever the case for or against nom-ing, the things piled high were beneath even nomnomnom. Trapped by weather, race riots, or zombie apocalypse I think after dry beans I would not want to be in a room with that many bags of Doritos Hot N Zesty(tm), bottles of pop, and heat-n-eat dinners. Considering that some fear in a storm of future historic proportions that the electrics may be interrupted, having a fridge filled to overflowing with frozen Turbo Dawgs and Americone Dream Ice Cream seems a bizarre way to welcome anything other than a sudden spate of clinical depression.

So among the special spectacle that is life outside of screentime, I poked about the isles and made a few selections, just enough for dinner that night, since I knew by the ‘morro we would be able to reach the safe warm lap of Western Civilization and those First World Problems of too much choice and culinary diversity – at least in spice configuration since most of our “food” comes from the same GMO trough no matter what ethnic foodie mantle we toss over the genetically modified crap.
And so, well-provisioned with two cauliflowers and a six pack, we waited out the storm’s gentle furry. Watched a few programes on the Boob Tube, and went to bed to awake and go to work as per usual – except minus out public transportation system and the presence of private cars since we were under a sort of soft martial law, but that is material for another blog.
It was… A terrible storm. The worst in history (the one that happens in the past). For all that hype we didn’t even get the day off. And today, in fridges across the region and beyond, sad bread and milk (and cheese) turn ever sour and in a soon-to-be-historic event, as all this producti is tossed into that that old chestnut – the Dustbin of History.

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