Doomsday Preppers Puns

Let's start by clarifying the doomsday preppers that would do well in the apocalypse - those that already live in a small self sustaining agricultural community that don't broadcast to the world that they have all sorts of useful supplies waiting to be raided.

I am saying the preppers whose survival plan involves guns and impossible logistics than horticulture or fist aid are goners. If your plan is to get a posse together and go raiding on motorcycles, you will get killed by people who won't kill eachother for a can of beans and can actually build a new society. I won't even get into the logistics of post apocalyptic survival because you can write encyclopedias on that.

There is even a trend of preppers diversifying their portfolio with crypto. That's right, internet based currency for primitive living. It really looks like a lot of them are not interested in researching how to live primitively or form new societies. It looks like they are fantasizing about a world in which their personal hobbies and anti-social behavior will become the new virtues and savior of humanity. It's stupid and pathetic, and they would be the weak link in any society, post-apocalyptic or not.

People said battlefield 5 was gonna die and that the game killed the franchise and now they say it’s a great game. This happens every time a new battlefield comes out. It’s unfinished, it’s different, and people cry about it and leave for a few weeks then come back and say it’s good. The franchise is NOT going to die. They sold a shit ton of copies and honestly the game is better than bf5 and bf4’s launch so stop complaining and play something else till you get over yourselves. I come to this page to see FANS comments and highlight clips not negative Nancy’s saying it’s the end times for BF.

INDEX - I - II - III (current) -IV - Final

"I'm the one who started that list," said the ancient mountain man as I nuzzled my dog and she nuzzled back.

He looked past me, his face wrinkling as he peered at the twisted, bleeding corpse of the hiker crumpled just past the tower.

"What happened there?" He asked. "Made good work of that poor fella, I see."

I frowned. "I thought- but he's an Imitator, right?" I glanced at the gory tableau then looked away, my stomach roiling.

"Right. Right. An Imitator," the old man mused.

Suddenly and without fanfare, he turned from me and strode back into the woods, pulling my dog along with him.

"Best we go now," he called back. "There's sure to be more."

I hesitated, not wanting to leave the safety and sunlight of the clearing for the quiet gloom of the crowded woods...

But he had my dog, and maybe it was time I finally get answers.

I learned the meaning of rule #8 not long after.

"So you were the first?" I asked as he had led me up a narrow, overgrown trail which carved through the clutter of Mother Nature -- it was a constant obstacle course, skirting rotting logs and felled branches.

"That's right," he said. "Was a long, long time ago. I..." He trailed off like his thought had wandered off before he'd caught it.

An awkward silence settled in.

I cleared my throat. "How'd you meet Mr. Aberdeen?"

"Mister-?" He frowned.

"Kent Aberdeen. The, ah- guy." I gestured back at the tower.

"Oh, yes, of course. That was a lifetime ago. A lifetime."

I looked around. The woods fell away, shifting into an endless riot of trees and brush warring for space.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

He stopped in his tracks so suddenly that I nearly plowed headlong into his bony back.

I saw he was staring off into nothing, head cocked slightly as if listening to a whisper that only he heard.

My heart slowly rose in my chest from a low, steady trot into a loud, thundering ga

INDEX - I - II - III - IV (current) - Final

I was shipwrecked in a sea of trees -- half of the tower stairs having burned away with the life of the Wicked Ones.

I was completely alone. Alone with nothing and no one to-

A whine cut through my despair. At first I thought it must've been the wind, hooting up and around the tower -- but then it came again.

I was in motion before I knew it. I lurched inside the ruined cabin -- the one with blown-out windows and scattered acid-holes in the floor -- and looked around.

At first I didn't see her. I squinted against the hellish flare of sunlight bouncing off broken glass.

Alabama was right where I'd left her -- crumpled on the floor in a loose, lifeless heap.

A wave of emotion slammed through my chest.

I started to cry. Huge, body-wracking sobs tore through me as I realized, She isn't alive. I had just been imagining it.

I cried until Alabama tilted her head and offered a low, forlorn whine.

The tears came harder, sweeping through me in a great flood as I rushed to her side -- absently skirting one of the fist-sized holes -- and swept her up into my arms.

She planted slobbery kisses on my cheeks as I buried my face in her fur -- pulling a deep lungful of damp dog-scent the way a smoker might inhale their first cigarette of the day -- and sobbed.

She allowed it for all of five seconds before wriggling out of my grasp.

Alabama found her footing, cautiously eased forward -- testing for pain and finding none -- then leapt atop the bed.

She had a slight limp, but was otherwise her usual, goofy self.

So that was us. Two wounded soldiers trapped on the battlefield -- the tide of war having momentarily pulled back.

We ate dinner in silence -- her slurping up a healthy serving of canned people-food, and me having just the same.

Afterwards I updated the rulebook (for all the good that would do), and watched darkness scrub away the light.

I tried to sleep, found I couldn

INDEX - I - II - III - IV - Final (current)

I was dragged into a wide clearing fenced by a crude wall of trees -- as though the flora itself dare not encroach this sacred territory. The jungle snarled away from us in colorful streaks -- deep purples, dark magentas, and muddy pinks colored the vines, leaves, and bark.

It felt like a room. A throne room, one enclosed by growth on four sides. I looked up. Thick canopies of branches -- interwoven like a tapestry -- formed a loose ceiling.

The Tree Talkers shoved me to the ground. A wall of pain slammed through my knees and trickled up my thighs, slowly settling into my gut like an icy marble. Something was broken. Something was definitely broken.

Tears singed my eyes. I bit back a scream and focused my gaze, finding the dull, colorful vines -- each as thick as my forearm -- that carpeted the ground. They ran like petrified snakes toward the middle of the "room" where they swelled up, spiraled, and formed the throne.

That was where she sat in all her dreadful glory. The Queen of Trees.

She was graceful, like a woman in her sixties who had been touched by flawless genes -- hair a smooth, startling silver, face bracketed by nearly imperceptible wrinkles.

She looked like an old Hollywood icon -- timeless in her dress of golden leaves, each shimmering as if painstakingly dipped in liquid gold.

"Amelia," I groaned. It was all that came to me. She must be Aberdeen's Amelia, the one he was so desperate to get back.

The Queen of Trees smiled at me. It sent a cold shiver itching down my spine. It was a dead smile. Lifeless.

"Yes," she said, her voice the sound of ice breaking, "this is about her, isn't it?"

I frowned. My mind seemed occupied by an enemy force -- one made of black fog that clouded my thoughts and made the world hazy.

"Why am I here?" I asked, my voice a hoarse croak. "Why did Aberdeen bring me here."

Her eyebrows drew together in what was either irrita

INDEX - I (current) - II - III - IV - Final

I just finished my first week of what's meant to be an eight week cycle. I would leave right now if I could -- just take off through the trees and hope for the best.

...But I can't.

Not without Alabama. She's my border collie -- a rust-colored ball of energy named not after the state, but Patricia Arquette's character in True Romance.

And now she's gone and I'm all alone in the tower in the woods. But no, I'm not alone... those things are out there.

So here we are. The final words of a failed screenwriter, Mike Bradbury, 26, of (probably) sound-mind and -body.

I don't know where to start. It's confusing. Overwrought, some might say.

I could tell you about him -- the man who hired me... but he's in "lockdown." No contact for eight weeks. So what good would that do?

I won't start with the survival guide I found in the tower, either -- we'll get to that in due time, I promise.

But not yet. I don't want to confuse you.

Confusing you will only make things harder, so I'll start with the most un-confusing thread in this impossible tale -- the beginning.

It started two months ago with Craigslist -- the home of locked iPads, strange sexual encounters, serial killers, and human traffickers.

I'd read enough creepypastas to know better than to go job-hunting online... but then again I was (a.) penniless; (b.) living at home; and (c.) desperate as all hell.

Six months prior I had fled west with Hollywood in my eyes and dreams of becoming a screenwriter in my head...

I had survived all of three months before my lack of employment forced me home with my tail between my legs.

Home. Roanoke Virginia. Where dreams go to die.

Mom and dad were overjoyed when I asked if I could stay with them for a while -- they hadn't wanted me to go west in the first place.

That was the most crushing of all -- hauling my luggage upstairs and settling back into the old life I

INDEX - I - II (current) - III - IV - Final

1. If you see a hiker, kill him before he kills you. He is an imitator. He is not human.

I crouched beneath the window by the door and waited.

I could hear the hiker's footfalls creaking up the wooden stairs, step after step, flight after flight.

My breath felt hot and gluey in my throat. I tasted mold. I saw galaxies of dust swirling in shafts of sunlight.

I tightened my grip on the fire extinguisher as --

The footsteps stopped just outside the door.

I held my breath and watched a shadow wipe across the window.

My heart pulsed forward, stopped, and lurched along to make up for the missing beat.

A shape filled the glass just above me. I could see the man -- late 40s, balding, khaki shorts and a sun-faded tee -- cupping his hands to the grimy pane as peered into my cab.

He stood there a moment, staring. Eyes lingering over every nook and cranny of the claustrophobic space.

Then he spoke. "Hello?"

A wave of relief washed over me. He was normal. He had to be. Things that pretended to be men didn't sound like your dad...

My grip on the fire extinguisher relaxed. My shoulders rolled back with relief.

Then he spoke again. His voice, cold and cruel, cut through the glass like the rattle of bones.

"I see you."

I looked up. He was staring right at me.

His hands crashed through the window and fell together around my neck!

I screamed as he tore me into the wall. I felt it sledge-hammer into my back and drive out all the air.

I wheezed and swung the fire extinguisher blindly.

It met his forearm with a sickening crackle! -- his arm buckled as the bone holding it together snapped like a rotting twig.

But he didn't lose his grip -- it tightened.

I swung over my shoulder and missed as he chuckled something in my ear.

I didn't hear it.

I couldn't hear anything over the hot roar of blood through my ears -- the sound of the curtains of my life slowly clos

I'm subscribed to Disney+ and I see they have a bunch of National Geographic content (it's even a huge button on their front page), but there are certain shows that appear to be missing. (ie. "Doomsday Preppers")

If I visit NationalGeographic.com I can see that show is available for streaming and it seems to let me stream it for free (?!) but I'm not sure why. If I click the account button it seems to want me to link a TV provider, etc.

Is this a bug that it's allowing me to stream from their website, or does Disney+ allow me access to NationalGeographic.com?

EDIT: After digging around the website, it looks like "Doomsday Preppers" is a Watch Free show so that's why it's letting me stream I guess. However, why isn't all National Geographic content available on Disney+ then?

Funny Bonus: He doesn’t even notice it for a few months because he has been living on his own for a long time and only went back to the city to watch a movie he was waiting for for years

Extra Bonus: He has to deal with gangs of people who survived the apocalypse, mutants, zombies, extra terrestrial and extra dimensional invaders and all he wants is to stay at home with his dog away from everyone else

I’m not saying give EVERYTHING you prepped for, but wouldn’t it be smart to share some of your supplies to help those in need? Wouldn’t be safer to be around a group of people than to be all alone, risking getting raided and robbed? To talk to different people and be social rather than being alone or seeing the same 3-4 faces 24/7? I see preppers horde supplies to live off of for years, I just feel that it wouldn’t be right.