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The Mushroom Hunters
Notes on Access and Support in Post-Apocalyspic Murica: 2/12/22
© 2022 James LaFond
Izzy guarded The Colonel’s Wife while Toby scouted and the Captain’s Wife hiked an old overgrown logging road over the mountain. When we cleared the cedar forest and I looked down, I saw what seemed a man and a woman in the distance coming up the private access road on foot. I said, “Man and woman, below, heading this way.”
Visitors by day and night are starting to become a problem for this hidden community of five families. The families want isolation from the gushing turd stream of humanity ejected by Modernity from its hellish cities. However, that isolation makes them vulnerable to be picked off by home invaders. Do note that increase in murder tracks with the most underreported violent crime: home invasion. Also, understand that if racial superior Bantus or morally superior homos come and attack you, that you will be painted as the bad guy by media and police. Preparation for this is a problem and I can be of limited use as a visitor.
The Colonel’s Wife is already seething with rage. In no possible real world scenario could I imagine this woman not breaking into my conversation with a man in her area of isolation. Her instinct, though she cannot know this, is to foster combat between men. I did not come here to knife some young homo and spend the rest of my life in prison. Letting him win is no option. Combat means death—not a good outcome.
If the police were not an issue, if there were no police, I would just crack the head of the man with my staff and help his woman bear him off to the main road.
The Colonel’s Wife, used to bossing men around, says to me, “Do you or I talk?”
Her owner had coached her on this, and I trust she would keep quiet for him, but not for my low status ass. Not trusting her to not make this a three-way conversation, I said, “Unless they try to rob me it’s non of my business.”
“Thanks, LaFond!”
It was not a man and a woman, but a big strapping man with a cute dog and a little homo.
Izzy almost ate the nice little heeler, but The Colonel’s Wife called her off. The big guy seemed to have good character and the little one I had mistaken for a woman was fecal matter. I stood just past the men with the Captain’s Wife while Izzy and Toby hung around and listened to the conversation in which she explained trespassing and asked them not to do it again. She was very diplomatic and not as stern as she might have been, which was good. She asked me how she handled it and I complimented her. Any practice helping a woman learn de-esclatation when she has an upper hand, is good.
The big boy and the turd followed us down the road and, as the women made the first right, I told them I would be dallying on the road. The best I could manage was to send a message, that if you come up this road hunting your magic mushrooms, which was their stated purpose, that you do not turn off onto a driveway but stay on the Mountain Road.
I walked down to the next driveway and waited at the entrance to The Captain’s property, just downhill from The Major’s and The Colonel’s abodes.
I waited while they stopped and read the no trespassing sign and was impressed with the big fellow when he stopped and apologized to me three more times. At this point I had a chance to use the only tactic that worked for getting rid of undesirables when managing a supermarket—send them down the road to another market. I told him where the mushroom hunting was on the next mountain, let him know it was public land, and wished him well.
The Captain coordinated information with the other men after we debriefed him on his return form the Shittay. Further preparations are underway. Such concerns will only prove more common as society implodes. Whenever people leave a threat zone, the threat zone expands to follow them.
As a guest, my role is intelligence, support and deterance, not enforcement. I have no property or occupancy rights here and am not even a resident of the state. I am committed to defending the people and property I am living in. However, the easement rights granted by the owner of the road and the common ground are not my concern. I do not even know that man and can’t presume to act on his behalf. The Captain and The Colonel trust me to protect their women and are are fine with me using stone age technology in defense of their property.
The big dilemma when escorting another man’s wife, is that you don’t know her like he does and, my experience has taught me that you can very rarely trust a woman to keep her mouth shut when two men work something out. The other aspect of such situations is the fact that each party added to a conversation over a disagreement, increases the chance of violent escalation geometrically.
For instance, having a conversation by oneself rarely results in any violence to one’s self—all the way up to Bantu pack jabbering being very nearly a 100% guarantor of violence. I can say that having a man living on the property as a caretaker is a good security cushion and expands intelligence and places someone other than your woman and children in the initial target slot.
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night city
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