I will spare you the more mundane details of the past seven days of my trip to New Bunker, the only so called city I could conceivably walk to from my own shit hole of an outpost. The journal I’m keeping tracks everything from my bowel movements to what the variety of insects I forced into my mouth tasted like. For you, I have saved only the entries relevant to my ongoing commentary on this fucked up, corrupted filthy world that we call home:
Day 1:
My presence in my little community must have had a more calming effect than I had previously perceived.
It took me the better part of a day to travel the 50-odd kilometers to the mountain range. I feel as though I could’ve made better time had I not indulged in effectuating a little test of the chain-knife I had pilfered from the still warm corpse of a New American Pirate. NAPs seem to think that by ripping off and bastardizing the fashion and ethical sensibilities of nautical pirates from 400 years ago and tacking on the concept of a “New America”, they’re somehow a cut above the average run-of-the-mill organized group of psychopaths. The irony, surely lost on its members, is that there is nothing new about the combination of America and piracy. The poor fuck looked out of time and out of place, hundreds of kilometers from the sea, hundreds of years away from a time his clothing made any sort of practical sense.
He must’ve been “marooned”. Poor sap probably had no idea he was only 30 km from a twisted sort of civilization. ↓ Read the rest of this entry…
