I
have always believed the correlation between personal wealth and intelligence
to be somewhat tenuous. An email I received last week strained the link beyond its
elastic limit.
Throughout
the developed world, the super-rich are fleeing cities like proverbial ship
rats. Chicago and Paris are cases in point. Their actions seem to conform to
the narrative accepted by many observers – myself included – that world economic
collapse cannot be forestalled for much longer. When the debt-based currency
system inevitably implodes, civilized society might well go with it. Other
possible triggers range from natural disasters to chemical, biological or nuclear incidents.
The
email included a link to a website http://www.terravivos.com. This is the
online home of an American company called Vivos,
which specializes in the construction of elaborate underground shelters,
designed to keep the insanely rich secure should surface life become apocalyptic.
These well-stocked subterranean sanctuaries are fortified by thick walls and
blast doors, thereby providing a full year of autonomous survival (Figure 94.1).
Figure
94.1: I have no idea who designed, built and furnished this particular shelter.
I love the plastic picnic chairs. Some ‘elite’. More like the Beverly
Hillbillies. Pass them there big ole sugar cookies and ginger ale, Ma!
Copyright
© 2016 Paul Joseph Watson
A
sensible strategy? Not according to World War Two U.S. General George S. Patton
(1885-1945) (Figure 94.2), who insisted that ‘fixed fortifications are a
monument to the stupidity of man’. I think he was right. First, static
isolation would be dangerous: communications would be difficult; and a
conspicuous, immobile target is always an easy one to hit.
Figure
94.2: General Patton knew, from a lifetime of military service, that mobility
and manoeuvrability were crucial to survival.
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expired
The
longer I thought about it, the more convinced I became that any such structure
would be an underground prison, with the term of confinement possibly becoming
a life sentence. Combine the inevitable cabin fever with a well-established
sense of entitlement, and I expect most of them would go stir crazy within a
week or two (Figure 94.3). I once lived in a gated community, long enough to
learn that the real dangers come from within the gates, not beyond them.
Figure
94.3: Back in 1991, I was given a guided tour of this British nuclear
submarine, HMS Unseen, in dry dock at Birkenhead’s Cammell Laird shipyards. My
submariner pal informed me that all potential service personnel are subjected
to extensive psychometric testing to ensure that only those with infinite
patience and a readiness to cooperate and compromise are considered for a life
of long-term seclusion.
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© 2012 Britmodeller.com
Imagine,
then, dozens of psychopaths cooped up together in a confined space. There would
be bloody murder in no time. The place would resemble the set of a ’70s horror
movie. (Still, the crisis would have the potential to resolve itself quite
neatly.)
I
forwarded the email to a few friends throughout Europe. Here are some of the
replies:
‘They
won’t be able to stay down there forever. When they come up for air, you can
bet the natives won’t be terribly friendly.’
‘Someone
would find the air vent and pour petrol down it.’
‘They’re
stupid. More money than sense = constant paranoia about the Morlocks coming
over the garden wall. The company will make a fortune out of these rich dumb
f*****s.’
‘What
if there was a leaky tap – or the toilet broke? Plumbing skills, anyone? Oh
dear …’
‘One
of them developing a nasty contagious illness would spice things up.’
If
these people are trying to buy a stairway to heaven, someone ought to remind
them that they are going the wrong way.
Copyright
© 2016 Paul Spradbery
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