Saturday, April 30, 2016

Los Locos Vivos

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 explosions.

The email included a link to a website 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.

Figure 94.2: General Patton knew, from a lifetime of military service, that mobility and manoeuvrability were crucial to survival.

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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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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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