by Billy Roper
Imagine a scenario. Suspend disbelief for a minute. You’re asleep. Your phone rings. It’s a blocked call. You answer. A disembodied voice says your name, tells you what you are wearing, what you last ate, and that the next person who speaks to you will say “I think I broke my toe.”
Before you can interrupt, they tell you that things have gotten to the tipping point. The crisis trigger scenario which will cause massive riots, ethnic conflict, and systemic collapse is inevitable, now. In ninety days’ time, at noon, the power grid will go down and not return. The United States will begin Civil War II and balkanization. Millions of people will die of starvation, disease, and violence. Millions more will become refugees from ethnic cleansing. Whites will have a shot at an ethnostate, but there will be a chaotic period of struggle which could last years, in the meantime. “Ninety days”, the voice repeats, then the line goes dead.
You stare at your phone, wondering who crank called you, and how they knew what you were wearing and what you ate. It rings again, in your hand. You expect it to be another blocked call, and are ready to either not answer, or start cursing them if you do, but it’s your best friend, whom you’ve known your whole life. Breathing a sigh of relief, you answer, and say Hello.
“Hey, I think I broke my toe”, they say.
What would you do? Would you continue as you have been doing? Would you maintain your same level of activism? Or would you try to reach out to people locally who could be persons of influence in your community when things fall apart? Would you try to get active in real life to find like-minded people who could stand with you against the coming storm, or would you binge on everything which might not be available in a few months? Would you buy up canned food and ammunition, or take out a loan and blow your savings on a trip around the world, to see it all before it’s irrevocably changed, forever? Would you tell the people you care about, or let them fend for themselves? What would you do, if we only had ninety days before America went down?
How do you know that we don’t?
Here’s your wakeup call. I don’t know what you’re wearing, or what you ate last, or what the next person you speak with will say to you, nor do I know the exact date, but I know this: