|Victor Davis Hanson protects his peaches.|
Conservative author and big-time war-enthusiast-from-afar Victor Davis Hanson, like a lot of pasty, self-styled masculine archetypes of a certain age, is preparing for the end of the world — and he wants you to know about, for how else would everyone know how
much of an alpha male he is in our fallen age of metrosexuality and womyn’s rights.
Spurred in part by a passer-by trying to get all up on his fruit (“[He tried to] steal the peaches from my trees; he honestly thought not only that he could, but that he almost was obligated to.”), Hanson has come to believe that society is collapsing around him. The blame for this, for the “ubiquity of tattooed, skin-pierced tribal people with shaved heads and strange clothes,” says Hanson, of course lies with the obvious, most influential segments of society: poor people and immigrants, and especially poor immigrants. But let’s also not forget the “whiny, pampered, influential elite on the coast,” Handson reminds us — and you know the type, the self-parodying sort that rather than Man Up take to the Internet to complain about some meanie picking their Prunus persicas.
This terrifying new reality that Hanson describes, one where people think they can just go around enjoying the earth’s blessings willy-nilly without so much as a hint of respect for some old white asshole’s claim to monopoly privilege, requires preparation — a new code by which to live. Have you seen The Walking Dead? Think that, but instead of zombies there’s Obamacare. And our leader is a contributor to the National Review:
I find myself insidiously adopting the Road Warrior survival code. Without any systematic design, I notice that in the last two years I have put a hand pump on my grandfather’s abandoned well in the yard and can pump fresh water without electricity. I put in an outdoor kitchen, tied into a 300-gallon propane tank, that can fuel a year of cooking. I am getting more dogs (all vaccinated and caged); for the first time in my life I inventoried all my ancestors’ guns in all the closets and found shotguns, deer rifles, .22s etc.
I have an extra used pickup I chose not to sell always gassed in the garage. For all sorts of scrapes and minor injuries, sprains, simple finger fractures, etc., I self-treat — anything to avoid going into the local emergency room (reader, you will too, when Obamacare kicks in). And the more I talk to neighbors, the more I notice that those who stayed around are sort of ready for our Road Warrior world.
As a white dude, let me be the first to say: fucking white people.