Look, guys, things are getting bad out there.
I know that a lot of you are building bunkers in your backyards, practicing prepping skills, becoming all around preppers.
And that’s fine.
I’m right there with you, preparing for the disaster we all know is coming.
But I’m taking my prepping to new heights—or should I say altitutdes.
That’s right.
I bought myself some properoty on the moon and am building a rocket in my back yard. Some of you are planning to go underground when the shit hits the fan. But not me.
No, I’m planning on going up—up and up and up, straight to the moon.
I’ve got a nice lakefront property on the moon. I’m planting some palm trees up there. To keep costs down I’m shipping a double wide trailer to the Happy Trailer Crater—piece by fabricated piece.
To my knowledge, and from what everybody at NASA has been telling me—I will be the only resident on the moon.
Which means that when the shit hits then fan, I and my family will have a nice quiet piece of lunar scape to live on, free from the reovlution.
While everybody else is pounding the hell out of your steel bunker door, or trying to blast through the eighteen feet of concrete the separates them from you and your precious hoard of wheat and other consumables, those same fools will also be glancing wistfully through a telescope at the moon, that ancient glowing orb that was the wonder of generations.
They will look and say, “Do you see him? Is he there? Or maybe there? Perhaps he has a vast cache of food and other supplies. Have we checked the dark side?
A lake house on the moon. That’s what I’m setting up.
While everybody else is starving to death and Mad Mad-like fighting out the apocalypse on the earth, I’ll be sipping mai tais and margaritas next to my 68,000 square foot swimming pool, or soaking up the rays becachside, watching the gentle lunar lake waves roll in.
My children, Flick, Bick, and Tryck, will play in that lunar sand, build sand castles, while mother and father look on with great pride from our aluminum chaise loungers.
Literally, friend, we’re building castles in the air. A playground on the moon.
There’s nothing like the peace of mind you get when you know that, when it all falls apart down here on terra firma, you’ve got a backup waiting way up there in the sky. Your own little oasis.
I estimate that in five years I will have stockpiled and shipped enough supplies to the lunar surface to last me and my family at least a century.
With any luck, the price of rocket fuel will drop just enough for us to snag a few more barrels worth—just enough to help us with that final push to our final destination.
Vrbo, eat your heart out. We’re going to the moon.
