I can't wait to loot your house.

So, one of the most exciting aspects of a possible apocalypse is the exodus/migration/mass death and subsequent stuff left behind. Fuck all your base; all your shoes, chairs, scarves, medications, and fine dinnerware are belong to us!

When team morale is at its lowest and people are feeling all sorts of shitty and defeated. I’m going to lead them to your McMansion neighborhood and right up to your front door. We’ll take turns guarding the opening of the cul-de-sac your house is on, blocking the entrance with two Jeeps we stole from your local dealership. Snipers will take up post in your kid’s tree-house and that gazebo in your back yard. I’ll line my sad sack, rag tag team up on your front lawn and give them each a fist-sized rock from your decorative walkway. Then, on the count of three, they’ll hurl the rocks through your picturesque bay window like a bunch of drunken middle schoolers. Oh, the joy smashing through your pristine abode will bring us.

You worked so hard, but so did we. And we’re tired and frustrated. We can’t shout and fight amongst ourselves; we can’t throw a can of beans as far as possible because if we see another can of beans it could just break us– we need those beans. We still need to keep our composure and respect each other and the rules of the party. But your house and your stuff don’t mean shit to us.

Every expensive throw pillow we tear up and figurine we smash will being us one step closer to an intoxicating bliss only lawless abandon can bring. With every gleeful jump on your California king bed with our shoes on and without removing the Egyptian cotton sheets or the stupid-expensive duvet, we’ll feel lighter and freer and glad we’re not wherever you are. Glad because we’re safe and sound in your house. So safe it’s a playground.

Finally, once we’ve broken all that can be broken and stole all that can be stolen, we’ll go fortify your neighbor’s house and sleep an exhausted, satisfied, and sound sleep in their beds.

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