The girls guide to post-apocalyptic dictatorship.

In the past, I have made a big deal about how in the post apocalypse, I WILL be a benevolent dictator in control of a large, well run compound. Some of you seem to seem to think I might be joking about this.

Oh, no, sugarbuns. I fully intend to be a dictator. I’m already spoiled, petty and quick to anger – dictatorship should be a cinch.

I can’t tell you HOW to build your compound – it requires a combination of charm, talent, leadership abilities, organisation and a basic, borderline sociopathic disrespect for the rights, opinions and feelings of other people that I just don;t think you can learn. But, I can give you some ideas about how to maintain your iron control once you have it. After all, you don’t want to screw up so bad they murder you, do you?

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10 ways to ensure your survival camp followers toss you to the zombies

So you’re a survival camp dictator tyrant leader. Congrats! You’ve got a bunch of people looking to you to keep them alive (no pressure or anything). Of course, now you have to lead them in a way that not only keeps them safe, but keeps them happy.

Because, you know, unhappy campers usually means a leader doesn’t last long. Especially in the post-apocalypse, where I’d imagine life could be very dog-eat-dog, and if you’re not up to par, they’ll toss you to the zombies and put someone else in the leader’s chair.

Here are 10 ways to ensure your survival camp followers toss you over the wall to be zombie food:

  1. Micromanage. Manage every detail. Make sure you’ve got your hand in every pie.
  2. Be a helicopter supervisor. In the event that you decide to delegate and assign “regional leaders” (or whatever you want to call them), be a helicopter supervisor. You’ve heard of helicopter parents, right? You know, the ones who hover and keep an eye on their kids from birth until they’re forty? Do the same, only with your subordinate leaders. Only give them the semblance of authority and independence for their region of the camp.
  3. Ask for suggestions and recommendations, and then tell people their ideas are stupid and you’re going to go with your idea anyway. See #1 and #2 above.
  4. Only implement your ideas, even if you have no idea your idea will actually work. See #3 above. And yes, only use  your ideas even if you’ve never tested them out or only used them in a small part of your camp. I mean, if your new perimeter search plan works in your quadrant (say, Quadrant C), it’s definitely going to work in Quadrant B, even though the Quadrant B leader has told you that he/she knows their quadrant and your plan just will not work for that part of the camp. Maybe there’s  heavier zombie activity there (or whatever). If the leader disagrees with you and tries to point out your flaws, shut them down, and they yell at them in private later. Also tell them that you “will talk to people” to get you idea/plan put in place because  you don’t need that subordinate messing with your grand plans.
  5. Tell people their ideas are crap and that you disagree with them. All the time. Even interrupt them to say this.
  6. Tell your subordinate leaders that you’re “a team” and you want to “work together with them to make the camp run smoothly and even grow” but make all decisions unilaterally. Because, as #3 and #4 indicate, only your ideas are good enough to put into practice. Even if those ideas will doom your camp.
  7. Be offended if people give you pointers about how you could increase camp efficiency/supplies/wealth/whatever. Because you know best, you must be the best leader, so everyone else is an idiot.
  8. Give in to your delusions of grandeur. Your subordinates hate you, but YOU WILL BECOME THE BIGGEST AND BEST SURVIVAL CAMP EVER.

    Because your delusions say so.

  9. Tell your people they can’t loot. Instead, you will find SPONSORS. Because everyone out there will agree that your camp is the best and will grow to take over the world, they will just give you stuff. Of course, you’re not going to give them anything in return, and, in fact, you tell your subordinate leaders that they have no bartering budget. I mean, they’re going to be your sponsors.
  10. Insist on monthly staff meetings, where you will tell your subordinate leaders that you’ve got LOTS of great ideas and that their ideas are all stupid, but they’re doing great jobs. But, you know, you know best. So they have to follow all your ideas and plans, even if they’re unpractical. And even though you don’t actually have direct contact with the “regular people.” I mean, did Caesar deal with the common people? Of course not. He had people to deal with the peasants.

    So do you.

In the midst of all this, make sure you share your plans of growing and expanding the survival camp so that it stretches across the old country (whatever country that happens to be). Tell people that they have to BELIEVE IN THE MISSION. Also tell people that others will give you stuff (ie food and supplies) (for nothing in return) because THEY BELIEVE IN THE MISSION too.

The post-apocalyptic legal system

First, I apologize for not posting last week; I was on holidays and was so discombobulated when I got back (I’m not used to taking holidays, heh), I forgot all sorts of stuff. It got pretty ugly, actually. But now I’m back, with my head partially screwed on straight. (It’s only slightly askew.)

Anyway. Right before I left for holidays, I got a jury duty summons letter. Believe it or not, I actually want to serve on a jury (and have wanted to ever since I taught a high school legal studies class and got to go on a field trip to the courthouse with my students). So I was kinda a lot excited about my letter from the provincial government. Until Hubby reminded me that as a stay-at-home-mom, I now have two tiny-human, round-the-clock bosses, and where the hell would we put the kids if I got picked for a jury? So, sadly, I had to apply for an exemption. And my application was approved, which means I am now excused from jury duty. Which makes me a sad Char, indeed.

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I am your post-apocalyptic benevolent dictator.

Oh yes, I am. It’s time to be honest with you – I don’t prepare so I can spend the next thrity years of my shortened life span grubbing in the dirt. I prepare so that I can make you do that for me. And you’ll do it, because by then you’ll love me.

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