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Listen Up, Young Ones: Words from a Crazy Old Prepper

You kids today—scrolling your phones, sipping your bubble tea, thinking the world’s all soft and sweet like mochi. Me? I’m the Crazy Old Prepper, been around since the sky was cleaner and the rivers didn’t taste like rust. I’ve seen storms swallow villages, governments flip like pancakes, and neighbors turn into wolves when the rice runs dry.

You think I’m nuts, with my bunker and my cans of sardines stacked to the ceiling? Good. Stay soft—I’ll be the one eating when the lights go out. But if you’ve got half a brain, sit down, shut up, and listen to this old Asian uncle. I’ve got some truth for you, hard-earned from decades of watching the world twist.

First, stop trusting everything’s gonna stay pretty. You think the supermarket’s always gonna have your instant ramen? Back in my day, we grew our own greens, fished our own dinner, and didn’t cry when the power died. The world’s a dragon—beautiful ‘til it bites. Learn to plant a seed, catch a fish, fix a leak. Your fancy apps won’t save you when the grid’s gone and the Wi-Fi’s a memory. Get dirt under your nails, ‘cause that’s where survival starts.

Second, hoard smart, not stupid. You don’t need a closet full of designer sneakers—those won’t barter for squat when the trucks stop rolling. Stock rice, salt, dried beans, medicine. Water most of all—without it, you’re just a ghost waiting to happen. I’ve got jars of pickled radish older than you, still good, still tasty. Learn to preserve, learn to ration. And weapons? Hmph. A good knife beats a shiny gun—quiet, useful, doesn’t need bullets you can’t find.

Third, trust your gut, not your government. I’ve lived through promises—pretty words from suits who vanish when the floods come. Chairman Mao, Nixon, doesn’t matter—power cares for power, not you. Build your own safety: a shed, a stash, a plan. When the sirens wail, don’t wait for some official in a tie to spoon-feed you hope. Move fast, think sharp. The young ones in my village who listened, they made it. The rest? Bones by the roadside.

Fourth, family’s your fortress—don’t let it crumble. You kids ghost your cousins over some petty TikTok spat? When the world goes dark, blood’s what stands. Teach your brothers to fight, your sisters to heal. Share your rice, even when it’s the last bowl. I’ve seen men trade gold for a nephew’s life—pride’s cheap when the reaper knocks. Build that bond now, ‘cause chaos doesn’t care about your feelings.

Last, don’t fear the crazy. People laugh at me—old man muttering about the end, stacking tires for a wall. But when the typhoon hit ‘82, who fed the street? Me. When the blackout lasted a month, who had lanterns? Me. Crazy’s just wisdom they don’t get yet. Embrace it, young ones. Plan for the worst, pray for the best, and laugh when they call you mad—‘cause you’ll be the one standing when their world falls.

So, go on, laugh. Mock this old fool if you want. But when the sky turns black and the shelves turn empty, don’t come crying to my door—I’ll be sipping tea behind my barricade, telling you, “I told you so.” Prep today, or pray tomorrow. Your choice.

—Crazy Old Prepper

Btw, this is my buddy George. Say “Hi” George.