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Weston Deluxe Heavy Duty #32 Meat Grinder
- That’s right
- How many times have you found yourself without a meat grinder?
- Now you can grind meat every day like you’ve always dreamed
- Model: Instead of reviews, we’re thinking about the origin of Model Numbers: 25 Assembly lines build models, but many people don’t realize their true innovation, not isolating building steps, not moving things along a line, but interchangeable parts.
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Apocalypse Soonish
Read previous entries:
Day 1
Day 2
22
Day 3
Dear Journal,
I awake in a damp, dark room. Possibly a cell. I shake my head free of sleep and a likely concussion and try to remember the salient events that led me here.
- I was frozen in 2017 but have been prematurely thawed
- The world as I knew it has been destroyed
- I have befriended a well-spoken possum named Virginia
- We were captured by a band of apes capable of speech, albeit monosyllabic
- We were lead back to their den and encountered their seeming leader, an enormous white comedian chicken
- I have been separated from Virginia and find myself imprisoned in the den
I must learn what happened to cause this destruction and madness. Then I must try to undo it. I remember that Virginia was on the verge of describing these events when she was clobbered into unconsciousness. Maybe if I find her, I can …
Hold on, Journal. Don’t make a noise. Someone or something approaches my cell —
23
A window high above me opens, sending in a blinding shaft of light. Three objects clunk to the hard floor. The window closes again.
I blindly reach for these mysterious objects and discover that they are —
24
A bottle of fetid but welcome water
An enchilada wrapped in foil (even more welcome)
A box containing a beer koozy, three ethernet cables, a t-shirt, and what seems to be a clip-on light or lamp of some kind, and a patch or badge emblazoned with a single “V”
I contemplate this strange assortment of goods while wolfing down my enchilada. With no power supply I cannot use the light. And the other products seem absolutely … worthless.
Are they gifts from a benevolent stranger? Or some kind of strange joke courtesy of my insane primate captors?
I have little time to contemplate, for as I write this more footsteps approach. I hurry to hide my “goods” in a corner just in time before —
25
A door swings open, sending more light into my dismal cell. I see it is shaped like a large well — circular with high stone walls leading up into darkness. And somewhere up there a grated window from which my “gifts” fell.
I have little time for contemplation, however, as I am seized (for the umpteenth time) by two large primate guards and forced into the lit hallway.
We pass a row of cell doors much like mine and I strain my neck to see into the open ones, hoping to catch a sight of Virginia. But to no avail. I fear I shall never behold her sweet, mangled visage again, Journal.
At the end of the hallway I am thrust onto what seems to be a forklift and driven up and up through the subterranean den until we reach the light of the outdoors, where I am deposited like so much cargo on —