Shutdown Post Number One

Blame old white men!  It's always the fault of old white men.

Blame old white men! It’s always the fault of old white men.

With the shutdown of the Federal government entering its second week and the survival of our nation, our culture, indeed our very way of life in jeopardy I have decided to devote the pages of this humble blog to the subtle and not so subtle changes in America until the resolution of this unprecedented crisis.

I will bravely continue to document what I find until I run out of food, water and electricity. If I run out of electricity I will use a portable generator.  I am prepared to risk life and limb to bring my readers the facts.

Monday October 7th, 2013

I woke up this morning dreading the impending chaos.  Still no resolution of the crisis affecting our battered, bankrupt, bleeding land.

The spirits in the sky are angry my friends.  I went out to get breakfast and noticed dead birds littering the streets.  My fellow New Yorkers scooped up the carcasses and ate them raw.  No doubt it was the first solid food they have eaten in a week.

Restaurants are closed.  “The end is near” signs hung in some windows.  “Repent!” in others.

A scraggly man with a beard accosted me.  “Why are the Republicans doing this to us?”

I had no answer for him and gave him some bubble gum from my pocket.  He consumed it, tears of gratitude flowing down his cheek. I then went back to my apartment.

Perhaps the sign was right.  Maybe it was time to repent.  Maybe this unprecedented shutdown has been foisted upon us as punishment for our sins.

The word of Psalm IV came to mind:  “Offer the sacrifice of righteousness.”

One thought came to mind:  I must find a virgin.

So I left the sanctuary of my apartment (after thoroughly bolting it shut) and went to the nearest high school to find a sacrifice of righteousness.

Unfortunately for me there were no girls at the high school. Half were home suffering from morning sickness and the other half were dropping their children off at the babysitter.

My next stop was a middle school.  I asked the first 14-year girl I saw if she would consent to be my sacrifice of righteousness.  She laughed and asked if I wanted go twerking with her.  I had no idea what this twerking is.  Perhaps it is an innocent game young girls play nowadays, similar to hopscotch?  She seemed amused by my ignorance of twerking and then asked me if I wanted a blow job.

Note to self:  Things are worse than I thought.  Young women are now selling their bodies in exchange for food and shelter.

Unable to secure a virgin for my sacrifice of righteousness I went back to my apartment building.  But before I could enter I had a confrontation with a man with a scar who called himself “Nightrider” 

You want gasoline?  You go through me!

You want gasoline? You go through me!

who said he was now in control of the neighborhood.

I am the Nightrider.  I’m a fuel-injected suicide machine.  I am the rocker.  I am the roller.  I am the out-of-controller!

He informed me that If I wanted gasoline I would have to go through him and pay a weekly tribute for protection.

I thanked him and went up to my apartment and collapsed on the couch, frightened and drained by what I had seen.

Damn those evil Republicans for bringing the apocalypse upon us!

My name is Manhattan Infidel.  If you are reading this you are the resistance.


3 Responses

  1. Heh! You’re talking to a guy that lives in Venezuela. You all back in the States have no idea low low things can go. We are now six months without toilett paper. Please send your old newspapers. Please!

    • Manhattan Infidel says:

      Jim: Toilet paper is anti-proletariat. It’s good there is no toilet paper in Venezuela. It’s for the children!

  2. petermc3 says:

    My friend Mario C. from high school was a cattle rancher in Venezuela when I last saw him in 1994.
    Here in the US we too have a shortage, a shortage of republican leadership with balls.

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