Alright Prepper Buddies, before we get into this week's mail Sack we have some housekeeping. A lot of you jokers have been hassling me for a visual explanation of my article in the Citizen Warrior Newsletter about Arctic Combat Tactics. Fine, here is what I was talking about, from my last Gold Run up Alaska way:

Let's get into this week's Mail Sack. Don't forget to subscribe to the Citizen Warrior Newsletter. No .gov email addresses allowed. Your mileage may very prepper forever God bless our sovereign rights.

Q: Dear JohnnySqueasel,

I am having a hard time concentrating at work. The front of my cubicle has become a popular gathering spot in my office to discuss Game of Thrones (I show I don't watch). Today, three colleagues were standing there chatting away while one was unconsciously tapping my desk lamp. I have a job that requires me to really focus on what I am doing. Sometimes I wear headphones to signal that I don't want to be disturbed. I avoid eye contact, because I have come to realize that this is an open invitation to stop and chat. But nothing seems to work. This afternoon, in frustration, I took my work to a meeting room. In less than 10 minutes my co-workers were peeking in, asking what I was doing in there. Unfortunately, one of the biggest offenders is my own supervisor. I worry that if I bring this up, I will just look grumpy. What should I do?



Constantly Interrupted

A: Constipated Interrupter,

You sound like a real sad sack boob to be honest. Always Eeyore'ing around the office, moping about having to finish 'typing up your reports'. Look your biggest problem is you're a slug-pale sack of flesh wasting away in a cubicle under artificial light. Time to get a proper job. Something outside, doing real work. You don't here me whining about nerds hassling me about the latest harry potter episodes. I'm too busy rippin' across the 'glades, shooting gators with crossbows and selling fine gator hide belts. Or I'm doing my test-pilot gig for the latest and greatest jetskis, or I'm winning a gulf oyster slurping contest. Tell your supervisor I said he's a Grade A nerdlinger, and tell him you are too, and you're leaving the office to Grow Up and Grow a Pair (either testi-cools or ovaries, but you need a pair of something). If you're too much of a simpering wimper to do that, I don't know, put some Captain Morgan's in your morning slurpee or something. If I ever see you in person I am giving you a Red Belly. Don't write me again.


Q: Dear JohnnySqueasel,

I'm an environmentally conscious kind of guy. I turn off lights when I leave the room, I don't run water when I brush my teeth, that kind of stuff. However, I live in Arizona and it gets super fucking hot here, like 110 degrees in the summer, so I have an AC unit. My sister is a super environmentalist and can always find a way to lecture me about how I'm selfishly destroying the planet. I don't even run the damn thing when she visits and she still won't shut up about it. I don't know how to deal with her.

Piping Hot Mad

A: Hey Hot Piper,

Don't live in the fucking desert and definitely don't use sand to brush your teeth. Tell your sister to mind her own beeswax and to stay off your land. And you should move to Alaska and become a gold panner so you won't be whining about it being so hot.


Q: Dear JohnnySqueasel,

I'm part of a live action role-playing group called Blood Quest: The Necro-Slaves. I play the Vampyre Lord Darkspyte, and my Blood Coven does battle against the enemy factions the Talendors, the Wolfenhausen, and the Bad Street Biters. Under my leadership, we have become one of the most powerful houses. However, the cowards in Talendor recently recruited a Manbrute warrior who is the most fantastic role-player I have ever seen. For his day job he pretends to be Spiderman in front of the China Theater so he has quite a bit of acting experience. Since he hit the scene, my forces have been unable to defeat the Talendor. Some of my Vampyres are defecting to the Bad Street Biters. If I don't prove myself powerful, I feel I will lose my whole Blood Coven. I am a cop in my day job so I'm considering maybe making sure the Manbrute doesn't show up to the next game. Those superhero actors are always getting busted messing with kids, who's to say Spiderman didn't already cross the line? I know you are a take no prisoners kind of guy, do you think its okay to use all my resources to make sure I am victorious? What would you do in my thigh high leather boots?


Lord Darkspryte (Officer Burt Hackey)

Look Bort,

I gotta be honest, I have no idea what you're talking about or how you became a cop frankly if all you're doing is community theater where you pretend to be elfs and faeries with your best pals. I do know a lot about Predation Dynamics on account of my boa hunting and drawing down on criminal goobers and crooked feds trying to take Our Freedoms, but I don't think your buddies pretending to be Dog Men and Naked Brutes and Bite Boys are going to know anything about that. I also take issue with the fact that your stupid club sounds vaguely like my Band, the Bad Bayou Bullies. You're a local cop and you're supposed to be out there on the Front Line, stopping villains and the Feds and Obamacare. You don't have time for this make believe nonsense, this world is DARK enough already without you sulking in your makeup writing poetry with your friends in the graveyard at night. What are you going to do when Faisal Talibaner sneaks through your back door bro, give him a Spook in your Dracula outfit? I don't think so, not if he's been through high altitude monkey bar training and is ready to pipe bomb nerds just like you. BUCKLE DOWN, GET BACK TO BASICS, and start doing some real copshop stuff if you truly are a Local Police.



Look, dear readership. Time for a reality check. This column is about Freedom, Prepping, Offensive Pistol Combat, Concealed Carry Advice, Jetski advice, Best Margarita Mix Deals at Piggly Wiggly, etc. I don't get why all you nerds are starting to write in with your dumb-dumb Libtard problems. You all need to go back in time, drink more margaritas and play high school football and stop being little watered down Dough People. I'm disappointed in all of you, and it's going to take 10-15 mags of reload shot straight into the mangroves from my fan boat to relax me.

For all you Babes that keep hassling me for photos from last 4th of July, here I am, make sure you have a handkerchief to dry off your soon to be leaking clams: