Colby Jack No. 2: “Back story … 4 stories down – 2020 to 2034”

People thought 2020 was a drag … then came 2021.

People said “shit, 2021 is fucked-in-da-a” …

And then, inevitably, came 2022 … 2023 … 2025 … 2028 … 2030 … and, eventually 2034.

By 2034, shit is fucked everywhere …

Most of the cities have decayed to the point where “police” are mostly rambler-bots, with low I.Q., and the ability to check your credit score … flimsy little bots, armed with poorly manufactured tasers. The damn little bots would shock you if you had a low credit score … then again, the “credit score” was really just a nod to a NOW DEAD thing … a dying empire of trashy financial instruments, rigged markets, and butt-fucker-unicycle-bond-floaters … when Goldman issued their “moon bond” in December, 2021? – people began to see, the end was not near … the “end” was on a sign, 500 miles behind. And they were out of gas.

Some cops still patrolled in places like Seattle … mainly they drove MRAPs around, and armored hummers sometimes … the cops that were left worked for the “Pols”, one of several gangs that now controlled the United States.

Who are these gangs?

Let’s talk about the “Wranglers” first.

The Wranglers are an amalgamation of the west coast biker posse (which was really just all the then known biker gangs in a kind of “federation of bikers”, being led by the Hell’s Angels) … and Texas range hands, cowboys, ex slaughterhouse workers … they joined the Wranglers too … they were a roving gang, hunter gatherers … migratory, like birds. The Wranglers considered the old highway systems their territory – and they actually worked to maintain them … using proceeds from land piracy, large scale jobs, raids on old government arms caches.

Then there were the “farm hands” … the “farm hands” formed from disenfranchised, homeless, and angry farmers … the “farm hands” controlled just about all the food being produced. If you wanted to eat in 2034? – you negotiated with Lisa Marie Hargrove, Queen of the Farm Hand posse, and 3 time winner of the Nashville Country Music Awards for best female solo artist.

The “Pols”? … yeah … they formed from what was left of the U.S. federal government, local and state governments, after the dollar collapse of 2022 … the Pols were mostly drifter scum … ex-feds … bureaucratic con artists … former Senators … Republican and Democrat … and the U.S. military industrial complex … Federal Reserve banker freaks … they formed a gang … their goal? “Restoration” … problem was? – no one wanted it except for them. The Pols had at most 2,000,000 people in their gang … the Farm Hand Posse? – they had over 32 million members, nationwide. The Pols treated “Restoration” like a religious epoch or some such shit … it was their “end times” … no one wanted it … and there was nothing left to restore.

Other gangs existed too … and many street folk, like Colby Jack, preferred the gang called “unaffiliated”.

Colby’s mind was filled with a lot of thoughts … about the past, about the future.

Colby had just got done meeting with his woman/black-market weapons supplier, Chessly Rash. He didn’t often call her “his woman”, but he knew she was. Chessly didn’t often say “that’s my man, Colby Jack”, but she knew he was hers, she was his.

Colby walked out into blazing heat … Seattle wasn’t what it used to be.

“Today’s high temperature: 122 degrees … Fahrenheit …” – Colby heard chirping from someone’s smart tablet … he hated when people listened to their shit, out loud, on the street. It was the voice of Carly Leone, the local weather girl and exotic dancer. She’d do her normal weather report, then every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday night after 10 PM? – she did a special report, on stage, at “Raul’s” off of Boren AVE.

Colby didn’t care about the heat … he usually just wore a light cotton weave Hawaiian shirt … old blue jeans … and combat boots he had left from the Army, stuff he held onto but didn’t like talking about … and his pistol, big, obvious, strapped to his right hip.

Colby carried a lot of regrets …

Colby was thinking about the past … about the world before the “Adjustment”.

About the “Adjustment”, and the “Great Revelation” and the “Summer that never Ended”.

President Kamala Harris, prior to being shot in 2022, called it the “Adjustment”, labeled it that at Biden’s funeral, in April 2021; she said we had to “adjust to new circumstances”. She was giving an “Adjustment Speech” in Houston, Texas, in April 2022, when a young man, probably schizoid, came at her with GLOCK-19 and a 30 round magazine. He adjusted her using lead. Someone should have told her: POTUS has bad luck in Texas …

A few weeks after President Harris was shot? – yeah … then there was “Happy Friday” … Friday … May 13th … 2022 … the day a mob of New Zealanders stormed Bill Gates’ safe zone, drug him from his home, and tore him to pieces … literally … 5,000 New Zealanders got their piece of flesh … a piece … not enough of Bill to go around really.

Why did a bunch of hungry and insane New Zealanders drag Bill Gates from his home and murder him? … simple …

In 2022, WikiLeaks released the COVID-DUMP … and it told the truth of the bioweapon, the project to install a NWO government, and for Bill Gates to have some high mandarin position in the new global system … but there was more … so much more …

Bill Gates conspired with Israel and China to destabilize the arctic sea … the plan? – to trigger a massive methane release, to trigger the “Clathrate Gun” … covid didn’t work, so the CABAL, led by Gates, pivoted back to climate change and they needed “something big” to quote an decrypted email sent from Bill Gates. They developed a compound that made ice formation nearly impossible, they sprayed this all over the arctic in 2021 – that was the year summer never ended. That summer lasted 5 years …

“The year summer never ended” was bad …

Famine, drought, lack of fresh water … clean water to drink? – sanitation broke down, and then came the bad stuff: several boiling water and pressurized water reactors began melting down, because, well, “heat exchange” … in turns out heat exchange is not too efficient when the Earth undergoes a mini-Venus-syndrome … 7 reactors were lost, up and down the east coast of the USA … many millions died of radiation poisoning, many millions more died of cancer, and the rest slowly died of starvation.

And that’s what it was … “mini-venus-syndrome” … we’re still around and not yet dead, the temps are going down again … the worst was 2021-2026 …

By 2033, last year? – we had some winter in Seattle, even some real snow. Colby was hoping they might have snow for Christmas, perhaps even some real turkey … “real turkey and gravy …” – Colby ate “slurry” most days …

Because of food shortages, people that “got to eat” ate a kind of organic slurry. It was a composite of fats, greases, proteins, vitamins, a complete meal in terms of basic nutrition … it tasted like shit, literally. But, with some extra gold or crypto? – you could still buy real food, meat, vegetables, apples … Colby Jack got laid, 7 times, in 2032, because he had a source of apples.

As of 2034, nearly 4 billion people have died as a result of the “Adjustment”.

When people found out about all this, the real truth? – they went crazy. Even the media could not hold them back, and the mainstream media itself started falling apart.

Journalists went nuts, live, on TV … Howard Beale? – had NOTHING on the fucking crazy antics that occurred at that time … the “Time of Revelation” in 2022 …

The UN voted to arrest Bill Gates on crimes against humanity … the Hague Court had a warrant, for his arrest, issued to INTERPOL.

So, Gates being torn apart in New Zealand? – “damn, that’s justice working things out …”, is what Colby thought. “Reality catches up with ALL!” – Colby read that once, on a bathroom stall door … he was remembering it now, thinking about the past, thinking about Jitler.

“Yo Colby! What you doing?”, asked Mrs. Patrice, the retired hairstylist.

“Heading to work.”

“What kind of job you have?”

“The kind I don’t talk about.”

Mrs. Patrice seemed upset, so Colby stopped for a bit …

“What’s up?”, Colby asked.

“You know that tentacle thing?”

At that moment a rambler bot came rolling up the street, Patrice had been shocked twice that day already … Colby had “skewer rounds” in his pistol … tungsten sabot rounds … high velocity …. he fired 2 into the rambler … and then some tentacles came from below … popping open the man hole, and taking the broken rambler down beneath, back to the sewers … to God knows what.

“You got that ancient residue JACK …”, Patrice liked to flirt with Colby … she was 87 years old. Mrs Patrice reminded Colby of a bar matron he knew in S. Korea, Osan, ran the “Boogie Shop Snake House” … you drink the snake shot, you get the t-shirt! That old Korean woman? – she must have been 90 years old … but she’d scream “drink motherfucker, drink motherfucker, drink …” and it was a call to arms.

“Baby, I have the greases of the ancient Egypt rolling through me …”, Colby responded.

“Those damn roller-bowlers have been taunting me all week … you think the Pols are gonna make another push?”, Patrice was happy Colby took out the little stupid electro-shock credit report robot. She was less sanguine about the tentacled creature that pulled it down. There was a rumor that the “Mayor of Seattle” was going to lead an attack, from Mercer Island, to Seattle downtown … to “restore control”. Nobody wanted this, but no one was really that afraid … “what did they want back?” people would say, as they looked at the decaying city …

“Fucker deserved it …”, Colby said with a smile.

“You know, that tentacle thing? What ya doing about it?”



Colby smiled … he looked off, down the street, down Rainier AVE where it snakes its way through the heart of a putrefying metropolis.

“What can I do Patrice?”

“You could take that hand cannon, go down into that sewer, and kill that mother fucking thing.”

“I don’t know hun … I think some of the Pols got killed going down there a few weeks ago …”

By 2034, what was left of the “government” were the Pols … one of the biggest gangs in the USA, but still too small to do much.

The Pols were made up of those holdouts and true believers in voting, government crap, printing worthless money, and imposing unenforceable taxes and laws …

The Pols hung on, barely, because of the one thing they had to trade – guns, ammo, weapons … even in 2034, the Pols had pretty good shit to sell … they still controlled a number of major weapons conglomerates, and their engineers were all too happy to keep up production … it was how they stayed alive. Every few weeks, in every major city, they would hold “bake sales” – these were rapidly implemented open air bazaars … their arms bazaars got raided a lot, and so they had to be careful about “bake sales”. And who would raid them? – mainly the Wranglers, mainly Hell’s Angels … Hell’s Angels controlled most of the arms sales, up and down the west coast … especially in California, what was left of it. They didn’t like competition.

The “Long Hot Summer” of revelation?


It began with the preternatural slaying of Bill Gates, and ended with “The Great Nurse and Doctor Massacre” … August 25th, 2022, “Red Thursday” …

One of the revelations was that the Director of Los Angeles Community Hospital, working in cahoots with several nurses and doctors in their staff, conspired to fake COVID-19 data, doctored results for positive tests, deliberately blocked patient access to make it look like there was a “crisis”. And then there’s the story of Tony Glunket …

Tony Glunket was a sports announcer and radio personality – he rarely discussed politics, and when he did discuss the issues he would say “I’m not affiliated …”. His friends suspected he was libertarian or something, but it didn’t matter … he was white, straight, and did NOT meet the criteria for admittance defined by the Community Hospital’s nurse/doctor cabal … they coded him as “M” for morgue, on arrival.

On July the 4th, 2022, in the midst of the one of the worst heat waves in world history, Tony was drinking beers with friends, eating too much, and he felt chest pains … he looked uncomfortable, a friend of his, an ex Navy medic, did a quick assessment and then loaded him into his car to drive him to the nearest hospital … Community Hospital.

At the emergency room, Tony was transferred to a gurney and taken to an observation room. His friend drove back to the party, to give the others still there an update. Tony was single, 50 years old, no kids … he spent 12 excruciating hours in the observation room before he died, alone. No one was allowed in to see him, no doctor checked on him … the REAL coroner’s report, that was part of an Anonymous Hacker dump in late July, 2022? – the real coroner’s report said Tony likely suffered 5 excruciatingly painful heart attacks, before dying half a day on …

Along with all the other damning evidence, there is an audio recording of the Chief of Emergency Medicine, Dr. Sarah Greenburg, laughing about Tony … thinking it was “funny that old white man was dying …”

When the real story of Tony was released?

The audio of Dr. Greenburg?

LA, which was already a powder keg, exploded.

Not fake “Black Lives Matter protesters gone crazy” exploded …

No, not something silly like that …

People eventually figured out “Black Lives Matter”, those Astro Turf commies …

Nah … when these protests, riots, mobs hit? – you could tell … the cops/army started using concertina wire … not rubber cones, not shitty ass chain link fence … but actual fucking razor wire … when drivers saw this going up along Hollywood Blvd? – they knew it wasn’t “Black Lives Matter” … they knew the maelstrom that was coming, was real.

The first armed vengeance mobs were called Glunket-Gangs; all of this done in honor of Tony Glunket, beloved radio personality that pretty much EVERYONE liked.

They made their first attack on Director Shambless’ residence in Ventura, CA. They surrounded her well constructed post-modernist west coast rambler … a local, a construction guy, got control of a cherry picker … and dumped buckets of gasoline on Shambless’ home … she was the only one there, thankfully, the rest of her family had fled to Canada.

By August 15th, the power had been out all over California for about 2 weeks …

Los Angeles?

By mid August, LA was mostly controlled by Glunket-Gangs, and Crips, and Bloods, and Hell’s Angels … nurses and doctors were being hunted, for sport … they were put on trial, at the LA Zoo … actual kangaroos officiated.

There were also thug armies composed of hookers, pimps and public school teachers – they were armed with lead pipes, bags of rocks, knives, and some shotguns … LA public school teachers were mostly meth heads by 2022 … gingus-street-freaks …. to be used as cannon fodder by the hookers and the pimps.

On August 25th, 2022? – Community Hospital was under siege …

There were no patients there, just doctors, nurses, not all of them guilty of crimes, like the ones committed against poor Tony Glunket, but all of them, most of them, committed to the COVID-19 lie … like some cruel reverso Stockholm Syndrome …

Once the Glunket crews broke in, it was all over … pimps and hookers and LA public school teachers went for every nurse, every doctor, they could find …

By 2022, food was already desperately scarce – so wood chippers were being fed the healthcare heroes, and the slurry went to feed pigs in Chinatown.

On August 25th, 2022, 134 doctors, nurses, and other administrative personnel, were killed, on site, at Los Angeles Community Hospital … and their remains were shipped to Chinatown, to feed the pigs, to keep the pork fried rice coming.

“Colby, I’m serious … I saw someone’s cat get taken down there …”, Patrice pointed at the grate near her property, and it did appear to have holes big enough for tentacles and small cats.

“You know Old Turk went down there a few weeks back?”

“Yeah, that old drunk …”

“I don’t know about that, but I saw his left arm when he came back … covered in some kind of gumbous … some kind of growing mucous … like a mold infestation … he said the ER docs had to remove flesh to get rid of it … real messed up.”

“You’re not a fool.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You see that monster, you blow it away … don’t shake hands with it …”, Patrice laughed. Colby’s jagged frown became a sideways smile ….

“They say it’s Pacific great octopus, adapting, changing …”

“Octopus in the sewers Colby?”

“That’s what they say …”

Colby had a long day ahead, he needed to make a few bucks AND gather more info on Jitler …

“See you later Patrice.”

“Please do something about that sewer monster Colby!”

“Okay Patrice …”

Colby Jack wasn’t thinking about the slimy poop monster, down below …

Colby Jack wasn’t thinking about the world that crashed around him …

He was thinking about Jitler …

Jitler … his old nemesis, his old friend.

Jitler … gone for so long, he drifted through the “Adjustment”, 4 billion dead, 2 decades … Jitler survived it all, to make it back home, to Little Saigon, Seattle.

“Shit, that’d make him 46 years old …”, Colby muttered to himself as he walked down that hot and stinky Seattle sidewalk.

“Fuck …”, Colby thought, “that makes me 50 years old.”

He stopped, turned to a clean window at a shoppe – seemed like a clean unbroken window was a rare thing these days … he looked at himself, an old man, a big man, half Irish, half German, half Mexican and all tore up from years of pointless survival … “That’s 150% crazy”, is what Chessly would say, when Colby told her of his lineage.

Colby looked at his hair, weathered, still red but with streaks of gray … he looked at his body, still working … but clearly breaking down … he looked at his Hawaiian shirt, his 12 gauge pistol strapped to his hip … his bandoleer of magic shells Chessly makes him … he looked at this face …

During the “wars”, while deployed to Afghanistan, a grenade blew up too close to him … too close to his face. He wasn’t killed, he was simply left disfigured, with little pock marks, in his face, that would never go away. He looked at his face in the reflection of that clean window. That was the face of a man who’d been in one too many fights.

“Fuck Colby, you have one fight left in you ….”, and Colby turned, ran a little, and caught the street car.

He would go to Joe’s Bar …

He’d find some work, and then get more info on Jitler.

Colby Jack No. 1: “Jitler?”

“What you doing?”, whispered Chessly Rash.

She stood there, clinching $200 in dirty, sweaty, twenties. She just got done providing Colby Jack with his “special stuff”. Transaction complete. Money in hand.

The twenties were new-FED notes, post collapse, contained a durable platinum/gold alloy that represented $20 in value, and could be converted to gold/platinum using a simple chemical procedure. Most people had pocket scanners to check for this weave – if the weave’s not there? – then the money is junk. Also, because of the Treaty of Montreal, 2027, anyone could print money, as long as the precious metal weave, of appropriate value, is in the note. This was one way business was transacted – most preferred gold/silver coins and cryptos … but the FED notes existed because there were still gangs that believed in the old system.

Chessly was an ex-prostitute with a 3D printer, and decent enough skills as a chemist and back alley engineer. She designed/printed advanced 12 gauge rounds for Colby, kicker stuff, good bang … the kinda kill that throws a bum across the room and incinerates his insides at the same time …

Chessly also designed the “pepper gun”, or “pepper jack” as Colby called it …

The “pepper gun” was a 12 gauge revolver, 5 shot, fast loading, recoil piston between the handle and the main assembly … the damn thing was so well balanced, it barely kicked more than a 9 mm … but even being made of titanium-alloy, it was still heavy …

A Taurus “Judge”? – weighs about 2.5 pounds … loaded …

The “pepper gun”? – fuck … weighs about 6 pounds, loaded … and this can vary based upon the rounds being used. The pepper was designed to take just about any 12 gauge ammo … shorts, longs, slugs, buckshot, bird shot, and some of Chessly’s really fancy stuff … explosive … dragon’s breath … tannerite surprise … lil’molotovs … lil’molotovs? – damn, these rounds contained napalm in a binary form, and on impact converted to napalm, explosively.

Yes – Colby Jack carried a gun that was hard to hide … but what’s that?

“Colby Jack was never trying to hide …”, he thought.

“Baby, just take my money and go”, Colby muttered.

“I worry about you Colby …”

Colby smiled, as he loaded the new rounds into his 12 gauge revolver.

“Honey, nobody needs to worry about Colby Jack.”

“You’ze always say that … but then I see your cuts and bruises and puncture wounds … it’s not normal …”

“Come on Chess, you make guns and ammo?”

“I doos … I do … but I do it so people can protect themselves.”

“I’m careful baby …”

“No you aren’t … you dangerous”, Chessly walked towards the door, the door of a crummy hotel room in the worst part of Little Saigon, Seattle. A room that costs about $40 a day, and $50 an hour … the kind of place that screams “END OF THE LINE!”

Chessly gets to the door, and turns around …

“Colby, Jitler is back …”

This was something that Colby didn’t want to hear.

Jitler had been the heavy, the collector, the crusher, an enforcer working out of Joe’s Bar down by the train station.

Jitler killed 36 people, in two weeks, in July of 2015. He was eventually caught and imprisoned, convicted … but on appeal his case was thrown out … lack of evidence … witnesses mysteriously died.

There was a rumor that Jitler had moved to Spokane, and then nothing for almost 20 years … no news, nothing.

“I heard he was in Spokane”, said a slightly perturbed Colby Jack.

“I heard lots of things …”, Chessly moves towards Colby, gets on her knees, and places her head on his lap.

“Colby … I love you … I need you … can’t you just go away with me … to Ohio?”

Colby and Chessly had joked about “going to Ohio” … it was code language … a secret between them … it meant “breaking out of this diseased city and starting over” … that was going to Ohio, that was finally being free.

“There ain’t no Ohio no more.”

“Oh Colby …”, Chessly trembled.

“Now, tell me everything you know about Jitler’s return.”

Colby and Chessly talked, Chessly made her way onto that old ratty bed, dirty mattress, with torn covers and stains … she took of her shirt, revealing her ample breasts. Colby put down his revolver, and unleashed his gun.

They made love through the night …

Forgetting about the diseased city.

Forgetting, for now, the second coming of Jitler.