You'd think, after the end of the world, things
would be simpler. No bills, no taxes, no cubicle
jobs where you spend eight hours pretending to
look busy and pretending and acting like you
actually want to be there. No arguing over whether
pineapple belongs on pizza, because unfortunately,
pizza is a distant memory. Along with common
sense, but I'm pretty sure that common sense
has been gone for a lot longer but nope turns
out when civilization collapsed people didn't
suddenly get better at making decisions if anything
they got worse the only thing that truly changed
was the stakes before when you made a bad decision
it could mean a awkward holiday dinner empty
savings account now I mean A single dumb decision
means scavenging rations from a crater and hoping
that the local warlord doesn't have a grudge
against you. And trust me, most of them do. And
me? I'm kicking cans down an empty road talking
to you like somehow I can make sense of this
mess. Trying to untangle the million dollar question.
Who or what ruined everything? Was it greed?
Power? Some idiot pressing the wrong button setting
off a chain reaction Or maybe it's just simpler
than that Maybe some executive or politician
just woke up on the strong side of the bed one
morning and thought you know What today feels
like an awesome day? To hit the reset button
on civilization Whatever the reason here we are
the end of days great aftermath the grand unraveling
of civilization. Or, as I like to call it, Monday.
At least, I think it's Monday. We don't really
have calendars anymore. Anyway, you're probably
wondering who the hell I am. Fair. My name's
Jace Holloway, and I'm one of the lucky or unlucky,
depending on your perspective, few who survived
the great nuclear catastrophe 15 years ago. You
know the one where some idiot pressed a button
which made some other idiots panic and press
their buttons and then boom Suddenly half the
world was glowing and the other half was digging
through the rubble wondering where the hell their
morning coffee with And now here we are huddled
in the ruins Pretending any of this makes any
sense Before the sky turned red I wanted to be
a writer Nothing groundbreaking just stories
Things that made sense, things that had structure.
Turns out, the end of the world doesn't care
much for structure. Now I'm just another survivor,
dragging my boots across the wasteland, trying
to avoid trouble. But somehow, trouble keeps
finding me. And when civilization crumbles, the
definition of trouble gets... weird. So, I started
writing again. It's definitely not the kind of
book I planned to write before the bombs fell,
but something else. Something born from experience.
A guide, if you will. Surviving out here isn't
all about scavenging for supplies or dodging
bullets. It's about learning how to read a situation
before it turns into a disaster. It's knowing
when to keep your mouth shut, when to lie through
your teeth, and when to accept that yep, you
just accidentally joined a cult because saying
no wasn't an option. It's about figuring out
if the guy offering you a can of food is being
generous or luring you into a barter scheme that
ends with you owing him half your ammo. Because
out here, the world may be dead, but the absurdity?
It's alive and thriving. And if you don't learn
the unspoken rules, you won't just die. you'll
die stupid. And if you don't die, the best case
scenario is you'll be embarrassed and left out
of the bunker complex. So here I am, wondering,
watching, writing, for research of course. Not
that I expect anyone to actually read it. And
trust me, this wasteland world, it doesn't disappoint.
I've stared down things that should have killed
me, I've outrun things that probably wanted to
eat me, and I've sat through conversations that
made me wish I was dead. There was that time
a group of raiders tried to recruit me into their
makeshift government by offering me a half -melted
tin badge and a leadership title with no actual
power. And then there's the week I spent thinking
I'd found an untouched bunker. It was perfect.
secluded, no holes. But then I came to realize
I'd accidentally moved in with a pack of mutant
possums. And now? I did find another bunker.
It's in a HOA controlled wasteland community
because apparently some things from the old world
just will not die. You'd think post -apocalypse
would mean total freedom. But nope! Turns out,
even in a world without laws, there's still some
self -important committee enforcing proper bunker
aesthetics and debating the ethics of decorative
skull placement. Honestly, I think I preferred
the mutant possums. Anyway, the universe keeps
handing me chaos, and for some reason I just
keep writing it down. So if you want to know
what it's really like out here, the good, the
bad, and the painfully stupid? Stick around.
Each week, I'll bring you the latest discoveries,
disasters, and lessons learned the hard way,
as I wander, survive, and occasionally regret
everything. Welcome to the Wasteland. Try not
to trip over the debris. And remember, survival
is 50 % luck, 40 % bad decisions, And 10 % hoping
that thing chasing you gets tired before you
do, oh boy.