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Ernie's House of Whoopass! September 14, 2017
September 14, 2017

It Was Like When Your Mom Told You To Just Wait Until Your Father Gets Home.

It was a very surreal feeling, picking and choosing through your possessions and deciding which ones you were going to try to save and which ones you were going to leave to the mercy of Mother Nature. Wedding photos were a must, of course. As were parents of my parent's wedding and my father in uniform. And birth certificates, and vehicle titles. Last years taxes, too? But what about two years ago? Five years? My discharge certificate and DD214, sure. But what all of my Air Force paperwork; copies of EPRs, letters of appreciation (and reprimand, haha) and other keepsakes? I boxed up Ike's ashes -- of course -- but what about his other keepsakes like bowls, chains and dog tags? Where do you draw the line between that which can be sacrificed and that which can not?

I prepared every single firearm I have for transport to my neighbor's house; thank goodness he's not anti-gun. I first filled the seven range bags I have, but those only housed so many, even at double occupancy. The rest I wrapped in bath towels secured with a few spins of duct tape, then placed them in plastic bags. All of my pistols -- including my father's .38 and Lord Humungus -- into a fucking suitcase. Can't leave those behind, not only for their sentimental and monetary value, but because who the fuck wants firearms left in an exposed home? Half of the ammunition I have are in those .50cal ammo cans, or sealed spam cans. All of the rest -- save the few handfuls I brought with me over to the neighbor's for an emergency -- I moved to shelving that was at least five feet up. I hoped that combined with my being eight feet off the ground, would protect it from a pretty decent storm surge. Especially when people are sharing videos from Fort Myers beach like this and this -- where Irma has pulled all of the water out to sea, like what happens immediately before a tsunami hits -- you have no reason to suspect they'd be anything but spot on.

I've posted the occasional inadvertent picture of my television setup. All of those photos and knick-knacks and candles and shit? All mashed towards the back to make room for speakers and receivers and UPSs and signed celebrity photos and computers and books and artwork and shit I didn't even know I had. I didn't care if anything was scratched or chipped or knocked over because, well there stood a very real chance that it wouldn't be there the next day anyway. I flipped one half of the couch over onto the other, hoping to save at least one side. I put my dining room tables on top of my dining room table. What fucking good are chairs without a table? I dunno, but I fucking did it. I boosted the generator on top of a table, along with five gas cans. Letting that drown wouldn't be any good.

And when everything that could be put up was put up, we prepared to move ourselves and our important shit over to the neighbor's house. It took five trips to carry everything, and each time there's less and less of yourself in your own home. After the last trip, when we were preparing to go -- to REALLY go -- I took one last look at my house. Would it still be there tomorrow? I didn't think so. I looked around and all I could think of was, I should have done more, I should have put more things up high, I should have put more things in plastic. But the wind whistling through the remaining pool cage screens reminded me there wasn't any time for that. It's a weird thing knowing your fate is already sealed, and there was absolutely nothing you can do about it except wait to find out what happens. I snapped the shutters closed, pushed the pin lock in and made my peace with it.

In the end, at the eleventh hour and right when it looked like were going to take the brunt of it, Irma juked east right as it hit Naples and vented her wrath through Bonita Springs -> Lehigh Acres -> Labelle instead of plowing straight through Cape Coral -> Punta Gorda -> Port Charlotte as the forecasters originally predicted. Had a butterfly not flapped its wings somewhere on the other side of the world, you may very well be looking at photos of my neighborhood instead of someone else's. That's a pretty weird thing to wrap your head around.

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