(I wrote about war for VICE)
I just read on the news (Tumblr) that North Korea declared nuclear war on the US. And while most people seem shocked about this, I’m thinking, what took them so long? Young people in the “Free World” assume war will never happen to them in the same way I assumed I’d never get chlamydia and Californians assume they’ll never die in an apocalyptic earthquake (the only reason I won’t move there, aside from the fact that you have to drive in LA, and I don’t enjoy drunk driving). The truth is that war is just one of those shitty things that eventually happens to anyone who stays alive long enough, like cancer and babies. If I learned anything in history class, it’s that people will keep doing dumb crap until we destroy ourselves completely, and actually that’s all I learned, because I was always too busy strategizing how to avoid eating during lunch break to pay attention.
Until people realize that women and animals should rule the world we’ll be dealing with war, and so far I haven’t seen any cats get elected into office. So since we can’t change how much old men love making young men get killed and women get raped and killed, I say we should make the most of it.
THE WWIII NUCLEAR APOCALYPSE SURVIVAL GUIDE
The reason why our grandparents seem cooler than us is because they are cooler than us, and the reason why they are cooler than us is because they’ve survived war. Starving in a concentration camp or having your legs shot off gives you instant street cred. Even just taking a nap during war-time is deemed brave and romantic. Experiencing war not only gives you credibility, but power over those who didn’t. For example, whenever I visit Croatia people there make me feel bizarrely ashamed about fleeing the war, by making it clear that since I wasn’t there I can’t have an opinion. So whenever they talk about it (constantly) I have to sit there nodding silently, and those of you who know me know I can’t stand not hearing my own voice. But spending your childhood in a basement full of grenades gives you the right to make that child who avoided the situation shut up. And there’s nothing cooler than telling others what to do.
Wars put things in perspective. Having your entire city blown to pieces will help you care less about how many more followers your mom has than you on Instagram and eating sawdust for breakfast will distract you from the fact that your [future] boyfriend is ignoring you, even though you know for a fact he checks your blog daily, because you tracked his IP address.
War will improve your wardrobe. Fashion Designers are all pussies so they’ll either die within five minutes or go hide out in Siberia, meanwhile you’ll have no money for fabric so you’ll make sure that whatever you wear will really count. Plus, hello, is there anything hotter than men in uniform? Whenever policemen or soldiers or construction workers even look at me I practically faint, regardless of how hideous they might be in reality (I wouldn’t know, I don’t look at their faces). I actually live next to a military academy and the boys wake me up every morning with their marching and singing but I don’t even mind, because they’re in uniform, and when I remember they’re teenagers, I still don’t mind, because I’m a pervert.
You might not have internet access during war-time and even if you do you’ll have to trade your iPad for toilet paper, so people who are only relevant online and therefore totally dependent on it (me) will suddenly become utterly useless. I suggest all bloggers or “online magazine editors” start immediately looking for comfortable street corners to stand on, because sex work is the only work that doesn’t stop when people are dying. That being said, it’s important you remember and record everything happening to you during war so that when America ends it you can release a best-selling e-Book.
Bomb shelters will give you a break from that room you’ve been paying five hundred a month for even though it isn’t even in a hip area and doesn’t even have heating but does come with a doorman who tries to touch your butt every time he yells at you for “recycling wrong” (why tuna cans belong in the plastic bin rather than the glass one is a mystery to me).
Just because you were dumb enough to join the army or unlucky enough to get drafted doesn’t mean all hope is lost. It might even be fun! Now that American women can officially fight in combat there will surely be
romance on the battlefield to write home to your mothers about! I wonder how
the dating scene will work there? Will condoms be traded in for cigarettes and
bandages? Will men still be expected to make the first move? Will army girls
fall in love with the enemy? (Probably not, everyone knows North Koreans are
shit in bed). And how will you know if he Really
Likes You or only held your hand to get you out of that exploding trench???
Either way, if you survive, you can tell your #tragic stories for the rest of
your life to whatever bartender is unfortunate enough to be serving you, if you
die you’ll remain a hero to whoever remembers you, and if you come back limbless
you’ll probably end up on welfare, which is ideal, because everyone knows that
free shit is totally chic.