Curating My Bunker

Hello my name is Bobby P. Hispans and I am the Junior Senator from the former state of Alabama. Welcome to my bunker explainer! 

Now you may ask how a guy like me ended up a subterranean bunker expert, and that would be a fine question. As it turns out, legislatin’ was a lot harder than I thought it would be. People were always calling and asking me real curveball questions like “Why did I vote for you?” and “What is your stance on equality?” and “Which way to the 7/11?” It was exhausting and made my ears hurt. I thought it would never end. 

Then after a night of slingin’ back some thoughts and prayers, a few of my congressional buddies and I slam dunked on a real eureka jackpot — where better to hide from your constituents than under God’s Green Earth! Next morning, we packed up our buzzwords, burned our wives, and made a beeline for 200 feet below interstate 495. 

In the months that followed our descent, and way after we ate the Senior Senator from Louisiana, I came to realize that there’s really only one thing that matters in life: creating a space to fit both your physical and emotional needs. I’m talking curatin’ y’all!

Now if you’ve gotten this far (which means you haven’t devoured the worm that carried this message), I take it things must be going pretty good up on the surface. Can’t say I didn’t wonder. We’ve heard a lottt of rumblings. Some fireworks-noise, maybe a guttural scream or two. I obviously got the news about Alabama. But I didn’t send this worm for news. I sent this worm for information! So that if any of y’all ever get bored of sky-starin’ and think up the need to build your own bunker, you’d have a nice set of know-how from a seasoned source — me, Bobby P. Hispans. Let’s talk shop. 


I find that the best kind of bunker bowls are made from Jareds. Jareds are known for their ginormous skulls, which are great for slurpin’ ramen noodles out of. If you don’t have any Jareds available, a John or an Eric would do. 


After bowls, the next most important thing to keep in your bunker is a gun to shoot Jareds with. You should already have 3000 of these. Choose your favorite! I brought my eight-barrel Glock. 


Now with all this talk of shootin’ and slurpin’, some of you might wonder what there is to read down here. I’d suggest stopping by your local propaganda shack on your way in and getting a fresh set of Denial Pamphlets. Or save the trip and carve “I Am Not To Blame” into your thigh. Scars last longer than pamphlets. Though the pamphlets would have helped the bathroom situation now that I think about it. Maybe get the pamphlets. 


Of course, I’d be remiss not to suggest a good blanket. It can get real chilly underground, and the last thing you’ll want to catch is the shivers. Under Bunker Law, any show of weakness (shivers) is grounds to get eaten. The senator from Louisiana knows something about that, God rest his delicious heart. IKEA does a great microfiber. Do y’all still have IKEA? Now those Swedes know something about curatin’! Almost makes you regret nuking them out of jealousy.


Anyway, the last thing you need for your bunker is lots and lots of string. You may have noticed by now that the worm who brought you this message is all good and tied up with one long thread that goes from him back into the ground. That leads to me. Please pull on that string and lift me out of here. I’ve been in this bunker for three years, and to be frank, it’s not as much fun as I thought it would be to be! That said, once you lift me out, feel free to take my spot. I think you’ll like what I’ve done with the place.