Archive for the SCOD Fallout Projects Category

Cops Need Weed

Posted in Critical Commentary of Civilization, Ethics & Morals, Medical, Military, SCOD Fallout Projects, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 18, 2020 by Drogo

Two stories about the desperate search by police for pot –

This essay is based on memoir notes from my SCOD 2018 road-trip, but police have harassed me several times over the years for many minor traffic violations; usually they just gave me warnings and sometimes a ticket, but their attitude was always accusatory and offensive to be intimidating. The main problem with cops that I want to point out here, is how they are trained to lord their authority over citizens and escalate tensions which causes more problems. The ‘War On Drugs’ is unjust; but although I was more high on the coffee than I was on cannabis, I am not endorsing driving while intoxicated unsafely above legal limits. Laws against the medicinal herb called cannabis are still enforced Federally and most state and county cops still actively search and harass people for it. For those that do not understand the difference between cannabis (pot) intoxication and alcohol, in general pot makes people safer than being sober or high on coffee, because in general a pot driver will drive slower. Sometimes pot also makes the user paranoid so they check for problems more often, and hesitate to take risks. I was warned at the pot shop in Colorado and by highway signs that law enforcement officers were cracking down hard on pot, even though pot was legally being sold for the first time in almost 100 years (see racism and class warfare).

My long SCOD road-trip had gone well up until I entered Nebraska (see my notes on Cahokia & Arcosanti). I was driving from Denver CO going from route 76 to 80 into Nebraska. I saw a cop car (SUV) as I approached an underpass, and the highway narrowed to one lane in a forced merge. I observed the cop tailing me with obvious intent to find any reason to pull me over. I was pulled over by the cop for not signaling on the forced merge with no cars parallel to me, and no tight or shifting positions front to back. I had been told by cops previously not to use my warning lights when pulled over, because they consider that suspiciously incriminating as it competes with their flashy lights; so my reasoning for not using my turn signal when being forced to merge was that I did not want to act overly cautious. My out-of-state plates and car loaded up with bags were juicy for a criminally suspicious mind dedicated to law-enforcement for pay over social sympathy. Everyone knows being a cop is a hard job, because they put their lives on the line; but they can quit if the job is unreasonable, and we can demand legal reform to reduce abuse of power.

Nevada cops probably like to wait there in that forced merge spot, to stop civilian cars for that specific trivial traffic violation to search cars for drugs. The Nebraska County Cop’s name was Anderson, and he was a young white man with a snarky attitude. I had smoked some pot in Colorado hours ago, and was settled in for a safe drive across the state of Nebraska; but Officer Anderson was intent on ruining my trip. After he looked in the passenger window, he told me the feeble reason he pulled me over, and said he smelled pot; so I said that is because I smoked recently.

Officer Anderson then asked me to step out of my vehicle, and if I had any weapons he should know about. I said “No, wait what do you want to know about? What do you consider weapons? I have a walking stick.” “guns”, “no”, “knives”, “yes”, “why?”, “I like knives, they are legal and useful.”, “is this a stolen car?”, “No I own this car, it is mine.” I told Anderson that I am sorry for entering his state of Nebraska, and I could simply return to Colorado if there was going to be a problem.

Anderson patted me down and paused at my pants leg. “whats this? uh-oh, oh a button”. He told me to get in his vehicle with him, in the front passenger seat, as he was detaining me. Anderson flipped many switches, and occasionally I heard noises from the armored cell in the back. Was there an animal or another human back there? The county sheriff’s deputy Anderson then interrogated me with a series of bladerunner type questions to gauge my reactions.

Where are you coming from?”, “Arizona”, “oh yeah, how did you get there?”, “southern route through Texas, then up through Arizona and Colorado. I am tired from driving all night.”, “oh ok, how long have you been on your trip?”, “A long time”, “how long is that?”, “several weeks”, “that is not long, I consider short time days or weeks, and long time months or years”, “Ok, I meant relative to smaller day trips, im sorry sir”, “are you thirsty?”, and he proceeded to inquire about my personal life, so I explained i was feeling depressed because I had lost my house and did not know where I should live or work.

Where were you headed?”, “Iowa to visit mom, and then Indiana to visit aunt pat. Maybe im too tired to drive so I need a motel. I slowed down because im trying to not get into an accident by rushing, I would rather take my time.” “it looks like you were ready to drive straight across. where did you say your mom lived? why are you nervous? You said you were coming from Colorado, not Arizona.”

Yes I am coming from both states, I was in one before the other. ive always been afraid of cops, and last time I was pulled over because i made a wrong turn the night after my father’s funeral. A cop pulled a gun on me for wearing a bandanna, and he threatened to shoot me for getting out of my car because I thought he was a friend.” “That is not good.” “I know. he lost his ability to serve. He was a marine vet with ptsd serving as a park ranger. When i went in to the NPS ranger office to complain about him the next week, they told me they had problems with him and he was no longer there.”

The cop was a buzz-kill for sure, and tears welled up in my eyes as I recalled the times I was bullied by those in uniforms before. The pot I had earlier was sedative indica, but I was being extra safe with average speed and sensible spacing, and I remember everything about this encounter vividly. The cop made me more alert and upset, but I was still more grounded than I would have been without my medication. Yes cannabis helps me to manage my anger, and be a happier person; with a few minor side effects relative to even over-the-counter medications.

What will I find if I search your car?”, “You will find 1 joint, im not a salesman. I am not good at wanting to ask people for money; nor am I interested in convincing those who want to haggle or disagree, that my price is fair. so you wont find bags of pot. what you will find is bags of legal garden herbs I use for spiritual smoking blends called kinik-kinik: peppermint, lemon balm, mugwort, and mullein. also peacepipes. I admit I like to go to powwows.” “peacepipes are not illegal. ok im going to search your car now. if I only find what you say, you can go with a warning. the sun began to set as he searched every pocket and zipper and bag in my car. he set the colbert bag on the road, for some reason. he looked in the spare tire compartment. he shined the flashlight in my eyes when he could see i was impatient after the sun was setting. I thought for sure he was stealing my cash, planting evidence, and was going to send me to jail.

Finally he said “ok step out of the car, i am going to let you go with a warning because you were honest with me; but first we are going to destroy evidence.” He threw the joint on the road between our cars and said “step on it and crush it” so I did. A perfectly good waste of expensive legal but illegal herb. He then said I can go and pointed me in direction of the exit. “are you sure?” I said “ill need my driver’s license back, because im not that stoned.” he snorted as if to say “dont incriminate yourself by referring to any intoxication” and gave it back. I shook his hand and said thanks for showing me some respect and saving me from a fine and driving while tired; although i later found out he had damaged my grandfather’s briefcase i used for my books, because he was tearing it apart to look for hidden drugs.

When i eventually arrived in Iowa, Uncle Bruce the Corporate Democrat aggressively blamed me for ‘looking like a criminal’, and suggested cops should use more dogs on people like me who “look like one of THEM”. I asked “Who is THEM?” Luckily my Mom was sympathetic, but I have found it too uncomfortable to want to visit my Centrist Liberal relatives there anymore. Bruce also told me that only naive college students are excused for voting for a communist like Bernie Sanders. This fit in with his question about my interest in communes, but I had teased them that their Methodist retirement community was the best kind of communism. The argument I had with Uncle Bruce and Cousin James about music theory is worth an entire essay, on its own (strict reading and playing vs self expression with improvisation / literal vs abstract / classical vs jazz).

In Indiana I had another exciting adventure with Pat Long. We went to the Zoo, and had lots of local coffee before I left (which I should have mentioned to the police later, but was too nervous). Leaving Indiana East to go home: Oak st. south to Sycamore. east to 421. south to 465. east to 70, 43, 40, 68, 70. Traffic was crazy, and Ohio police were out in force pulling tons of cars and trucks over. I thought I had passed all their traps, so I sped up to just over the speed limit so i could pass some of the traffic and get out of that area; when i saw another police vehicle, waiting to pounce, so i signaled and changed lanes quickly, too quickly. Sure enough the SUV started following me too closely for me to slow down, and i felt i was too close to the truck in front of me. The police lights went on after a few seconds of following me, so i pulled over on the dangerous highway.

I was stopped in Ohio by Ohio State Troopers, again for another minor traffic violation that most cars do and are not stopped for; and again released; this time by officer Wilson after a long ordeal with his dog and his Sergeant. I was hyped up on 2 large cups of coffee, so I was fumbling around to quickly get my registration out of my glove compartment, when the cop came up on my passenger window and watched me, obviously suspecting that i was up to no good, and probably had a gun. I was simply nervous and disorganized, but he didnt care. I began by saying “I understand profiling officer, so you can search my car if you want; but I want to explain up front that I have already been pulled over by another officer who already searched my car.” He called in a sergeant who was very matter of fact about finding me at fault because I was driving too close to the vehicle in front of me (which I rarely do). “Do you remember that flat bed truck? How many car lengths were you from it, you think.” I admitted I was too close, and apologized for not being at a safer distance. Then the police dog was led around my car, and scratched at my door. Thankfully they did not use the dog to attack me, but instead they had me step out of my car again and pointed to a spot between our cars, with the roar of the busy highway beside us.

I knelt down on the pavement, allowing them to execute me with a shot to the back of the head if they want. Instead officer Wilson shouted “No! Stand.” So i quickly stood back up, and he patted me down. I explained again to him that I had PTSD with police having guns, and said I could explain why i was “so nervous” (again forgetting i was hyped up on coffee). Fortunately Wilson chose to save me another search of my car, by putting me in the armored cell in the back seat of his vehicle. There he said “Ok, talk.”

Officer Wilson allowed me to explain calmly what my problems are. He called the Nebraska officer Anderson, and confirmed my story with him. Then Wilson asked how that stop ended up, and not wanting to incriminate myself or Anderson (in case he did something illegal by destroying the evidence), i simply said “Yes he found what i told him he would find, and we worked it out.” He thanked me for my honesty. Then Wilson asked if i had other drugs, and I said “No sir, I dont do that shit.” as i stood at attention like they taught me at basic training. Then Wilson said “I am getting a ‘medicinal marijuana vibe’ from you, and said they did not think the dog smelled any existing pot, because as I had explained it was removed previously. I said with a smile, “Yes sir, you are correct.”

I know I have been lucky, I did not suffer any legal penalties. I shook hands with Wilson and I thanked him for not shooting me. He said “Cops are the good guys” and i said “I know police are supposed to be good, and sometimes do good things when they serve and protect. I thank you for your kindness, compassion, and mercy officer.”

Still shaken, I returned home to hear news of more protests against police violence and environmental pollution. I am still shaken to this day, as my mind is haunted by how my life could have been ruined if the cops had been more aggressive, and if I had not been able to manage my anger as much; or how I could have avoided the situations if I had not gone on the road-trip, or not liked herb, or any number of issues.

A city hall meeting was taken over by ‘black lives matter’ protesters in a 2018 video. Men danced across center stage, and vocally and physically showed dominance by public non-violent demonstration art. There was a new court ruling in Massachusetts – “Environmental protests are not criminally responsible by reason of necessity”. Americans are still causing anarchy now, to demand true democracy. The power of the laws rests in the people, and that can best be practiced by deliberate actions. Freedom for self-governing in politics, business, and relationships is important. Laws are made to serve us, not us to serve laws.

I could have been a cop, because using anger to bully others is easy for me. When I was a military soldier, wearing my uniform made me want to use my authority to intimidate and control others, as was done to me during training; despite my best efforts to change their arrogant attitudes that favored using threats and abuse rather than better forms of control through reward. That is when I began to see how primitive our brutish training methods still were. I became sick of being part of a command system that indoctrinated fear and abuse primarily, rather than education and compassion. I thought we had advanced more as a culture, but perhaps fear and abuse are simply easier ways to brainwash and control others to do violence, which is needed to impose the laws of an empire. As much as I dislike St. Paul, I gotta give him credit on this one, for seeing the error of his ways, during his career of authoritarian abuse on behalf of Rome. It is not fun to remember traumatic events, as our minds force us to relive them over and over; but our conscience is telling us they are important for a reason. If we can remember the reason the events might be important, then we can focus on the lessons rather than the trauma. Humanity should focus efforts to relieve suffering, not cause more of it. This is why I use my white privilege to say “All lives matter, not just cops.”

Maybe instead of militarizing the police, we need to use more cannabis and have more of a ‘please force’. To honor civil rights maybe we can regulate laws more like a large urban Mayberry, instead instead of making more fascist troops to relive Nazi Germany. Cowboy culture seems to get in the way of easing racial tensions, but that is another story about economics and greed.

Lastly, cops need weed a bit too much. I know pot is strong medicine, but I am not sure any amount of pot can solve the systemic problem of police aggression. Whoever reforms the system will need to be sympathetic to the good herb, no doubt about it. Cops need weed.

[ Audio Recording ]

SCOD Fallout 2020: Shelter Survivors

Posted in Fictional Stories, SCOD Fallout Projects, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on August 7, 2018 by Drogo

Act III : Post-Apocalypse

Fallout Sheltered Survivors


McGrail script – formerly part of Act 3; written by Joe McGrail, BJ, WP, and edited by Drogo

Dramatus Personae: Al (Adlai Stevenson Kennedy III), Maggie (Maria Magdelana), 3 alien “andies”, A.S. Kennedy I, ASK 1’s wife and 3 children (including ASK 2), Mr and Mrs Val Wagner, Wagner white trash niece “bitch 1”, and Wagner gay son “bitch 2”

Act 3.1

A new Narrator “Al” is revealed to be Adlai Stevenson Kennedy III, the politician survivor who is being questioned by Hooded Androgynous Aliens. Adlai is standing naked in the middle of a pinwheel floor with ethereal down-lighting. Surrounding the pinwheel is a circle of pieces of old cars, broken furniture, rusted metal, and junk. Room is dark, except for enough light to see Al’s bare legs and buttocks, arms, hands, and upper torso; we cannot see his face yet. A door opens from off-camera, with a blinding light shining through. We see his face briefly, as Al puts his hands up to block the light. 3 humanoid beings walk in wearing large hooded robes, concealing their age, gender, and skin. [pat, robin, terry]

Al: “This is my experience in teaching the Cold War as well as human sexuality and religious morals to a race of androgynous aliens. At first I thought I had been abducted by a cult, because they were all wearing hooded robes concealing their bodies.”

Al (ASK III) is naked, with 3 hooded alien questioners.

Androgen 1: Hello again, Mr Adlai Stevenson Kennedy the Third.

Al: Uh, hello. Since you are getting to know me, you might as well call me Al. My friends call me Al.

Androgen 2: We want to know more about what you recall about your planet.

Al: Well, that is kind of a big question to ask so candidly.

Androgen 3: Afterwards you may have the fee-male [turns to other two and they nod their heads yes] … yes the female so you will not feel so lonely, she will make you feeeeeel better, yes?

Al: Oh, isn’t that kind of you.

Andro 2: So tell us about your Kennedy family, Mr. Adlai.

Al: Do I need to be naked for this? Well, huh, I think I saw something that would help explain it a little better. [sighs, walks over to a pile of clutter, and retrieves a picture of the Kennedy clan circa 1960 per Jack and Bobby, shows photo to Androgens]

Andro 3: My my, they all sssssmile so. Ssssoooo many children must make the gender-obvious feel proud.

Al: Yes, and especially our religion, Catholics encouraged procreation.

Andro 2 (to Andro 3): It is true. Stevenson Kennedy’s descendents believed that having as many births as possible pleased their god.

Andro 3: Indeed. A culture that not only definesss the gender itself, but also the rolesss of these gendersss as well as proclivity.

Al: You guys sure are clinical about love, tenderness, and how happy parenthood can be.

Andro 2: Did you say clinical or cynical? This, your diction is so phonetically arcane.

Andro 3: It fitssss with hisss arcane sssssexual tendencies.

Al: Look my friends, I meant clinical ok? And if this is going to be a long story, I would say start calling me Al now.

Androgens together: We agree, Al.

Al: So let’s see…. [fade]

Act 3.2 FLASH-BACK begins – Scene 1

Pre-Apocalypse family flashback of survivor politician

[exterior shot of ASK I’s house, cut to ASK I in house basement asleep on a cot]

Al (Voice Only): I can’t get those years straight, but it was the turn of the 21 century and my grandfather was worried about what was then the War on Terror.

Andro 2 (VO): What about your great grand-father and grand-uncles’ Cold War?

Al (VO): That ended several years before, only about a decade or so apart. According to my father, my grandfather had a travel alarm clock that he kept beside his bed….

[ASK I wakes up to a travel alarm clock buzzer, date shows on screen “2003-04” his wife is at the top of the stairs with a tray of breakfast]

Mrs. Kennedy I: [pregnant] Rise and shine, birthday boy!

ASK I: Thank you, my darling. (white briefs and t-shirt)

Mrs. Kennedy I: Did you manage to sleep well in the dungeon, Dr. Frankenstein?

ASK I: (shrugs) Yes, I guess. I don’t want to upset you, but you and the kids need to come down here with me once a week, so the real thing doesn’t scare ’em when it happens.

Mrs. Kennedy I: I know. [looks down, then puts her hand on her pregnant stomach] You know your father hasn’t said anything though?

ASK I: Senator Kennedy? No, he and good old Patrick – oh I need to call him later, its a twin thing – are still at it even with the Anthrax scare from Ft. Deterick.

Mrs. Kennedy I: Come on, your Belgian waffle is getting cold and there’s more coffee upstairs.

[ASK I takes the food tray upstairs with his wife]

Flash-back Scene 2

[Kennedy kitchen – 2 small children watching cartoons in a breakfast nook drinking juice, an Hispanic woman polishing silver]

ASK I: Hey guys, turn that off after breakfast. I don’t want you turning into zombies.

Child 1: [5 years old] what is a zombie, daddy?

ASK I: A zombie is someone who goes funny in the head from sitting in front of a TV for too long, and not enough time playing in the sandbox Santa gave him last Christmas.

Child 1: Yes Daddy.

Mrs. Kennedy I: [to maid] Gracias, Senorita Jimenes. [maid walks away from the silver so the Kennedys can be alone]

ASK I: Dad said he would be up on the weekend. Something about a 35th birthday present. I just dont let him push me into running for something. I am happy here in DC, but working for Uncle Joe trying to get money in for Citizen’s Oil. As soon as we can prove that those fuel cells…

[cartoon interrupted by news]

TV announcer: We interrupt this program to bring you the following news brief. The White House has just recalled the US Ambassador to the United Nations, after a shouting match with the Iranian foreign minister. This comes after Iran’s resistance to allow inspections of the nuclear facilities.

Mrs. Kennedy I: Your father must be ready to pounce on this.

ASK I: Jesus. What bastards. Two wrongs can’t make a right, ya know?

[Room starts shaking, TV reception fades, lights go out!]

Mrs. Kennedy I: Oh my God! Adlai!

ASK I: [in solemn deep tone] Its Kingdom come. Kids come on! We’ve got to get into the shelter! Where’s the dog?

Mrs. Kennedy I: [has both children by the hand] Hopefully Skip will have the sense to run toward the house.

ASK I: Mrs. Jimenez! Vamanos! [maid comes running out of the dining room]

Act 3.3

Interrogation continued. ASK III Questioned about Classicism, Racism, Sexism

[fade back to pinwheel room with Al and Androgens]

Al: According to my Dad that was how it felt. Especially when the TV went funny like that.

Andro 1: That is when they moved into their underground shelter?

Al: Yes. Our Kennedy family had been in Washington for over fifty years at that point. When my grand uncle Jack was president, he made sure there was a contingency plan for he and his family.

Andro 2: And that’s why they had a shelter?

Al: Yes, some called it a bunker.

Andro 3: The fffemale whose name was pronounced so differently… was sssshe inferior?

Al: No, certainly not. We always said all men were created equal, but that also included all women of course.

Andro 2: What was your labor class like? Were your workers bred diminutive, or well endowed?

Al: She was an immigrant, but she had some inalienable human rights. Before the fallout we had distinguishable climate zones; she was from a warmer climate and hotter culture.

Andro 1: She was in your employ, was she not? Your family was in that old ruling caste?

Al: Oh yes, economically. Heh-heh yeah um… We made all the big financial decisions so that people like her could come work in urban factories or on rural farm plantations.

Andro 3: Was this what you call classsssism?

Al: Huh? Well I suppose these things just manifest. Mrs. Jimenez did not survive long after fallout, she was older. But there was another group too.

Andro 2: Please help us to understand this, Al.

Al: By all means, my new friends.

Some Survival Gear

Posted in Hikes, SCOD Fallout Projects, Trips with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 13, 2013 by Drogo

Inventory Lists of Survival Gear Kits

First a generic list is important to have some basic items available in your home area at all times. Generic lists are adaptable for climate and social circumstances, etc… so you can make your own personalized special occasion trip lists. These things are vital for emergencies!

1.  Durable Sealed Food

2.  Durable Sealed Liquid Container

3.  Cook Pot and Bowl

4.  Blade and Spoon

5.  Towel and Blanket

6.  Underwear and Socks (more than needed, usable as rags)

7.  Clothing you wear while moving (jacket, hat, shirt, pants, shoes, etc)

8.  Scarf or Hanky

9.  Backpack or Duffel Bag (that most of this goes in)

10. Paper, Pencil, Marker, Matches

11. Electric Torch (flashlight) and Lighter  (flame for starting fires)

12. Flask with high proof alcohol (for cleaning wounds, gunk, and spirits)

13. strong Rope cord, thin twine string, and bandages

14. Small book, game, or instrument (harmonica, flute, percussion, etc) this is optional of course, and now would be replaced with a Cell Phone or I-Device (which might be useless if cell towers are down, and cannot be charged after a few days of battery).


Food that lasts the longest without growing mold or spoiling (MRE, crackers, salted nuts, noodles) sealed and contained in a cook pot you can put on a campfire, access to potable water, plastic or metal bottle (for water, does not break, if lost replaceable), large cup or bowl made of wood or metal, flask of alcohol, more underwear and socks than shirts and pants, medicine (if you need something specific for a severe condition), sources of portable light (one of which should have a flame for starting fires), some paper, marker, string, cord, blade, spoon, … i make it all fit in one bag i can carry with a strap over long distances.

Ultimate actual decisions are personal, and variable depending on circumstances. However it is good to have a few generic emergency scenarios, and kits, available in your home. Appalachian Trail Thru hikers agree with old sarges on this:  “Packs are too heavy, until you need what you don’t have.”


(special thanks to the Facebook group Wilderness and Urban Survival tips)

* see also:  Hiking Backpack List

Drogo’s SCOD Quest 2012

Posted in Fictional Stories, SCOD Fallout Projects with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 1, 2011 by Drogo

There is always more work to be done. One can be finished working when one is dead, but the work itself may live on long after.” 

~ Drogo Empedocles

The SCOD Pipedream Pub as an idea started decades ago.

For years we planned in secret, because we knew that the Pipedream was not for most people. We refined the concept into the Master Plan known as The Sustainable Cooperative for Organic Development (SCOD).

If our over-lords had not been over-thrown by their own wars, we probably would have never been able to get our land to build on. Before Armageddon land was very expensive, and we came from less-than-royal families of common trades, that would never have been able to save enough money, or get the sponsors necessary to loan such exorbitant amounts of money. We were prisoners in a Capitalist consumer debt society, with no real democratic way to change the system.

However the system was broken, and so things changed. Everything finally went to Hell. Land titles meant very little because public records were often destroyed and there were few legal enforcers since they stopped receiving paychecks, and all their money was increasingly worthless anyway. Sure some cops and firefighters stayed on as fraternal clubs, like biker gangs, but it was not the same.

So we talked to some local survivors that wanted to see the return of more stable communities to the area. We tipped the appropriate people for a few acres of land that was not contested by anyone recently. We felt confident about homesteading that land in particular, and that was important. No one ever challenged our right of eminent domain, at least no one with a previous claim.

Also before the Apocalypse it would have been harder to start an alternative community within an uncompromising empire, such as the one we had. It was not that we were lazy before, because we had probed the corporate climate for years without any ally. So the time was right, but we still had to face a serious dilemma.

After the Apocalypse things were much harder, and life changed for everyone. It was easier to leave where you had been, but harder to pick up with fewer motorized transportation options. It was also easier to make shelter from existing ruins and reused materials, than try to build entirely new structures. So this was the main decision for SCOD members. Do we compromise the main Circle Field with buildings on the perimeter, for land that is closer with many structures already there? Of course
there were many other problems, and questions within questions, but this stood out in my mind.

Often people had nothing of value anymore, so there was nothing holding them back besides loyalties,  nostalgic depression, or worse psychopathic issues that had manifest since the Breakdown. You had to really ask yourself the question; where are you and what are you there for?

Most SCOD members pre-Apocalypse had lived hundreds of miles apart. This meant many days travel once the highways and many roads became unusable for vehicular traffic. Luckily as SCOD members we were more prepared than others to be survivors, and we had contingency plans that we had been putting into place. Not all our plans would be successful, but that is why we had more than one plan ready to go. If you only have one plan, it is harder to reset and try something new.


* to be continued *

John Brown Lives!

Posted in Book Reports, Fictional Stories, SCOD Fallout Projects with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 27, 2011 by Drogo

Jonn Brawn Lives! … All Fear The Undead Zombie Necromancer!

SEE the dead rise from their graves!

HEAR the howls of ghosts as they haunt you!

FEEL the cold grip of death as they come to cleanse the land!

* The Chronicles of Cleric Jonn Brawn are found within the series “Harpers Faerie Magic” by Walton Stowell published 2011. First written in 2003 as a D&D Module of Adventures.

Drogo Chronology

Posted in SCOD Fallout Projects with tags , , , , , , , , on June 17, 2011 by Drogo

This rough Biography Outline is for the development of my character in the World of SCOD stories and films. It is a story parallel to our own, if things had gone as bad as I imagined they could, shifted from reality in 2001…if 9/11 had resulted in World War III… and somehow only half of the world population was killed or mutated.

Chronology for the Life of Drogo of SCOD

1976                              born

1977                              1yr

1978                              2yrs

1979                              3yrs

1980                              4yrs

1981                              5yrs

1982                              6yrs        started 1st Grade

1983                              7yrs        1-2

1984                              8yrs        2-3

1985                              9yrs        3-4

1986                              10yrs       4-5

1987                              11yrs       5-6

1988                              12yrs       6-7

1989                              13yrs       7-8

1990                              14yrs       8-9

1991                              15yrs       9-10

1992                              16yrs       10-11

1993                              17yrs       11-12

1994                              18yrs       12th Graduated – Start College

1995                              19yrs       Architecture College

1996                              20yrs       Architecture College

1997                              21yrs       Architecture College

1998                              22yrs       Architecture College

1999                              23yrs       Architecture College

2000                              24yrs       Architecture College

2001                              25yrs       911    Eve of Armageddon

2002                              26yrs       Armageddon

2003                              27yrs       Armageddon

2004                              28yrs       Armageddon

2005                              29yrs       Armageddon

2006                              30yrs       Apocalypse

2007                              31yrs       Post-Apocalypse

2008                              32yrs       Post-Apocalypse

2009                              33yrs       Post-Apocalypse

2010                              34yrs       Reclamation

2011                              35yrs       Reclamation

2012                              36yrs       Reclamation

2013                              37yrs       Reclamation

2014                              38yrs       Reclamation

2015                              39yrs       Reclamation

2016                              40yrs       Confederation

2017                              41yrs       Confederation

2018                              42yrs       Confederation

2019                              43yrs       Confederation

2020                              44yrs       Holocausts

2021                              45yrs       Remnant Wars

2022                              46yrs       Federation

2023                              47yrs       Federation

2024                              48yrs       Federation

2025                              49yrs       Federation – Empire

2026                              50yrs       Restoration of Purity

2027                              51yrs       Restoration

2028                              52yrs       Restoration

2029                              53yrs       Restoration

2030                              54yrs       Restoration …


JRR Tolkien and War

Posted in Book Reports, Medieval Tavern, Memorials / Obituaries / Epitaphs, SCOD Fallout Projects, Spiritual with tags , , , , , , , , , on December 1, 2009 by eposognatus

While war and glory often go hand-in-hand in fantasy, the reality is – as Tolkien knew far too well himself – vastly different. We have the great fortune to be able to pursue our recreation in peace and without fear of true harm, but let us not forget that the weapons we may carry and their manner of use were devised not for fun, but for brutal and efficient killing. Few who walk upon the field of glory find it, and many do not walk back off at all.

“Wars are always lost, and War always goes on…” -J.R.R. Tolkien

“[Sam] was glad that he could not see the dead face. He wondered what the man’s name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil at heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace.” -Ibid


Posted in Film Reviews, SCOD Fallout Projects with tags , , , , on November 15, 2009 by Drogo

It’s not 2012,

It’s 2020.


SCOD Fallout: The Journal of CD-Serra-Set

Posted in SCOD Fallout Projects with tags , , , , , , , on June 20, 2009 by coffeedude65

It was a few years ago, I cast off my white robe and along with it everything else.  I set off into the world, letting my hair grow (the itch at first was terrible!).  The only thing I kept was my old Ray-Ban sunglasses; the sun was frightful at times during the peak of the day.

You see, I was old enough at the time to remember the Before.  I remembered world leaders on TV throwing shoes at each other, coming to full blows in the august halls of the United Nations.  I remember joking about how people in the stores would nearly shove you out of the way to grab a package of toilet paper from the heaping shelves.  When it actually WAS the last toilet paper in the world, my joking prophecy paled in comparison what really happened.  I once saw a woman cut a man’s throat on aisle 12, grinning like a demon while clutching a four pack of Charmin extra soft.  She didn’t seem to mind that his blood had soaked through the package, turning the paper a bright crimson.  Ever after, when the tradition of wearing white clothes came about, I would replay that scene over in mind, even visualizing people’s clothes on the street slowing turning pink.

Oh there’s plenty of stories from just after- even enough stories from the Before to make your hair curl.  You wouldn’t know it now, but the world was full of people who called themselves truth seekers, divining their secrets from the depth of the Internet, using the very products of the corporations to denounce the corporations.  Does that sound redundant?  Well, it is- because that’s what it was.

After, I had little choice.  You see, it was a choice between joining some roving gang of lunatics who were more bent on partying and looting than setting things right or to cling to romantic notions of the past.  Those notions that things could be worked out through elected committees and officials, what you would call government.

That’s right!  I said the word of heresy, but it was the way in those times.  But after the apocalypse, there was none.  There were no more jobs to go to in the morning, no office, no rat race of cappuccinos and conferences.  I saw it coming and had enough stored for a bit, but like everyone soon I had start scavenging what was left in the stores, then through garbage- anywhere you could think of.  Oh, some of us tried to grow what we needed, but so many didn’t have the skills or the time, not to mention the seasons.   And those that did, most were victims of the scraggs that were stronger. There were no more police to call when someone invaded your home.  A few had guns, but the gangs had more.

Then came this rot called “The Restoration of Purity”.  I still haven’t figured out what the hell that was supposed to mean, but the end result was setting up regional Citadels for the “advancement of humanity”.  Everything outside of those citadels became a vast wasteland, ignored by the so-called rule of law.  It seems that all anyone ever cared about were those that lived in the dense population centers like New York, LA, or Chicago. In the early 21st century if you didn’t live in one of the megalopolises, we weren’t shit.

But in these citadels, it became unbearable.  They were centers of social and psychological experiments and conditioning.  Something worse than Huxley could ever envision, but you wouldn’t know about that, I am sure.

So I had heard tell of a place that I had kept in mind.  It was called ‘the Pipe Dream Club’.  Whispers only, really- but the word came around.  I thought if only I could make through the white walls of the Citadel, through the Wasteland (over the hills and through hills, however that fairy tale goes).  And that is that.  I am on the trail, my noble quest, the proverbial knight errant in search of his personal Holy Grail.  I am not a warrior by nature, but one must adapt in the Wasteland.  It’s lucky that most of the so called warriors out there are nothing more than drunken slobs with only the strength of arms to their side.  A guy like me, who has something between the ears more than cheese can do ok, if they’re careful.  Though I will admit, there’s a mighty number of them out there and I’ve spent many a’ night cowering in ditch, afraid of even breathing for fear of being heard by orc-ish brutes.  And the fires!  The skies would rage orange at night from all the burning.

I feel I am close though.  I cannot be sure, but I think yesterday I saw a girl jump behind a junk heap of old cars.  It was just a fleeting glance of a lithe form that disappeared behind those fossil fuel burning behemoths of the past.  Maybe it’s my imagination.  I hope not.  I am ready to leave the trials of the road behind me for good.  I may be chasing a dream, but then at least I’m chasing something.

– written by Coffeedude65

SCOD Fallout: The Pipe Dream Pub

Posted in SCOD Fallout Projects with tags , , , , , on June 20, 2009 by Drogo

“I probably would have ended up a warrior of the wasteland,”  the man with the white mohawk said raising his leather-clad fist thereby exposing a spiral-tatooed forearm,  “if it wasn’t for the Pipe Dream Pub.”

I was appalled that such an ignorant man had been permitted to keep land and still receive an income after the Restoration of Purity.  I allowed my external gesticulations to express my inner dissatisfaction with his crudely limbic sentiments for so destructive a genre, and so repulsively decadent a life style.

“Don’t let my sentiments scare you,” he responded and I shook my head attempting to cleanse the slate, but he continued; “I am an old man and you are too young to remember the Apocalypse, or Armageddon for that matter.  Times were durro, and the whole world had reached its elastic limit.

“It was a damn good thing that we had started the Pub before Armageddon, otherwise I have a nasty feeling we would have been picked by a band-wagon of bandits, swept away with the rest of ‘humanity’!  HA!!!  Either killed in stagnant homes from our own procrastination and sloth, or murdered on the highway like road-kill.  Many felt that being a part of the destruction was more fun than being picked off like a sitting buddha (pardon the phrase); besides we had grown up watching it on T.V.!”

“Do you feel that an improper upbringing justifies contribution to the destruction of humanity and civilization?”  I asked allowing my Chi to become un-balanced.

“Civilization?  Fuck civilization.”  The old man sensed my irrational tone, and glared at me. Humanity??  Your generation has reinvented that word.  That word is foreign and subjective to me; just as sex, drugs, and rock and roll is to you.  Humanity, or human nature is subjective to a larger force: Nature.  The Nature of all things.  Don’t they teach you that in Zen 101 ?

“Nature needs no justification,…how old are you?”

“13,”  I said  (truthfully of course, because no one lies about their age…what’s the point?)

The old man bit a roll of leaves and lit them on fire in his mouth with smoke pouring out (just another pointless, self-destructive tradition from a gluttonous and soulless society… I suppose).  He blew some smoke in my face and proceeded to speak.

“I thought that your cyber-psychology lessons taught you how to utilize your psychic potential by now.  You kids are supposed to be more human-than-human, but I detect no enhanced empathetic improvements.  Despite your social snobbery, you are typical of any punk kid of my generation.  A gifted program, or honor society gone Nazi.  Aren’t you supposed to be scanning me with your Third Eye, or something?”

He was right.  “I am sorry,”  I said feeling my selfish unbalanced ego slowly replaced by my balanced Neo-cortical ‘Self’ (or Buddha Nature).

“Now you’re using both hemispheres!” he said with a blend of mockery and enthusiasm.

“Your pansy-ass is lucky that people like me sympathized with your pacifistic parents.  There were numerous occasions where some non-violent lamb was shacked up at the Pub, or had been through; and they were followed by some wolves.  And in those cases, the only thing between the sheep and the wolf was Cordite’s fist, or Cordite’s hammer, or Cordite’s shotgun…or my sword for that matter.

“Simake practiced judo (gentle way).  Drogo practiced Ti-jitsu (body magic).  Cordite practiced Weng-chung (how to break bones so they can’t fight anymore because their too busy screaming).

“The Tontine Triangle knew the values of Buddhism, Taoism, and Wicca.  We had to keep it secret.  Knowledge was more valuable than anything.  People would shoot you to take your possessions, but unless they were blind idiots (and Crom knows there were many of them) your life was equal to your knowledge and resourcefulness.  For you can’t get far, one without the other.

“Brighter than any metal, knowledge was blinding to the masses.  What they wanted was entertainment.  We were valuable and worthy of primal respect, because we provided entertainment in a world of bleak survival.  This special knowledge was too complex and convenient for most people to want fuck with us.  But there were some, as evidence by my false jaw, and prosthetic finger.

“Bless Odin that we were never seriously messed with by any of the greater clans.  Mostly our problems were with scraggs, and 3rd degree ‘clanies’.  We were a self-sustained fortress, preserving our ideals, hiding them behind our rough exterior.  Armageddon was the most violence and destruction our planet had ever seen.  Some historians call it World War III, but what ever you call it, it was the largest amount of violence involving the largest population in the shortest amount of time.  The only sanity was to accept the killing of one’s own species in the name of Order.  Order was a laughable ideal to most de-sensitized idiots.  But it was those idiots whose life had no value to them, or anyone else, and whose death was equal to that of a cockroach.  Revenge upon their death was rare, and limited to small circles.  Although the clan of the Pipe Dream was small, our connections were extensive, and it was known that caravan stops like ours were connected (somehow) to the global network of independent communities.  Loyalty is a strong factor, and generally intimidating.

“Nothing was free, least of all respect.  We demanded respect, and we got it.  It had little to do with our good looks and housekeeping rituals.  We had to accept that there was no higher order than our own.  Government was gone and chaos was in effect.

“There was no order to the world, except the order of the food chain, and even that was given to suprises.  Survival of the Fittest. Anything goes… and went.  Black leather and spikes were ochen kruto.  Now, of course, most wear white and shave their heads.

“Role playing games were regulated in the Pub.  One time this geek totally flipped out on us, and we ended up whacking him in the head with a bo-ken, and beating the shit out of him.  Avallock and Drako decided to team up on the same fanatic who had literally back-stabbed another player the night before.  Darlock’s character ‘sort of’ pushed the right buttons in the game to the breaking point, and then Avallock ‘kind of’ cast intense energy bursts.  That is the basic story, but there were more subtleties involved like Game-master Elldinn being in on the little joke also, and darker details like Phaton.

“We had our own windmill to power our lights and computers.  At one time we had operational solar panels, and a water wheel as well.  But that is another story.

“Americans like their beer cold, so every winter Cordite would go down to the River and haul out a big chunk of ice, balance it on his shoulders with a pick in one hand and the rope in the other, climb the hillside and lower it down to the dungeon.  When I asked him why he didn’t use the underground tunnel from the river directly to the dungeon, he would say “The ninja would ascend vertical walls with three stones this size.  It’s not as fun.  Someone following me could easily shut the doors from behind and lock me in.”  As usual Cordite had a point.  Either way, we had cheap and natural refrigeration into the summer.

“On cold days and nights, visitors joined us around the Hearth, while Schwabe the roving philosopher would play his gypsy fiddle, and the wenches would sing and flirt, and serve hot muffins, soup, and cider.  Also there was Avallock with his guitar, and Drako.  In this way we extended our clan.  There was real warmth!  Fire! (and I don’t mean just logs burning) I mean  People!  No we didn’t burn people, but there was compassion, and trust; hard to find.  Comfort, and Relaxation for the family.  Family for children with none.

“Elldinn designed and made candles, weapons, and furniture.  We sold things that we made at the pub, as well as what others would bring as trade.  Elldinn also made whirly-gigs (although there wasn’t much demand).

“There were many duties, chores, and tasks required to maintain the Pipe Dream.  Duties of the Property rotated, but a common scenario was that Drogo, Cordite, and Schwabe usually operated the Pub (since they primarily built and owned it), while Avallock and Drako commanded the border patrols around our many forts. Some of the forts were more hidden than others.  Camouflaged forts were common; in the form of trenches, tree stands, junk heap shacks, and the more elaborate underground forts (burrows and burrow mounds).  One fort was a cave on the edge of a cliff.  The Tower was one the more popular spots.  Elldinn, Avallock, and Sir Jeffy designed the astrology chamber for watching the heavens; reading for a sign of change.

(… to be continued…)

This story has changed its title over the years, during media transfers. As a draft is was simply called “The Pipe Dream”. In the 1990’s it was printed from a Word Processor (typewriter style) and called “The Pipe Dream Pub”.  In 2005 it was retyped as a digital file, and renamed to fit with the film “SCOD Fallout 2020”.  It’s current title here reflects all of the past states, while omitting 2020 due to the specific manifestation of the film without the inclusion of this story as dialogue. Regardless, it remains an important part of the SCOD archives and library.  See “The Vault”