Jake bakes a cake

Like I been sayin', it's been cold.

So I went over to Nichols' house.  I feel like he owed to me.  And when I get there what do I find?  The key he gave me won't work. The lock must've been frozen or something.  No problem.  Part of combat is you learn to ADAPT.

I took my kabar and pried open the bedroom window.  It kinda messed up the storm window (This is Jon. It's shattered, Jake.  Shattered.)  but no real harm, no real foul, amIright?  Anyway, I made my way into the kitchen.  First order of business is ALWAYS survival.  So what does this guy keep around for chow?  A box of Cap'n Crunch, a box of Fruit Loops, and a jar of mustard.  Oh yeah, a can of Pam spray and a tin of Crisco (I just do not want to know what he uses that for.)  In the fridge was a bottle of milk that might still be good.  The freezer held a bag of Tater Tots the length of my manhood.

That's it.

This guy is NOT ready to survive.  But did you really expect anything else?

A little poking around later and I found a cake mix.  Devil's food.  Seemed like the only thing of real substance.  Only Nichols had no eggs and I just wasn't taking a chance on that milk.  The LAST thing you need in either urban or wilderness survival is food poisoning.  Not that I'm paranoid or nothin'.

So I mixed up the batter using just Crisco and Pam.  Stuck it in the oven to bake.  Only I didn't want to wait the whole half hour that the box instructed (NO ONE tells Jake Timber what to do!) so I cranked up the oven to right round 450 degrees.  Then I sat down to watch TV.

It was all mainstream media BS about the State of the Union address.  Presidential initiatives and other hot air.  Here's my proposed initiative: I'll challenge President Obama to a one-on-one game of basketball.  If I win, then he has to 1) cut his salary in half, donating the other half towards paying down the National Debt and 2) adopt at least ONE Republican initiative whether the Democrats want it or not.  Sounds FAIR, right?  If he wins, then I'll...oh come on.  He's NOT beating Jake Timber.  No one is.

Then there were a whole mess of ads about the Super Bowl.  Like I fucking care.  My Green Bay Packers aren't in it.  That's just another sign of the Obama conspiracy right there.

Wait.  Then I smelled it.  Smoke.  Where there's smoke, there's fire.  I learned that in the Battle of Milwaukee.

I checked the oven and yeah, there was a little fire going on. Looked like it might've done something to the gas line, too.  So I call Nichols on my scrambled sat phone and he treats me like I've committed a crime or something.  The wuss.  Got the fire department involved.  The cops too, but I was long gone at that point.

Their not taking Jake Timber alive.

No one is.


Follow me on Twitter @JakeTimber3

Meet Jake pt. 3

Hey everybody!  Jake Timber here rappin' at ya.

So where was I?  Got a little drunk last night and I'm not really sure where I was going with this.

Oh yeah.  Me.  Nichols.  McDonald's.  Him totally DISSING the McRib.  Which just ain't American.  Anyway...

I'm trying to tell him about the coming storm.  Trying to let people know how to STOP this fight before it ever even happens.  I mean, let's MAKE THINGS HAPPEN!  Er, not happen.  Anyway, I got my whole story to tell and I know how I want to tell it.  Got the names changed to protect the guilty and everything.  Soon, people could read all about me and my friends Sassy McCoy, Duke Goldhammer, and Stanley Conquergood. 

"Best part is," I tells him, "Not only do we stop a tyrannical future U.S., we give people a kick ass series of action books.  Lot of sex in there too, because...well, it's me.  Perfect cocktail for sales."

He tells me he's not interested.  I figured.  So I slide a stack of hundred dollar bills over to him.  He still turns me down.  Heh.  "Joe College." I slide over another stack of hundreds.  He seems to think about it a little more, but still says "no."  Time to go for my trump card.

I reach into my rucksack and bring out the big guns.  It's a collected box set of Star Trek, the Original Series.  The jackass looked like he wet himself (geez, I don't know for sure, I wasn't going to freakin' check, ya know?) 

That got him.  Not only that, but he was giddy-like-a-little-damn-girl over the box set, he didn't even balk when I told him to manage all my social media promotions (I mean, I am NOT getting my digital self out there for the NSA to find.)  He just said "yeah yeah" while squealing "it's got 'Spock's Brain!'"

He said he wanted to do a "preliminary interview." Get to know "who he's writing about." Fine.  So I show the asshat where I live.  He's not impressed at first, until I show him my ingenious home brew system.  Yeah, beer's a little scarce where I come from so you learn to make do.  ADAPT.  How many times do I gotta tell you people?

Anyway, what else did I tell him?  I'm a devout member of the 700 Club and I'm hoping to get Pat Robertston to make another presidential run.  THAT might be all it takes to stop this thing!  But then I wouldn't get my books out there.  Tough choice.  What else?  Oh yeah.  I'm a big Green Bay Packers fan, which gave Nichols the shits.  Kinda saw it coming in my research of the guy, him following those losers the Bears and all.  Also, I told him I could pinpoint almost the exact moment that things started to turn for the worst with our great nation.

Obama's election?  Bad.  But it got worse.

I'm talking about when Charlie Sheen left Two and a Half Men.  That's when we REALLY started to turn away from Jesus.

Sad.

Then it got cold.  Like arctic cold.  But as I said last time, I knew how to handle it in my hut but why make more work for myself?  "I'll just go stay with the writer!" I says.  That's a story for next time.

Actually, I'm at his house right now, riding out this "polar vortex" or whatever malarkey their calling it to boost their "global warming" agenda.  It's not so bad.  I'm going over my story with him, breaking it down into separate books.  Seems like each little bit of my life makes me think "that's another book to add!" The series just keeps growing, folks!  He always seems to get more depressed at that.

Jackass.


Follow me on Twitter @JakeTimber3

Meet Jake, cont.

Damn it's cold.

A little too cold to be out in my hut, y'know?
I mean it's nothing I couldn't handle.  The trick is to get inside your bunk just as the sun goes down and keep heated stones on each of your pulse points.  You should be warm the whole night through (but only if you start at the beginning of the night, otherwise you'll never build up enough body heat.)

So why freeze my ass off when I can stay at my writer's house?

That's a story for another time.  First, I gots to finish the one I already started.  Sheesh, this writing stuff is hard.

Anyways, I asked to meet Nichols at McDonald's.  Not only was it close by, but I could feast on a delicacy long since gone in my time: the McRib.  See, that "nanny state" guvmint, started by Michelle Obama and her "health food" kick, has made the glorious McRib illegal in the future.  Hell, you can barely eat red meat.  So this was HUGE, man...I bought like bought like three or four of those babies and inhaled them like the sweet nectar of the gods they are.

Then Nichols walks in.

He's just like I imagined and told you about before.  Bookish.  Skinny and fat in all the wrong places.  Hesitant, gawky, looks a little to like that guy who fronted Talking Heads?  I dunno, they all look the same to me.  Anyways, he sits down after I yell over to him.  Guy ordered salad and coffee at McDonald's?  When he could have the McRib?  Shows you how little he values America.  This sammich is a gift from God and he passes it up.  Me?  I'm droolin' like Pee Wee Herman in a porno theater.

Sos I tell him about my situation.  I'm a soldier.  I'm from the future.  I'm here to stop a war before it starts.  To do that, I need to tell my story.  Because, y'know, I'm not good with words and all that shit.

What's he do?  Nichols starts jabbing at me about time travel.  Wanting to know how I did it.  "Was it a TARDIS or a DeLorean?" and all that geek shit.  Between his attitude and his dissing of the McRib, I'd had just about enough.  I pulled my kabar and got the point in the sweet spot underneath his chin.  He quieted down real quick after that.  Back to business then.

I go into the future I'm trying to fight.  Trying to describe to him how awful it is (even though being without the McRib SHOULD be enough to convince anybody decent.)  I tell him about an America ruled by a dictatorship that threw our Constitution in the shitter.  I tell him about a society of surveillance cameras, facial recognition software, and x-ray machines at every turn.  Big Brother and Big Guvmint all in one.

What's he do?  He doubts me.  He DOUBTS me.  Me, JAKE TIMBER?

So I gots to explain to this liberal college egghead that he already lives in a country where 50% of the citizens feel entitled to everything for free and the NSA spies on 100% of everyone.  SEE MY POINT?

I'll tell you more later.  I'm sick of writing.
Maybe I've still got another McRib in his freezer.

My name is Jake Timber

Hey.
Name's Jake Timber.

But won't lie to you.  I'll leave that to the Democrats.
I go by "Jake Timber" but that's not my name.  My real one?  You ain't getting it.

I'm a man of action.  A soldier from the future.  About fifteen years or so from now.  Yeah yeah, screw you.  I'm not going to tell you how I traveled through time.  Keeping that one close to the vest, you know what I mean?  So save the henpecking questions.  Anyway, I'm here to stop a lot of bad things from happening.  My time as a soldier has taught me that the best way to fight a war is to stop it before it can start.

In my future, the future I want to prevent, the United States of America is in a bad way.  I mean real bad.  We're a basically a dictatorship, set up to supposably "protect us" from "terrorism." Yeah.  That's great.  If you want your every email read, your phone calls listened to, and cameras watching your every move.

Think it can't happen?  Ha.  You're funny.  Pretty damn naive too.  Over in Camden, UK, the town tried installing cameras in a community park that would photograph anyone in the public space.  Who knows what kind of charges they could trump up against you?  Then we got the good ol' NSA.   If Verizon is your carrier, the NSA has recorded every phone call you've ever made.  They know who you called, when you called, how long you talked, the whole schmeer.  And do you really think they'd stop with one cell carrier.  Probably have a whole file on how you live.

"Live." That's a good one.  Most of the regular Americans I know live in slums.  It's like we're cattle kept around to buy cheap products made in someone else's country to make someone else rich.  That ain't America.  Not to me, anyways.  So I fought back.  Built an underground HQ, gathered an army of true Americans, and gave 'em hell.

But you'll hear all about that later.  Like I said, the best way I could think of to stop the future, is to go back and tell everybody about what's coming if we don't act.  So I look through the news reports of the past and what do I find?  There's no real leadership for Americans.  Oh they had a president.  But he was a guy that probably had sex dreams about what he was going to do to the Constitution.  Like I said, no leadership.  Except maybe for Bill O'Reilly and Sarah Palin.  I knew then that if we're going to avoid this life of hurt, dictatorship, and socialized healthcare that I've personally seen, people needed to get energized.  That's why I've written a series of books about the wars I've fought.  Well it's my story only it ain't me doing the writing.  English has never been my thing, so I needed a writer, someone to...y'know, put the words together and shit.

So get this.  I dig around and find out that there's a guy who back in 2013 tried to use the name "Jake Timber" as his name for a book.  Said so on his Facebook page.  He's a wuss named Jon Nichols (apparently he becomes some kinda big writer in the future.  Only God knows why.)  You know the type.  Eats sushi, drinks lattes, voted for Obama, reads books, and damn is he ugly.  I knew right then he was my guy.  Easy to push around, y'know?  I just needed to get to Indiana in 2013.

So when I got there, I set up shop in countryside, about five miles outside of town he lives in.  Wasn't hard.  I'm an expert survivalist.  My new home away from home looked sorta like this:

Anyone who's a good prepper could do it.  And if you can't?  Shame on you.  You're not ready for what's coming next, I guarantee.  Yeah, yeah, there's no TV and that's kinda the point.  The guvmint is rotting your brain ON PURPOSE to make you dumber and easier to control.  Damn, buncha sheep.

So I staked out Nichols' house and then climbed into the trunk of his car.  I sat in there eating a sandwich (roast beef with mayo) until the car parked and I knew he was gone.  I got out and found myself on a college campus.  You know, where they never give you any real life skills, just read books?  I left a note on his windshield, asking him to meet me at McDonald's.

You'll find out how that went next time...


Follow me on Twitter @JakeTimber3