Why rich people’s diesel bunkers are doomed—and you should probably just buy beans
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Ah yes, 2025. The year we finally learned that if a global economy was a game, Trump is playing it like it’s Monopoly—while blindfolded, dizzy, and high on nostalgia for the 80s.
This week, President Trump fired off a lovely little economic hand grenade disguised as a 10% tariff on all UK imports, effectively telling Britain, “Cheerio, old chap—enjoy your recession!” And just like that, the FTSE 100 faceplanted harder than a Vault Dweller fresh out of the vault meeting a Deathclaw with a butter knife.
What Does That Mean for Us, the Peasant Class?
Well, the price of everything’s going up—especially imported goods. Think food, fuel, electronics, and probably even your dog’s luxury hypoallergenic biscuits.
The rich, of course, have responded in their usual calm, rational manner: by digging deeper holes in the countryside and reinforcing their apocalypse bunkers with titanium, fear, and maybe a few Waitrose gift cards.
The Bunker Boom—Or Bust?
Here’s the real kicker: most of these billionaire bunkers? They’re powered by standard diesel generators.
Yes, you read that right.
While the world burns and Bezos parachutes into a hole in Wiltshire, his life-supporting diesel stockpile will last about as long as a tin of sardines in a fallout shelter with hungry hedge fund managers.
There’s no nuclear fusion core down there. No cold fusion. No Mr. Handy with his charming buzzsaw and dry wit. Just Clive, the underpaid generator technician, trying to siphon diesel from a Land Rover while the collapse unfolds topside.
They’ve spent millions prepping for Fallout, but forgot the part where the Vaults were run on nuclear reactors, not a jerry can and a prayer.
Meanwhile, in Surface Dweller Land…
We’re over here buying tins of beans and learning how to turn powdered milk into something vaguely drinkable while the markets slide and PM Keir Starmer politely phones around the globe asking, “Please, can we still do trade?”
Spoiler: maybe. But we might have to barter with AI code, cricket bats, or tea bags.
Meanwhile, the pound is doing the financial equivalent of curling up in a duvet and crying softly into a packet of digestives. And with fuel and food prices already high, a 10% tax on imported everything is like adding Tabasco to your economic ulcer.
Fallout IRL: Things You’ll Probably Need
A good stockpile of rice, beans, and sarcasm
A wind-up radio so you can hear how badly it’s all going
Multivitamins because your 3-bean chili diet might lack certain nutrients
A copy of Fallout: New Vegas so you can practice your charisma and barter skills
A hand-drawn sign for your front lawn that says: “We Have Nothing Worth Looting—Also, We Bite”
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In Conclusion: It’s a Mad Max World, But British
If the rich want to disappear underground with diesel, let them. Let them sip their lukewarm Perrier next to a rattling generator, while the rest of us figure out how to turn potato peels into biofuel and sarcasm into currency.
The world might be on fire, but at least we’ve got a kettle, some humor, and the good sense not to lock ourselves in a tomb powered by Shell.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to hoard Marmite and build a wind-powered kettle. God save the King. And maybe… pass the powdered eggs?
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