Whistlin’ Past the Bomb.

Where are we on the Dooms Day Clock?

Wess Haubrich
2 min readAug 3, 2022


Mock-up of actual C4. Source: CGTrader

…the steel ramrod made its thunderous entry into that tiny, obscure, locked room, in an obscure split-level ranch, in an even more obscure midwestern town.

“ATF! Special Weapons & Tactics! Search warrant!”, the leader of the SWAT team screamed as agents behind him cleared the room. Or more appropriately, the bunker. Graham and Hunt followed close behind, their .45’s drawn.

AR-15s, AK-47s, and sawed-off shotguns lined what parts of the reinforced concrete walls weren’t covered by Swastikas, various batshit QAnon, and Virginia Battle Flags. Scientific instruments designed to brew chemicals like Anthrax and maps with major cities circled lined the sharp-edged metallic desks.

“Fucking losers,” Hunt shrugged her shoulders dismissively. “They still can’t take having their racist asses kicked.”

Graham ripped one of the swastikas off the wall only to find a secret steel doorway with a massive wheel. “Guys!”, he yelled, nodding towards his discovery. “Let’s open this puppy.”

“SWAT!” they yelled, opening it. Shining their lights they saw many more hard-edged desks with maps of heavily Jewish or celebrity-housing areas of the country all with strange, arcane monographs, from the likes of Alex Stone and Roger Jones, saying how all the Glitterati drink the blood of babies they breed.

“My God,” Graham said, “this takes batshit to a whole new level.”

That’s when a very peculiar scent struck all their noses, like a rotting corpse or the brimstone of hell’s mouth itself — it was the unmistakable foul musk of ammonium nitrate, acrid and sulfurous. The sound of a fuse being lit immediately hit their ears like a surprise gunshot right behind you.

“Run like hell!”, Graham yelled. Hunt was reluctant to, even when she heard that fuse.

“The bastards turned tail and ran,” Hunt said, dusting the ash off herself as she gave Grahan that look of hers. That one that says, ‘I have more balls than all you ATF men. And I have ovaries.’

“Let’s see what the white trash didn’t throw away after the fire department cleans up. Warn all major synagogues nationwide too. Oh! And Graham?”

“Yes Boss?”

“No more stupid surprises.”

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Wess Haubrich

Horror, crime, noir with a distinctly southwestern tinge. Staff writer, former contributing editor; occultist; anthropologist of symbols.