A ZOMBIE OUTBREAK IS AT YOUR DOOR.
WHAT DO YOU DO.
I’ll tell you what you freaking do, sonny. You grab that old antique shotgun (the one your grandpappy used back in the 1930s or whatever to hunt down the commies) off the mantle, strap your old collection of vinyl records in the van, drive to your lady’s house and hunker down for the long haul — Shaun of the Dead style.
Because they will find you. Sure, there’s probably dozens of other humans left in the area but the zombizoids only want YOU. It might be your destiny, or that new cologne sample you got out of that magazine. Either way, there’s a hundred or so of those brain-hungry suckers barreling down on you and you can’t do much to stop them.
That’s where the records and shotgun come in. What’s that you say? No record player you say? No problem. These are now DEADLY FRISBEES FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE or something. Hurl them at the heads of your undead enemies and watch them stumble over like an elderly woman on Black Friday — slowly and with some hilarity. What else are you saying? No bullets for that old shotgun? Well now you’re just being silly! What will you do with bullets? SHOOT THEM? Then you’ll just run out eventually. No, this is your new beating stick. It does the job right and gives those other human survivors the idea that you’re powerful (while we both know you aren’t).
Okay, so you’re at your lady’s place. Time to crank up her music collection with some sweet zombie slaying tunage (which she should have, as only the good ones are musically prepared for such a time as this). Board up the windows, give her something to swing at the zombies (such as a bat, or a chair, or a far better idea like a knife or something), and let her spunky attitude and witty comments cover your scrawny butt while you try to play the hero.
Avoid the teeth, they will DEVOUR YOUR FACE and not like some bad kisser would, zombies use teeth. HORRIBLE DISGUSTING TEETH.
You need only to survive into the morning (three days, maximum), and then some government will come along and save everyone, blaming the outbreak on some scientists. Then you can pretend that this never happened and live your life happily ever after.
Except for those nights you spend in your newly renovated panic room that you put in the basement, where you and your wife (previously known as spunky zombie slayer) will tell your children the proper ways to defend themselves during another outbreak.
JUST IN CASE.
(this was written very early in the morning, after a can of red bull and thinking about zombies for a few hours. YOU ARE WELCOME FOR THE LESSON)
(double parentheses - I wrote this forever ago, and it is my favorite thing that I have ever written ever.)
