Time to break out some new Arm n' Hammer and set it inside the blog here. Things were starting to get a
little stale and musty. Sort of like a story I started about a year ago when I had no internet. Just me, my computer and my thoughts. And also some messed up misguided urge to pen a story.
You see, I need a creative outlet. Whether it's drawing, playing video games or even this blog. Sometimes I need to purge myself. Other times...probably not. As evidenced in the story I began nearly one year ago. I'm going to post it here. You can read it. Give me suggestions, tell me how terrible it is.
But in the meantime, maybe I'll print off a few copies so I can be a published writer! Watch out resume!!
The following is yet untitled and has no further developments. Yet. It'd be nice if the one of you that still checks in here tell me what should maybe happen. Or something....
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The shuffling was making me nervous. It wasn't the kind you'd hear in a casino full of geriatrics...nope, this is the walking dead style. The "I'm gonna eat your brains just as soon as my dead limbs can get to you" type of shuffling.
Don't get me wrong. I love zombies as much as the next guy. I mean, who WOULDN'T want to have their gray matter sucked out through their eyeballs?! Call me crazy, but I'm gonna at least make a game of it. I'll call it....hide n' seek. Yeah. That shit's original.
I'll just continue to hide behind this big oak desk while those motherfuckers keep up the Vegas act outside. Yeah. MotherfuckerS. As in "Holy goddammotherucker...there's some scary PLURAL shit goin' on out there!" Yep. Thoughts of hitting the snooze button and waking up to some Phil Collins keep going through my head. "I can feel it coming in the air toniiiight..." Phil Collins? You're a dick. Thanks. Like that song could get any shittier, I've now got it stuck in my head and I'm making lame associations about getting my skull cracked open with it. Why couldn't some freakin' Van Halen or something be playing? Why do clock radios only seem to pick up Classic Rock, Classical or religious stations? FUCK!
As I rolled out of bed I tried to keep a positve attitude. "Phil Collins? Not even Genesis? Jesus. Well, my day can only get better! Folgers, here I come!"
Nothing like a nice hot cup full of dirty ass and a bit of sugar to get your morning going. I find that I like it better than, say, brains. But hey, to each his own. And right now, these dead motherfuckers are DEFINETLY going for their own. No amount of Folgers will suffice for these guys. Maybe Starbucks...MAYBE. But only because they'd want to look cool holding the cup while dipping my frontal lobe like a fresh biscotti.
This morning feels like decades ago. Distant memories. Ones that don't matter, because here I am behind an oak desk trying to stay alive. Ol' oak desk and I have a very shaky alliance. It hides me and I...well, I'm gonna kick a zombie in the balls, then I'll probably slam it's head into one of the solid oak drawers till it fills up with some dead zombie brains. I'm pretty sure Oak Desk knows this and doesn't appreciate it. But what's he gonna do? He's a fucking desk.
My stomach rumbles. I've got a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich on my mind....wait....was that the door?
Shuffle....shuffle...
Shit. I can hear the mucus moving in and out of this assholes lungs...which brings me a thought "Zombies need air? What? They're DEAD." I'll be sure to ask him why he's breathing...
I jump out from behind Oak Desk...only to be momentarily repulsed by the outfit this cocksucker is wearing. Black t-shirt with fishnet going up his arms. Black mascara dripping down his pale skin (even paler now, he'd be so proud if he had an individual thought in his head). Black skin tight girl pants, which had the most repulsive affect: Male Camel Toe. MCT is an affliction of many of the Hot Topic set. So I guess this dude has been a zombie twice. Zombie²? Lame, dude.
I have no qualms grabbing the red stapler from Oak Desk and hurling it at Hot Topic's head. Which proved only to make him angry. Angrier than when he was alive and his parents wouldn't let him take the mini-van to the A7X show. He showed the first initiative in his life and came at me. I kept my promise to Oak Desk.
My foot buried itself right up in Hot Topic's MCT. Apparently zombies still feel pain.
As he went into a standing fetal posistion, I grabbed his hair and flung open the oak file drawer. It's almost like it was made for slamming a head in.
"ARRrrriieee! Please, STOP! My fucking BALLS!!"
Oh shit. Please. No. Don't take this away from me...God...Allah...Buddha...MTV...Please....
"Sob...owww ow ow...what're you doing....asshole...my...my balls..."
Alive. This stupid prick. Is alive. I guess his style had the desired effect. I thought he was dead.
"Why the fuck were you wheezing and shuffling?" I let go of the back of his neck, allowing him to stand up and properly clutch his injured MCT. "You just made me break a promise to a very close friend." I give a knowing look to the desk. Which is not returned.
"...wheeze....wheeze....I just...wheeze...ow...finished a clove when some of those dead things came after me...and these pants...wheeze...my balls were chaffing from the running..."
I don't think this dude had done any running since 8th grade Phys Ed.
"What're you doing in here? What're we gonna do now?! Those things were right fucking behind me!"
I can't believe this shit. This is why I never became a religious man. Because, God hates me. "What do you mean WE? Nevermind what I'M doing in here...and what does right behind you mean?!
It was at that moment that a rotting hand grasped the door jamb.
"Asshole." I'm talking to both of them.
The rotting hand is followed by a rotting arm which is attached to an equally rotten torso. On top of the rotten torso? You got it. A rotten goddamn head. The two dead eyes lock in on my live ones. Hot Topic still has his back to the door. I hate having a consience.
"MOVE IT!" is what I should have said. Instead I kick him in the balls and throw him behind me. The last thing I need is this dude getting in the way...or reproducing.
By now, I can see the drool hanging from the zombies chin. He's making his way toward me. All I wanted was some lunch. So I guess I can identify with this rotting round mound of flesh. But there's a few distinguishments between us. My lunch? Peanutbutter and jelly. His: Probably my brains. His weapon? Stiff arms and gnashing teeth. Mine? A desk fucking drawer.
Grabbing the computer keyboard from the top of the desk, I make a swift movement upwards. I catch this fat dead dick in the jaw with the "Esc" key. His mouth slams shut sending half his tongue to fly over my shoulder and his bottom mollars to shatter. I bring what's left of the keyboard across his jaw, cutting his jowly cheeks open to expose his new vegetarian mouth. It also allows me the oppurtunity to grasp the back of his head and bring a knee into his soft gut. I hear (and feel) the rotten intestines erupt as my knee continues up further than a live person would allow.
Then? An enormous zombie fart. Unbelievable. Fucking nice. At least the gut shot brings him to bend over...right above the desk. I press down on the back of his head (is this gay porn or am I killing a zombie?! JESUS!) guiding it into the desk drawer. I've got the angle. I'm in front of the drawer, while he's at the side. Doing my best Steven Seagal, I kick the drawer in. But something is in the way. Oh. It's a HEAD. The zombie sort of screams/chortles. The drawer rebounds back out. Begging to be kicked again.
At this point, the zombie is in no condition to stand up. His head is still in the drawer. I release the back of his neck, and decide to go for some style points.
One roudhouse(ish) kick later, I'm rewarded with a drawer full of brains, skull and blood. Which amounts to one dead zombie. Is that a contradiction in terms? Dead zombie? I don't care. I know just this one won't be bothering anybody...except maybe the poor bastard who this desk belongs to.
"...ohhhh....my fuckin'...baalllls....you...asshole...."
That's my cue to leave.
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