We’ve all seen the shows. Whether you like them or not, you’ve developed a plan. It’s easy to be sentimental, but the barking dog? Toss him in the yard. Mr. Snickers just became a snack. (That’s probably more of a cat’s name, so all the more reason to throw him out.) You know what? Make it the neighbor’s yard, the neighbor you’re not fond of. Wouldn’t want to attract attention to your compound.
Weapons? Well, some of us are more prepared (as if a zombie apocalypse is actually a real possibility) than others. I’ll leave that there. (Because if the government, or whomever, wanted us dead they’d totally show up at our door and have a shootout.) Anyway, we’d be prepared with the weapons. We’d know the rules, no loud noises, no lights, no yappie dogs, and if someone gets bit… It happens every show/movie/comic series, you know it does. Someone we care about gets bit and we let them fester, thinking that any minute now the CDC will come up with a cure a thousand miles from us and they’ll somehow get it to us before the 38 seconds pass and the person turns. Yeah, that will not happen in our reality because we’re prepared. Put some of that arsenal to use! Blast grandma for being slow and getting bit during the last wave. Blast her because she tried to hide the bite with some wool scarf she knitted for the middle of summer in Georgia. Blast her before she bites that cute refugee that showed up on your doorstep with nothing but an AK, tanktop, and booty-shorts. Because we all know, if you don’t blast her, she’s gonna bite somebody, and then the whole process starts over again and it’s amazing that anybody is still alive for season nine. But it won’t happen to you because you’re prepared. You’re ready. The last zombie body will still be smoking from all the lead you just put into it when you turn your barrel (or double barrel, am I right?) onto Grandma’s temple. She’ll probably say something about the cake she baked you for your thirteenth birthday, but you’ll remember it was during her healthy phase and beneath all that glorious frosting were shredded carrots, low-fat milk, and artificial sweeteners. Nice try, Granny. Blam! But would we? I seem to remember last summer when Granny skimmed that kid with her bumper while he was crossing the street with his earbuds in, you didn’t take her license. You just tried to tell her the benefits of online grocery shopping. When your dad keeps the TV so loud you can’t hear your mom farting next to you on the couch after the Thanksgiving meal, you didn’t drive him to get his hearing checked. No, we’d like to think we’d do the right thing during the zombie apocalypse. We’d like to think we’d blast our closest loved ones without a second thought, but we can’t even tell our sister about the spinach in her teeth before she goes out on a date with a totally dreamy guy. Okay, maybe that one was on purpose. I guess Granny gets to live too. At least for the next 38 seconds.
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AuthorScott writing the things that come into his head. Archives
January 2021
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