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johnpalmerSo as I walked out into the world today, the world was overrun by the walking dead, speaking mindlessly and trying to eat brains. I just thought AM talk radio had gotten a bit out of control, but it did seem a bit widespread for that. My biggest mistake was that, living here in the pacific northwest, it's hard to tell when we're dealing with the living dead and when we're dealing with people who haven't had a latte in too long trying to get to their supply of health food ("Graaaaains...").
But when I realized that the traffic was backed up because there were a bunch of evil dead blocking the road, well, I got pretty ticked off. I was on my way to my doctor's office to pick up my ADHD meds, and without those, I don't need to be zombie bit to do the zombie bit, if you know what I mean. So I opened up the trunk and looked for my weaponry. No problem. I had a pen-knife, sixteen balloons, two quarts of motor oil and some ice melt. Well, I'm sure you can guess what I could do with that with my leet MacGyver skills. As soon as you do guess, let me know and I'll retcon a neat weapon into it. Instead, I handed it to a nearby bystander - a seven year old girl, in fact - and told her to build it into a bomb. Figuring that was likely to keep her out of the way of the rampaging zombies (rule one of monster movies: save the kids, or you look like a schmuck, and people who look like schmucks end up as worm food... if they're lucky enough to be eaten by worms), I then ran away looking for an alternate plan to save the earth.
That's when I realized that my first thought of the day carried the seeds of our salvation.
Using my indescribably cool electronic skills (of which I have none) and my indisputably godlike networking skills (of which I have not-enough), and my keen knowledge of radio transmissions (I once shut down the college radio station accidentally for ten minutes), I was able to wire all of the radio transmitters in the city to a single station, while frantically calling every audio store in the city to set the radios to the closest clear signal, and to crank the volume up.
As the Rush Limbaugh show started airing, blaring loudly out of every available loudspeaker in the city the zombies were confused, unable to find any remaining signs of human brains. It wasn't a solution; zombies don't starve quickly. Still, I'd bought us some time, as much time as we could squeeze out of a famous blowhard. As long as Rush didn't get tired of hearing himself talk, the city was safe. Maybe I was being pessimistic; the zombies might have starved before Rush shut up. Still... that would mean Rush Limbaugh could legitimately claim to have saved the world.
I needn't have worried. As I ran back to the city, I heard a loud, screeching roar and saw zombie muck flying through the air. I'm glad I wasn't wearing my best clothes, and really glad I didn't get any in my hair. There's not much market for short-haired weirdos, and zombie muck *never* gets out of the hair.
As I got in closer, I saw the strangest scene I'd ever seen in my life. Two hundred and fifty chickens, armed with AK-47s(Over and under with grenade launchers), dressed in combat fatigues, saluting me.
Yes, I know... crazy as all hell. *Saluting me*?
Until I saw the reason... the young girl with a mischievous look on her face, smeared with motor oil, and the remnants of I-don't-know how many egg shells and feather clippings.
I'll never figure out how she put together a zombie-killing bomb from the ingredients I gave her, even with the eggs and feathers, and I think it's better if I don't ask.
In the meantime, I can take a deep breath, and think about my home.
Philadelphia, where I grew up. Near a couple of chemical processing plants and a sewage treatment plant. Gads, I hope they get the zombies cleaned up out of here soon.
But when I realized that the traffic was backed up because there were a bunch of evil dead blocking the road, well, I got pretty ticked off. I was on my way to my doctor's office to pick up my ADHD meds, and without those, I don't need to be zombie bit to do the zombie bit, if you know what I mean. So I opened up the trunk and looked for my weaponry. No problem. I had a pen-knife, sixteen balloons, two quarts of motor oil and some ice melt. Well, I'm sure you can guess what I could do with that with my leet MacGyver skills. As soon as you do guess, let me know and I'll retcon a neat weapon into it. Instead, I handed it to a nearby bystander - a seven year old girl, in fact - and told her to build it into a bomb. Figuring that was likely to keep her out of the way of the rampaging zombies (rule one of monster movies: save the kids, or you look like a schmuck, and people who look like schmucks end up as worm food... if they're lucky enough to be eaten by worms), I then ran away looking for an alternate plan to save the earth.
That's when I realized that my first thought of the day carried the seeds of our salvation.
Using my indescribably cool electronic skills (of which I have none) and my indisputably godlike networking skills (of which I have not-enough), and my keen knowledge of radio transmissions (I once shut down the college radio station accidentally for ten minutes), I was able to wire all of the radio transmitters in the city to a single station, while frantically calling every audio store in the city to set the radios to the closest clear signal, and to crank the volume up.
As the Rush Limbaugh show started airing, blaring loudly out of every available loudspeaker in the city the zombies were confused, unable to find any remaining signs of human brains. It wasn't a solution; zombies don't starve quickly. Still, I'd bought us some time, as much time as we could squeeze out of a famous blowhard. As long as Rush didn't get tired of hearing himself talk, the city was safe. Maybe I was being pessimistic; the zombies might have starved before Rush shut up. Still... that would mean Rush Limbaugh could legitimately claim to have saved the world.
I needn't have worried. As I ran back to the city, I heard a loud, screeching roar and saw zombie muck flying through the air. I'm glad I wasn't wearing my best clothes, and really glad I didn't get any in my hair. There's not much market for short-haired weirdos, and zombie muck *never* gets out of the hair.
As I got in closer, I saw the strangest scene I'd ever seen in my life. Two hundred and fifty chickens, armed with AK-47s(Over and under with grenade launchers), dressed in combat fatigues, saluting me.
Yes, I know... crazy as all hell. *Saluting me*?
Until I saw the reason... the young girl with a mischievous look on her face, smeared with motor oil, and the remnants of I-don't-know how many egg shells and feather clippings.
I'll never figure out how she put together a zombie-killing bomb from the ingredients I gave her, even with the eggs and feathers, and I think it's better if I don't ask.
In the meantime, I can take a deep breath, and think about my home.
Philadelphia, where I grew up. Near a couple of chemical processing plants and a sewage treatment plant. Gads, I hope they get the zombies cleaned up out of here soon.
