We Hate Zombies

Scenario:
You are not having a good day. Your girlfriend broke up with you. She took your freaking dog with her, that bitch. I mean, honestly, I know you got it with her, but why did she have to take Burgis with her? Then you lost your job this afternoon, but that place was a shithole anyway. Some guy ran into your car and he was lucky enough to not have insurance. That’s nice. For some reason, you wandered into an alley for a smoke when a mugger came around the corner. Perfect. Wait, that’s a zombie. What do you do?

What you should do:
Look for a way out. Look for dumpsters to climb on that lead to ladders. Zombies can’t follow suit because they are not intelligent and cannot master even simple movements like climbing. Hell, a fence would even save you against just one zombie. But, as we all know, most alleys do not have escape routes. They are all dead ends that yield no effective means of survival. So what can you do?

Find one of two things to help you get out alive. The first being a trash can lid. If you can find yourself one of the classic metal lids with a convenient handle on the top, you can wield it as a shield and/or weapon. It can save your life because it is fairly easy to bum rush a zombie with a trash can lid and knock him down. That’s the beautiful thing about zombies. They never see it coming. Even when they are looking right at you. All they know is that they want to grab and eat. Swift and fast my friend.

Speaking of bum rushing zombies, if you can’t find a trash can lid, find a bum. They are gullible and easily bought. Give him all of you money and tell him to tackle that guy that just walked in. Believe me when I say he will do it. If he doesn’t, use some salesman skills and show him all the benefits of your money. All the cheap vodka. All the drunkenness. Sure, its wrong to exploit him for your gain, but you can make a difference by trapping the two zombies in the alley until they can dispatched. Don’t forget to thank me.

What I would do:
Well, considering the long hours studying The Zombie Simulation, I know that 99% of the time, I die. Knowing this is both a blessing and a curse. I can choose to flip a coin and lose 99 times out of a hundred or I can choose to push the button. That button blows up that package in my colon. That package has enough c4 balled up to take out a city block. Am I over-prepared? I think not.

The other option is to fight back. Now, there is another piece of knowledge that will help weigh my decision. I am professionally trained, and self-taught, to kill zombies. This flips the odds in my favor and I choose life. One zombie does not threaten me but it can threaten my way of life if I do not intervene.

Considering the fact that I could be arrested for dispatching a zombie right in the middle of town, especially the way that I would do it, some subtle tactics are required. My plan of action would be to flag down a nearby police officer by pretending the zombie is mugging me. The tricky part about that is being convincing while not putting myself into too much danger. Once the cop has taken the bait, it is only a matter of time before he dispatches the zombie himself. The zombie will saunter toward the cop, despite the warnings from the officer, until it is put to the ground. Job well done.

Scenario:
Woooooweee!  You just blew up a bus full of decrepid, stinking zombies, and the exhilerating rush of adrenalin is still pumping through your veins as you commence slamming a Red Bull.  Man, those zombies didn’t even see what hit em!  And the looks on their big, dumb, old, uncomprehending faces…  Ah, priceless.  Just as you start thinking that some of those zombies were pretty far along in their decaying process, the cops bust onto the scene and start dropping elbows on your spine.  What the hell?  Arrested.  Now you’re charged with the murder of a couple dozen oldies who will never love their grandchildren again.  You made the priceless mistake: old people might not be zombies.  What do you do?

What you should do:
Play it tight lipped and get your lawyer.  Clearly there’s nothing wrong with your senses, you were just a little over-zealous in your defense of mankind.  You did your best, but apparently your best was too good: those old people weren’t dead yet, let alone undead.  Being that as it is, you need a good lawyer to convince the jury that you’re certifiably insane.  Look for one that has taught acting classes, because acting a little crazy never hurt anyone who was supposed to actually be crazy.

Next, when you get a chance, pull a big clump of hair right out of your head.  When you’re hair looks crazy, people start to think you’re crazy.  Then, whenever there’s a moment of silence, ask someone if your hair is ok.  I don’t know if crazy people do that kind of thing or not, but it sure sounds hilarious.  The hair will grow back if you live long enough.  

Lastly, stick to your guns.  Don’t tell people that you “thought they were zombies.”  Tell them that “they were zombies, zombies in waiting.”  Then tell the courtroom about the life of a happy go lucky caterpiller named Steve, and how one day he got all fat and puffy and made himself into a coccoon, and how after a while Steve popped out as a very fragile pointless winged thing and got hit by a car.  Old people do that too.   If we wait too long to bury them, they start to stink, and it’s not far between stink and zombie.  After that story, they might let you go free, but they’ll more likely send you somewhere to get psychological help, which is kind of the idea even though you don’t need help.

What I would do:
No one is going to believe that it wasn’t pre-meditated when I tell them I just happened to have that rocket propelled grenade in my pocket.  That means something to some people, and some of those people may be in the jury.  Now, I’m no lawyer, I don’t know how the system works, or why a concealed explosive is illegal when a concealed firearm isn’t, but I do know one thing: zombies.  Which brings to bear the question of why I mistakenly fired crucial artillery upon a bus full of non-zombie old cruddy duddies.

Answer!  I didn’t, that was a bus full of zombies, but the world is too blind and ignorant to see that.  It’s too sensitive, not yet ready to see the truth, and even though I saved it there will be no victory parade with garlands of sweet smelling flowers or Cuban cigars, no tankards of ail or tequila on tap.  Nothing but a cell and a shoddy pillow that reeks of genitals and genital sweat.  Such is my fate.

Now, I’m not one to tell you what kind of man I am or amn’t, but if there’s one thing I am it’s a just-in-case kind of guy.  Every couple days or so, I actually swallow an entire hand gun made of plastic.  You heard me right, a plastic gun, like in that move “In the Line of Fire” or somesuch.  You see, the plastic gun will help me get through the x-rays that check for concealed weapons.  Then, a day or two later, I poo it out, clean it, put it together, fire a round, and then take it apart and eat it again.  It’s a vicious cycle, but one I’ve accepted as part of my life.  Also, I had my sternum crushed as a child and in it’s place I now have a chunk of metal.  I keep the bullets there.

All of this is to say that once I get in the prison, I’ll be able to craft my weapon to take into the courtroom.  Why?  Theatrics mostly.  I think it’ll help me make the news, because I’m not going to play all crazy and harmless.  That’s not my style.  Instead, I’m going to force the world’s eyes open, to show them what they do not want to see.  I would say, “World, it’s tough out there, and that’s because of zombies.  Sometimes it takes people like me doing things you’d rather not know about to keep you unknowingly safe.

“You see, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Whose gonna do it? You? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for those old people, and you curse me and my actions. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That old people death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. I use words like honor, code, loyalty. I use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a world that rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way.”

Then I would launch into my preaching about zombies and the dangers we all face on a daily basis.  If my words couldn’t move the world to shake off the veil of ignorance it so comfortably swaddled in, then I would be left to the wolves of a harsh justice system.  Undoubtedly I would be convicted of something not rewarded and utterly unrelated to zombies, and they would likely punish me most severely.  I would be punished for this great cause that I fight for day in and day out, the cause for which I struggle to enlighten others, and in the end I would stand as an example of an unacknowledged hero who did something great, did something grand, selfless and pure of spirit, and was destroyed for it.  

I would become as a prophetic martyr symbolizing the world’s need and complete inability to recognize the true threat of zombiism.  And so it would be up to those who followed me to spread the word, to make the world see the truth, to convert the masses into a mobilized force against the coming undead.  Would suffering without recognition be worth saving the world of a grisly fate?

Scenario:
You’re driving along in your car, minding your own business and listening to the radio. All of the sudden, you are getting a hummer. You look down, and there she is giving you an early birthday present. All you can think of is, “ohmygodohmygodohmygodi’mgettingahummerandit’ssoawesomeohmygodi’mgettingahummer…” On and on this goes for a while until you hit that kid that just ran into the street as you drove through his neighborhood. Ironically enough, just at that exact moment, you thought you heard the radio guy on the radio talking about zombies. Or it could have been one of those “Zoom Zoom” commercials that are always playing. Who put it on the Spanish channel anyway? And what do you do?

What you should do:
There are two choices for the road ahead. You could keep driving and hope she didn’t notice the thump on the car, possibly thinking it was a sign of approval. This would at best make you a victim of hit and run, except you are not the dead kid. Or you can stop the car and get out to inspect the situation. Neither option is a good one because of my old buddy OC (opportunity cost).

OC always shows up when you least expect him and when least want him too. It could be a zombie boy which would mean you maimed him but didn’t kill him enough for him to die. In this case, you have to stop the car and finish the job and save the world. Unfortunately, it is also a pretty quick way to kill the mood. It doesn’t matter that you are saving the world, beating a kid’s head in with a tire iron is not going to win any points for you in bed.

If it is a regular boy, you really have to stop because he might not die if you can get some help for him and stay at his side. You might be able to practice that CPR you always see on TV or at least be there to talk to the poor kid until the ambulance arrives. Believe it or not, this will win you fewer points in bed because she will blame it on herself. If she hadn’t been doing what she was doing, you might not have ever hit the kid. That kind of guilt never does any good for anyone.

However, if you keep on driving, things will go on just as the currently are and you still get your present. Assuming the guilty conscience doesn’t take all the “in” out of your manliness (figure it out).

Solution: Stop the car and check on the kid. If it is a zombie, finish it off with the tire iron. If it isn’t a zombie, save the poor bastard and teach him a lesson about running into the street. If he dies, find a new girlfriend. If he lives, you’ll get your present, it just might be a few months. Flip a coin on the new girlfriend bit.

What I would do:
Believe it or not, my options are the exact same as yours. Sure, I might be driving 2000 times faster than you ever could and my car might be made out of iron and magic, but the underlying dilemma is still the same. I have my priorities in line. Kill zombies. Save people. Make whoopy. In that order and no other. So, yes, I would stop the car and check on the corpse. If it is a zombie, I will kill it (but with some sort of sweet new weapon that is so awesome that you couldn’t even comprehend it). If it is a child, I will breathe life into its dying body as long as its not already dead (I don’t make zombies. Never confuse the wording of the list). I’m human too (But a more awesome human like Chuck Norris).

Scenario:
You’re late for your Monday deadline, and that was three days ago. It’s Thursday, the day before that other more important day, and the boss says you have to get a story out in the newspaper by that evening or face the can. Luckily, a hot story jumps out of the news feed and hits you in the chest. Zombies have invaded downtown. They’re moving slow, but nobody knows about them. Nobody but you, and you have the power to spread the word. But do you waste time getting the news out? What do you do?

What you should do:
Ah, well, you could sit around and think about verbage and how not to make people panic, but it won’t really matter once shit starts hitting the fan. Everyone is going to panic, you’re going to be left behind in the top of a news building, the world is going to blow up in a zombie orgy, and there will be no one left to remember how you had wanted to be the next Shakespeare instead of the next yellow journalist. So let’s keep this short, I guess.

Slam out a one-liner about how everyone should remain calm and stay indoors. Then, while your jack-assery is spreading through the vines, hit the road as fast as you can. Try to get ahead of the crowd. You can write shit once you get to a place where there’s no one to read anything, because that’s the next chance you’ll be able to screw around long enough to write a letter to your momma. Until then, it’s the same old running just like in every scenario.

Of course, if you wanted to take the high road and do some newspapering, call up the military and some hospitals and take some interviews real fast, then throw down some news bulletins and whatever else it is that you would do to make people feel more informed while still knowing next to nothing. After that, of course, it would be too late to try and escape, so you should bar the doors and focus on gathering food and weapons and survivors into groups that will obey your intelligent commands. The newspaper boys… God rest their souls.

What I would do:
Now, I’m not one to just go off and run blindly into danger, just like I’m not one to drink too much and stay up too late playing Dead Rising or The Last Guy. Still, I have been known to add a little danger to my life, especially when my life is boring. There was this one time when I was sitting in a class I used to have, and there was this long and pointless lecture about something dumb, and suddenly I realized that everyone in my room was a zombie and my professor was a mad scientist. That’s when I picked up a chair and started brutalizing those damn zombies, but to add a little extra danger, I pulled the ripcord on my parachute. See what I did there? Danger!

So here I am on a boring Thursday and my boss is yelling at me to write some gibberish down on paper that would at best illicit a yawn from early morning coffee drinkers, and what comes across my desk but something to make me feel alive again? Mother fucking zombies, that’s what! Sure, I could jot something misleading down before I headed the opposite direction, but where’s the danger in that. Seriously, you tell me, where’s the danger in that?

Instead, I would grab up a bullhorn and a giant inflatable green gorilla (every newspaper office has at least two in stock) and head off toward the nearest zombie invasion, desperately hyperventilating to blow up that gorilla whilst shouting through the bullhorn that people needed to clear the heck outta there. Once I’d reached the invasion, I would no doubt ninja kick the first zombie, then use the gorilla as a battering ram to knock all the zombies down. That would add a little danger, a little spice, and it would make me feel just as exhilarated as those undead bastards will never feel again.

There’s really no purpose behind it though, just having fun. After I got bored of fighting zombies with an inflatable gorilla, I’d start throwing grenades and running toward safety. Maybe my antics would buy other people enough time to escape, I don’t know. What I do know, however, is that I don’t need a reason to throw grenades, and I don’t need a reason to sleep at night. Moral predicaments? Kiss my ass.

Title: Zombie Herder (click to play)
Style: Top Down Shooter
Source: www.zombiegames.net

I’m not going to fill this page with fluff. This game is fun and it is simple. You won’t be bogged down with too much plot, any fancy options for weapons and strategy, and all the zombies look the same. What you see is basically what you get when it comes to Zombie Herder, and for once, its a nice thing.

The basic premise here is that there are zombies and you have a cow prod to keep them on screen. Clicking on a zombie prods that son-of-a-bitch and he turns around and goes the other way. You do this until the onscreen timer reaches zero where an unseen force explodes all of the zombies. For each zombie that gets away, a person dies and you get to kill off 10 innocent civilians before you have to quit. I personally think the number should be closer to a billion. If you haven’t taken out at least 15% of the general population, what’s the big deal? The only thing I don’t care for about this scenario is the intimacy that is needed to prod something. It is far too easy to get bitten.

And that is it! No upgrading, no money, no nothing. Just clicking on zombies. And it is a blast. The only annoying thing about the game is that my touch pad is not the best tool to get the job done. I would put it akin to having a cattle prod that is attached to a leg of lamb. Not only is it retarded, but it is unwieldy as well. Graphics don’t get in the way. The sound was all but absent. I had fun and could see myself hooking up a mouse so that I could dominate. I’ll definately probably be doing that.

PS If you pay attention to the title screen and think about what that is really implying, you will shit your pants. Lord knows I did.

Game Score:

Graphics:		1
Sound:		?
Fun Factor:		5
Satisfaction:		2
Total: