We Hate Zombies

Scenario:
Holy shit! You fell off the grid for over a month because you moved to Mon-fucking-tana (as your friend Daniel so delicately put it) and everything is unfamiliar. It is a true zombie survivalists nightmare because there is no escape plan. There is no safe fortress. Hell, there isn’t even a goddamn Steak-N-Shake in sight. In fact, you’ve just realized that there are mountains in every direction, making a quick escape unlikely. Then you hear it. The scrape of a bloody stump, flesh and bone, scraping across the sidewalk. Zombies. What do you do now?

What you should do:
Well, you’re boned. You’ve unknowingly moved into a giant bowl with side too steep to climb out of without the use of the interstate, which is closed by the way because of the 100 mile long line of cars going nowhere. It’s a buffet for zombies. The only chance you have comes from a movie widely regarded as the survival oasis of the new century.

The International features a scene where a world class assassin needs advice from some boy he is playing Go with. I believe the quote goes like this: “If there is no way out, find a way deeper in.” Because this makes more sense than the alphabet, I made it my mantra and so should you. Head into the heart of town, into the zombie jungle. There you will find safety.

This is what I like to call the Montana Paradox. You would think that getting out of town would be the best way to save your ass, but in this case it isn’t for you. You can find safety in the heart of zombie land. But how? Easy, head that way in your car because that side of the road will be empty of cars. Once you get to the heart of town, find a safe place to hide and pray that you don’t shit your pants. Zombies love the smell of soiled pants.

What I would do:
I would actually just drive on the wrong side of the road. I would drive to safety and then start a forest fire that would hopefully burn the entire place to the ground. Then I would rent a redbox at a Wal-Mart, grab a six pack of cold beer, pick up a forty oz for the road and have myself a good time in Wyoming. NOTE: Must stop at a Wal-Mart before Wyoming. There isn’t shit in Wyoming.

Scenario:
Like a badass, you have a game room in your basement oddly situated next to a bunch of tools across the room, including a crowbar, hacksaw, and some battery powered shit. Maybe you have a garage in your basement, maybe your wife just hates your things and wants it trapped in the downstairs, whatever. Also, you have a computer down there too, which you only ever use just for watching pr0n while you play a game of pool. Which is what you’re doing.

But then something in the back of your mind triggers a heightened sense of awareness, and you begin to hear the sounds of distant screaming. Oh baby, this is what you’ve always dreamt of, time for some action! Except you can hear they’re already in your house. And they’re already infecting your wife. Holy shit! They’re already coming down into your man cave and are between you and all your possible weapons! What do you do?

What you should do:
Pull your pants up and fasten your safety belt, cause it’s time to rock! As a reminder to everyone who doesn’t remember every word that I’ve ever preached, there’s no such thing as being separated from all possible weapons. As soon as you stand up, you should immediately become aware that all your junk no longer has meaning beyond what damage it can inflict on an infected rotten turd muncher.

At your desk, you understand the world is over and that the computer will soon lose power forever. First weapon: the computer. Without a computer, the desk is nothing. Second weapon: the desk. Then you realize you don’t have time to sit down anymore. Third weapon: the chair. And you never really played pool anyway cause you suck really bad at it. Fourth weapon: pool sticks, the cue ball, America.

Without knowing the meaning of fear, you should smash that sticky keyboard into the teeth of the first blood-thirsty zombie, knocking him backward onto his ass. Then throw the chair across the room and trip up the three zombies still coming down the stairs. The pool balls are worthless to you, but grab two pool sticks and overturn the table onto the toothless downed dead bastard still struggling to get up.

Two wooden spears in hand, all that’s left is to dance a dance of everlasting death, spearing the lifeless eyes of those cursed fuckers until you reach your wall o’ tools. I won’t even list the different weapons you’ve suddenly found for yourself, but I think you won’t have any trouble cleaning up this mess and getting the hell out of Dodge.

What I would do:
No ex-Major League pitcher turned nine ball pro would be able to resist spinning onto the pool table and beaming zombies straight in the face with a rack of balls…which is exactly what I would do. For a little bit anyway, because it would be fun, like Shaun of the Dead throwing records at zombies kind of fun. I guess what I’m trying to say is Family Fun. Unlike what was on the computer.

After having my bit of fun, the rage would inevitably settle back in, and there would be nothing left to hold back my wrath. Any zombie still standing would immediately get a face full of CRT monitor, followed by a desk full-body-slamming. Keep in mind that none of these things are likely to put a zombie down for the count, at least not like poking them through the eye with a wooden stake, but it helps me control my penchant for burning fury — by adding gas to the flames.

Immediately I would begin dismantling my stairs one board at a time, taking each one and beating the moving corpses until it splintered into fragments and the sons of dead, motherless goats really stopped moving for good. The blood and gore would be epic and fascinating, the kind of phenomenon mathematicians might someday study for fractal splatter analysis.

I would probably need to take a shower, then run to the nearest Taco Bell and see if they had been overrun yet. Booyah! Say hello to my Burrito baby.

Thanks to Tyler for submitting this scenario.

Scenario:
It is late summer. The air is stagnate and boiling hot. Your field hasn’t seen a drop of rain in about a month. The corn is underdeveloped but completely dried out and ready to harvest. You are out in the field taking samples to make sure it isn’t too soon, or too late. You are about to take a break and smoke your tobacco pipe when you hear a faint rustling in the corn a few rows over. What could it be? Your wife died last year from the cancer and Ruddy, your brown lab, died ten years ago when he got kicked by the horse. The kids have all moved out and you don’t have any friends. It can be only one thing. Zombies! What do you do?

What you should do:
You’ve been farming this land your whole life so you know where you are and where you can run, but the zombies have the advantage. They just have to follow you and you don’t know where they could be hiding. You can’t see far in the corn across the rows, so you need to run down the row that you are in. You can see all the way up and down the row so you only have to worry about a zombie flanking you on your way out.

But which way do you go? Do you head back to the house where the zombies could find other people to attack or do you head farther out into the fields? Heading home would give you more tools to dispatch the zombies, so you should head that way, despite the danger to other people. Remember, you don’t have any friends, so if they get bite, just finish them off with your chainsaw.

Once you make it out of the corn, grab your rifle and pick them off as they saunter out of the fields. Hopefully you get them all, but you’ll never know.

What I would do:
Above all else, I am a zombie hunter. I am not a farmer, a brother, or a human. Keeping that in mind, I want to make sure that I get every last one of those bastards. Making the assumption that the zombies are all in the corn field, I only have one option. Light a match and watch the mother fucker burn.

But how do I make sure that I get them all and that they don’t escape the flames by going the opposite way? Well, it is simple. I have to start the flames toward one of the corners of the field that I am in. Since the zombies are likely to blindly follow me around until they catch me or they die, I will stay in the field and continue to light the corn in various places. The eventual goal is to spiral toward the center of the field so that they corn is burning in all directions and the zombies are trapped. Since the corn is dry as week old dog shit, it should burn pretty damn fast. Then all I have to do is sit and wait.

Why kill yourself brave zombie hunter? Considering that I am an old man with nobody to spend my life with and I just burned my entire years work (and paycheck), it really does seem like the easy way out. And, if I get all of the zombies in one shot, what better way to go down? I could live out the rest of my life and eventually die of liver failure, on account of the drinking, or I could sit in the middle of a burning cornfield, all zenlike and shit, while a horde of zombies closes in on me just as the fire closes in on them. It is like choosing between a bratwurst and cow penis: the choice is clear.

Scenario:
So you decided to steal some money from the mafia when you didn’t think they were looking? What’s the big deal anyway? One second you were happily eating a slice of pizza and whistling “Walking on Sunshine” and the next minute you don’t have any fingernails and you are wearing a freshly poured set of concrete sneakers. Just when the thugs were planning to push you into the river, a disgusting horde of zombies comes sauntering over the hill on the other side of the bridge. The two thugs take off, leaving you there to deal with the undead. What do you do?

What you should do:
You do have a few options, but you have to be quick-minded and astute. You need to look at your surroundings. You will need to find a stick or cane or something long. Next, is there a car or bike or some sort of vehicle that you could attempt an escape with? Since you are on a bridge, chances are you won’t have anything near, but it’s worth a look. If there is a car nearby, quickly hobble over to it by lifting each leg with the help of your arms. Once you are there, break into the car or just open the door. Once you get the car running, shift into first and use the stick to control the pedals. You don’t have to be graceful about it, just get the hell out.

If you can’t find a stick, use your hands to control the pedals the best you can. Again, you don’t have to be real quick, so let the car drive itself at 10 mph if you need to and just hit the gas on the hills so you don’t wreck. There shouldn’t be a reason to use the break. It is up to you when it is safe to ditch the car.

If you can’t find a car or anything else that would work, see how fast you can move without one. If it looks like the zombies are going to overtake you and there is no chance of salvation, then it is time to pay for your sins. Get to the edge of the bridge and heave yourself over the edge. I am pretty sure that drowning sucks, but it has to be better than being turned into a zombie. Especially a zombie who can’t even move.

What I would do:
Not a lot of people know this, but I have a special ability that would help me escape a situation like this. You see, whenever I will it to happen, I can make my feet swell up so big that a little kid once told me that I have pig for feet. This would help me escape because the cement shoes would be much too large when I willed my feet to return to normal size.

Once I am free of the shoes, I would walk to the end of the bridge and wait until all of the zombies have come upon me. Then I would begin to whisper in elvish and call upon my brother the river to delivery a wall of water twenty feet tall to wipe the earth clean of the zombie menace. Once the zombie apocalypse is taken care of, I would head down to the bank owned by the mafia and request a sum of money equal to everything in the vault. Hell, I figure they won’t be paying attention because they will be preparing for the zombie invasion that the thugs saw coming.

Scenario:
Rocking and rolling, you dash through the emptied streets with pistol-annihilating glory, throwing Molotov cocktails on zombies like Russia was sick of vodka and the world was ready to burn. You’re in your prime, you’ve survived long enough to feel good surviving. This is the god damn shit you were made for.

Then you come across a thing. A beautiful woman is caught underneath a car. She looks alright, but she can’t move without your help. Twenty feet away on the other side of the street, a beer truck is on fire about to ruin the payload. You see a hose and a crowbar. What do you do?

Trick question because you’re already too late. While you were distracted, you got caught making up your mind, and now a flaming zombie that you should have killed gave it’s last efforts to bite your shin. Game over. Almost. Now what do you do?

What you should do:
You should know that you’re a dead man. At this point, since you’ve survived, I’ll just assume you’ve been bad ass enough to read every single one of our blog posts. This means you know how zombiism works and your fate is set in stone. You can optionally attempt to amputate your entire leg in 5 seconds, but that’s going to end in a terribly painful, messy failure. You might as well get some use out of your stinking corpse before the end comes and the devil starts walking around in your skin.

There’s no point worrying about the beer truck now. You’ll probably be dead before you’d need any more than a twelve pack, and you can find a twelve pack anywhere. Instead, you choose the humanitarian route and help the lady lass to her feet. She’ll probably try to make out with you, but you can’t do this! The only thing worse than an undead stack of shame is an infected human infecting other humans. I wouldn’t even wipe my ass with their scalp.

Once you’ve kept your integrity, pass on your weapons; they’ve served you well but now you’ve got to go where they can’t be of any use to you. After you’re done with the bombshell, you run around a corner like you’re mysteriously gone forever so that people will remember you as a hero and not as a decaying lurch.

Then it’s up to you to take the bull by the horns and end things. Just make sure that when you’re done, you’re done. And I mean done, like a blow-up doll rocked so hard it’s been ripped in half.

What I would do:
After doing the whole saving the lady thing, I have two options. One, I can make myself a bill-board that says “I’m a zombie, use me for science”. Then, after I put that on like your everyday hotdog hawker, I’d find some pliers and yank out all my teeth, for safety reasons of course. Then I’d probably break one leg and handcuff my hands behind my back. At that point, if I became a zombie, people would know from a long way off, I wouldn’t be able to move very quickly, and I’d be of very little threat to anyone, even if they spooned with me whilst napping.

My hope, here, is that I would be found and used for science, obviously. I’m not expecting a cure to come out of it; you and I both know better. But, perhaps there would be a way to devise better weapons against the undead, some sort of weapon that wouldn’t end up killing humans because someone pissed their pants and shot at the squeak.

Option two is a little more simple, a little less beneficial to all mankind, but perhaps a little nicer nonetheless. I’d go to the nearest gas station and find the empty barrel that’s strangely always there without a purpose. I’d manually pump it full of diesel fuel, then take a bath in it. In one hand I’d hold a road flare above the black gold. In my other, I’d sip on a bottle of tequila. Then game over is when the party really starts, and my infection will be auto-purged from the planet.

If nothing else, I’m a master of efficiency. Goodbye beautiful woman I would have liked to have had in my pants.