We Hate Zombies

Scenario:
It’s the beginning of the week and you have a plane to catch. Seriously, you have a ticket for one butt-in-seat and that plane waits for no man but Chuck Fucking Norris. Do you look like Chuck? No, so you’ve gotta run, but not too fast or else you’ll raise suspicion and be tackled by a man in plain clothes who’s not just happy to see you. Finally, you make it through security and bum-rush the terminal as the final moments count down. Hope you brought everything. Hope you didn’t forget some baggage. Hope you can fight the zombies pouring out of the nearby gate. Wait, what? What do you do?

What you should do:
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, zombies just can leave a mammah jammah alone, no matter how far they get. Obviously the security personnel overlooked the most dangerous weapon of all: zombie infection. Somebody down with the sickness must have made it through the last checkpoint before turning, and now a bunch of half-dead, over-burdened, over-exhausted travelers are mostly-dead, over-burdened, dumb zombies.

And you don’t have any weapons except for a pair of tweezers and a disposable razor. Damn security checkpoint, always taking away the means to protect oneself from other oneselves. Shit, you have to scramble for some sort of protection or try and beat the wave by getting to your plane in time. If you’re a good sprinter, I’d recommend that latter one, because in that case you get to leave the city before the shit really hits the fan and you’ll be going far enough away that you’ll find yourself with quite the head start. Assuming the zombiism hasn’t spread that far already.

If you can’t make the plane, then you don’t have a whole lot of choices. The bad thing about airport terminals is that they are designed to be both torturous and devoid of weapons. Fortunately, there are two things on your side: gift shops and kitchens. Also plain clothed security personnel with hummers. But if you can’t count on someone with a gun, grab a baseball bat from the local team and crush some skulls, or find something in the kitchen you wouldn’t want to fall on. It’s time to make due with what you’ve got, and that’s pretty crappy. Goodluck with that…

What I would do:
As few know that I am a professional bear wrestler, I’m sure it will come as a surprise to you that I once dominated a gorilla riding on the back of a 2 ton hippo. It was a sweet delicacy I’ll never forget. Being that as it may, I won’t be able to use those skills against a hoarde of zombies, at least not without the right kind of protection.

Ripping a page out of Jason Bourne’s memoirs, I’d run to the news stand and wrap nudey magazines around my arms, legs, and torso, effectively making a very attractive suit of paper armor and a walking billboard for Hugh Hefner propaganda. This kind of sensual flair will provide multiple layers of protection while also generating enough buzz that living humans will become immediately apparent through various physiological reactions. By quickly sorting out zombie from human, I’ll be able to let IZRM take over without worrying about a lack of reading material. With IZRM, I won’t even remember if I needed a weapon.

Oooh, you bad girl. You’re such a bad girl…

What’s better than waking up from total blackout covered in infectious blood? Waking up in a bathroom stall, that’s what. I’m pretty sure no one would let me on a plane, so after washing my face off, I’d probably just go get liquored up somewhere. Usually seems like a good idea, like a page out of Upton Sinclair… Or something. God I wish I were drunk right now.