We Hate Zombies

Scenario:

The happiest day of your life has come; the wedding ceremony.  You’re at the alter, standing next to an old guy who weirds you out like the time you saw Janet Jackson on the street and then found out it was a dude, and you’re waiting for your beautiful bride to say her “I do’s” and that whole ring thing and then finally the steamy kissing scene in front of the children and parents.  Except when you throw back the veil to look into her beautiful baby blues, all you see are a pair of dead whites and a cold face, with blue lips drooling around one white set of teeth desperately trying to eat your face off.  What do you do?

What you should do:

Snap to your senses, soldier!  You don’t go flying out into the world half-cocked with a ball and chain holding you back like a knife in the thigh.  If your ‘bride-to-be’ was dumb enough to get caught up in a zombie orgy of death and black endlessness, than you’ve shown your colors as one who doesn’t know how to pick em.  This goes as a notice to those of you who don’t have wives yet: if your girlfriend doesn’t tell you the finer points of zombie hunting by the third date, you need to have ‘The Talk,’ and if she doesn’t nod and laugh with a twinkle in her eye as she starts to collaborate with you, then she can go straight to hell and you can move on with your life.

Now, of course its too late and you have an undead nag on your hands, and she’s really struggling to get in your business.  But not in the good way.  So instead of flipping your lid and calling for momma’s help to throw down that damn succubus, you instead turn to the Good Book (every creepy old man has one) and give her a howdy-doody upside the head.  Of course this is just for show since that will neither kill a zombie nor guarantee to knock them down.  (Don’t fool yourself into believing zombies have anything to fear from religion; that’s dumb)  What this act will do, however, is get the old man tangled up in the mix, and soon enough she’ll forget all about you and take a mouth full out of his cheek, giving you time to walk down to the audience, grab a folding chair, and brutalize some reanimated sons of bitches.

What I would do:

Never forget what resources you have at your disposal.  That’s the lesson of the advice I just gave you.  The lesson for what I’m about to say is not to forget the friends you have at your assistance.  This, of course, assuming you pick your friends better than your wife and they don’t fuck around behind your back, leaving you to sober up alone at a bar in the middle of the night.

Instead of turning to a cold, metal chair to do my business, I’d turn to my Best Man (that’s the guy who stands behind you at the wedding).  You see, if there’s anyone in the world who could pull of the two-man steel-toe triple lateral, it would be my best man.  The manuever was inspired by a time when I saw someone’s head get cut clean cut off after two figure-skaters tried to go pro before they were ready.  In this maneuver, I eject the knives hidden in the toes of my dress shoes (which are actually just shiny shoes on top of combat boots) and get launched spinning through the air by the Best Man.  This rotational speed and momentum will decapitate everyone on the left side of the alter, including the Bride.  Game over.  Bitch.

Yeah, that blurred super-hero, that was me.  I just saved the fucking day.