We Hate Zombies

Scenario:
Hot damn, you’re a pilot!  Still, it’s too bad all those hours in flight school didn’t train you on how to fight against an air-borne zombie attack.  Yup, zombies have infiltrated your plane and are knocking against the door to get into the cockpit.  The co-pilot’s gone bat-shit crazy and you’re the only one who can bring the big bird down safely.  Not that it matters, though, because somebody jumped out the exit door and into one of the only two jet engines, utterly destroying it and anyone’s chances of surviving in the bathroom.  To keep the plane from spinning out of control, you cut the engines and start you drifting descent.  It’s going to be rough.

But not too rough, considering you’re in the middle of the ocean.  You issue your last commands over the radio, sharing your location with air control back in the States, then you sign off and slam into the water.  You wake up on a deserted island not much larger than a McDonalds parking lot.  There’s sand, and three banana trees.  On the horizon is a column of smoke.  Also, zombies are walking out of the water some fifty feet away.  What do you do?

What you should do:
Ah, ice cream.  How sweet it is to be stranded on a dessert island.  And with bananas on top!  That sweet, baby, infant Jesus, he’s too kind!  And all your friends have come to say hello and feast with you on an ice cream sundae plopped right in the middle of the ocean…  the ocean?  Shit, that’s just a mirage, and those aren’t friends, that’s a concussion!

That’s right, don’t lose your sense of reality.  I mean, *ahem*, don’t loose yourself.  Keep your head on straight.  You’ve got two choices if you want to survive.  One, you can walk a circle around the beach, kicking up sand in three or four specific places each time you pass.  Walk fast enough to stay ahead but not so fast as to tire or dehydrate.  With every pass you make, you’ll begin to dig a series of increasingly deepening holes.  Eventually, the zombies will walk into the holes and trip up, perhaps breaking their ankles.  Even more eventually, they will fall into the holes and be trapped, but that might take a few hundred laps around.

The second option is to just climb one of the “trees” and hope that someone rescues you before you fall out.  With bananas close by and some shade, you might have your best chances of staying fed and hydrated, but you also just sit and wait and have to withstand the *thud* *thud* *thud* of the zombies smacking into the tree.  The boredom or continuous agitation might drive you mad before you are rescued, so you have to decide which route to take.  On the plus side, you probably only have 2 to 3 days of waiting for rescue, assuming the zombies don’t kill everyone who tries to help.

What I would do:
First, I would run to the nearest banana tree and savor the delicious taste of the Michel banana, the stunning flavors of a banana you just can’t buy in stores.  I’d start popping bananas like runts, and then I would cough up the seeds.  Damn wild bananas, why didn’t sweet baby Jesus domesticate you before you were born?  Ah, the mysteries of life.  Well, the reason must be apparent now.  The banana trees aren’t for eating, they’re for killing!

As the zombies approached, I’d pull one of the banana trees straight out of the ground, then use the massive dirt clump on the end to bludgeon the first zombie into jelly.  After that, I’d launch the fibrous projectile through the brains of all the other zombies, two by two, until there were nothing left but a pile of dead bodies drawing birds and stinking up my island.

Obviously, the rest of the time on the island would be spent building a giant sand castle out of the entire beach.  Eventually I would be able to live in my sand castle and feast on the flesh of gulls at the table of “bloodgulch 7.”  That’s what I would call my table.  And when the rescuers finally showed up to get me some fresh water, I would invite them in to my humble abode and give them a tour.  Hey America!  It’s called hospitality, maybe you’ve heard of it?  Just kidding, there’s nothing hospitable about a deserted island sand castle stained with blood.  Except for maybe “bloodgulch 7.”