We Hate Zombies

Scenario:
Hurry up, dammit! It’s 11:58 at night and you’re exhausted, tired from a day of busy procrastination, and now you’re busy waiting. All that’s left before you can go to bed is Woot… sweet, sweet Woot. You have to know what tomorrow’s Woot is going to be, otherwise you’ll never get any sleep. You tried going to bed early, once, and all you could do was worry that you’d missed another bag of crap. Never again! 11:59.

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So tired, eyes bloodshot, you open the computer clock just to watch the second hand. It’s painful. Midnight! You rush to hit refresh over and over until the new Woot pops on the screen.

On no… this is bad. T-Virus, two for Tuesday, $4.99. Woot’s unknowingly selling the zombie plague. What do you do?

What you should do:
Run to the dirty clothes pile and rummage through the weeks of ketchup stains and stiff socks until you find your zombie hunting Woot shirt. Wearing your zombie hunting shirt will show the world that you are one that others can rally behind and look to for support and guidance, kind of like a lighthouse but with a gun. It will make people think twice before considering you a zombie, and everyone will know that you never have to think twice about anything. It’s shirt.Woot.solid, guaranteed.

Next, place an order for as many of the T-Virus Vials as possible. Don’t think about budgets or money, because you can’t put a price tag on saving the world. Use a credit card, or all your credit cards, or all of your friends’ credit cards, until you have enough buying power to buy out Woot. Do I know how much that will take? No. Does anyone? No. It’s such a secret that no one knows except Woot and occassionally that mystical Woot-Off bar. Sirens? Oh yeah, I hear em too.

It doesn’t even matter if you can afford the tall order, you just need to buy some time and keep the world from inadvertently falling into chaos like a screaming monkey pissing on a leak frog. When you’ve done the best you can, it’s time for damage control. Start shooting out emails to Woot staff, flood the message boards, flame dissenters, and engage in lengthy one-line wars of wit with ten year olds. The message must go out, and who better to spread the word than a million people capable of shopping only at a store that sells one item a day. No one, that’s who, because it takes focus to shop a single item and it takes focus to spread the word.

Oh, and if the world lives long enough for you to get your shipment, burn the entire lot immediately, then make a YouTube video with stage props showing how the stuff turns people into zombies. After that, there’s nothing left to do but find the Brave Woman. She’ll know what to do.

What I would do:
First things first, gotta find that zombie hunter t-shirt. Good thing I keep it on top of my bullet proof vest, which happens to be right on top of a box of dynamite. You know, just in case I feel the need to keep things lively. Oh, speaking of which, I’m going to need that dynamite, because it’s not going to be midnight forever.

After I don my vest and shirt, I would pack my dynamite into the car, then call up the Brave Woman, number 6 on speed dial. With any luck she would give me permission to pass through her territory and maybe even give me info on movements between the Robots and the Monkeys. Those rival gangs are always going at it, and despite the urgency it will pay to be careful if I can avoid being caught up in the middle of one of their battles.

Then I would hit the road. I know it’s midnight my time, and I know that in as little as 5 hours Woot is going to be opening those warehouse doors for a full day of dealing out death, unknowingly of course. That gives me five measily hours to get to Carrollton, Texas, and sweet Jesus do I need to fly if I’m going to burn down the warehouse in time to stop the first shipments from going out. Fortunately, I went to stunt driving school and got practice as the lead driver for Talladega Nights. Talk about going fast… I wanna go fast. Still, it would be a lot easier if the warehouse were with the rest of Woot.

If Google Maps has anything to say for accuracy, that’s 640 miles of driving. Luckily, I only have to average 128 miles per hour to make it on time. Unfortunately, that doesn’t give me very much time, not even time to stop. I would set the car on cruise, light whatever explosives I had left, then jump out of the car as it hurtled towards certain glory. After the bullet proof vest absorbed most of the trauma from hitting the ground at high speed, I would stand up and hide behind some bushes to watch, waiting. Legend has it that if enough bags of crap burn in a hot enough fire, a green burst of light will shoot into the sky and grant wishes to all who see.

Ironically, I would wish for a bag of crap. Those things are so damn hard to find! Dammit, I missed another one!