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 |  Nothing like a fortune cookie to make a year intriguing. |
"30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  by: BIG BAD WOLF is Howling  The Prompt: AHHHH!!!! It's the Zombie Apocalypse! Run for your good-for-nothing lives! Okay, hopefully that got your heart racing, and your brain a-firing. The situation is grim, the undead are coming for the brains of the living and you must protect yourself and your loved ones. What would you use to protect yourself if ZA occurred right this second? This means that you are limited to what is in your place of residence/work/education/wherever you are. Be realistic- you probably don't own an assault rifle, machine gun, flamethrower, or a bazooka, or some other such weapon. Be practical- do you really want to lug around a 10lb chainsaw, especially when it attracts more undead through noise, gets stuck, and more than likely you don't know how to use? Less is more- Limit yourself to as few weapons as possible, which will help you out at all ranges of combat- Far range, Medium Range, Close range, and Intimate range. Well, I'm off to grab my weapons- oh wait, I just picked up a sand-wedge golf club. Not ideal, but it will do until I can get to the 12-gauge and the 30-06 in the back bedroom. Oh, and I just grabbed my sword-like letter opener- perfect for stabbing a Zed through the ear canal. May you still be alive come day 16. The Music: "House of the Rising Sun" - the Animals the Far Range. Zombie-fiends, bring it on. Wooden board go up on the windows and glass doors first. A small deterrent, but we're only working with things we've already have in our household arsenal. Unfortunately, my Winchester hasn't arrived in the mail yet, and the heaviest weapon movie I have on me right now is "Wanted". "Tombstone", and "Shaun of the Dead". I could chuck the cases at them. Maybe play some Enya over the loud speakers. Next, grab the rocks I brought with me from the California beaches. Sentimentality saves my ass again. That's right. Get David-and-Goliath on these living-dead. It just got real. the Medium Range. By this time I'm hoping my neighborhood squirrels are bringing me back prime information. You figure the television, phones, and internet are gone. No communication. Never fear, squirrels are here. Don't mock. They're the pigeons of our time. About three miles heading northeast you hit farm country. Hopefully, they're back some heat. I've got kitchen knives and bunnies slippers at the ready. Don't launch fuzzy objects until you see the bloodshot whites of their eyes. the Close Range. This is where things get tricky. I have stumps for legs. Like Gimli said in LotR - "I'm wasted over long distances." If we're in a pack, and we have to run from a hoard of zombies ready to eat our brains, trip me and make a run for it. Appetizers. Don't worry, I'd do the same to you if the roles were reversed. You're welcome. The plan is to have traps set up around the city. People are so nice here I'm not sure they could kill zombies outright. This is where you utilize you foreigner force. Anyone who is not from B'ham should be in charge of killing. We're less likely to sit down with zombies to try and talk it out with some organic granola bars. Also, I've been keeping my eye on machete prices at my local grocery stores. In this economy, they can be brutal. $7.89 has been the lowest so far. Go pick up a couple for safe-keeping. Remember - it's all about the slice, bob, and weave once you get in close. Watch for that wayward decapitated arm. Again, you're welcome. the Intimate range. Showtime. This is where we cut the wheat from the chaff. This is where grown men pee themselves. Or lose a pair of legs. It is time to put those limited acting skills to work. You know where I'm going with this. Break out the shredded jeans and face makeup - it's "Thriller" time. Bust out your best Michael Jackson moves and zombie out with the rest of the prion-disease seeking rejects. If you can't beat them (literally), join them. Just make sure to try and cook the brains first before you eat them.  Interesting enough, this is not Michael Jackson. Maybe next time.  |
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