Cloudy With a Chance of Zombies

English: Capoeira cartwheel Français : Roue de...

As it’s been a while since my last post, I think a quick recap of where we left off is in order. So here tis. Shelly and I were caught in an anti-gravity field or tractor beam or whatever you want to call it. We were twenty floors up on top of an Indian casino filled with zombies. And best of all, we were catch in an anti-gravity field and cartwheeling through the air with only a cool breeze between us and a UFO the size of Los Angeles hovering high overhead in the night sky. All this was the backdrop to the fact we were about to sail over a pergola, the one place on the roof that would have provided refuge for us had we been beneath it. So there’s your recap. Onward.

I had one shot at halting our ascent, grab hold of the pergola as we flew over, and it was all up to me. I was the one who’d be in position as we flew past the edge of the pergola’s roof. I stretched out my free hand–and missed by mere inches. As my feet came around I kicked out and wedged the toe of my boot between a couple of crossbeams. I was certain our momentum would rip us free. Which is exactly what happened. But not before our path arced downward enough for Shelly to reach one of the crossbeams and anchor us to safety. From there it was only a matter of climbing under the pergola.

We rested on the ceiling for while to gather our nerve which gave me enough time to think of a plan. If you’re wondering, I swear, it was me and not Shelly who came up with the plan for our escape. We worked our way down(up?) the columns to the floor where, using our belts and strips of cloth torn from our cloths, we tied workout weights to our feet. With our feet weighted to the floor, the world righted itself. We then walked to the roof door and reentered the casino.

Français : Vichy La Pergola

Let me tell you it was one of the strangest things I’ve ever experienced. The blood rushed to my head and each step felt like I was walking through thick mud. But that was nothing compared to walking under a ceiling squirming with zombies. Progress was excruciatingly slow, and Shelly didn’t help matters with her constant blather.

“I wish I had a camera. That’s the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen. Hope the gravity doesn’t come back on before we get out of here. Guess we’d go quick, though. They’d probably land on us and break our necks. If we added my weights to your boots, you could carry me along like a balloon. Let’s try it. Help me make a tether.”

I threw in an occasional “No” and “Please shut up” but for the most part I was too scared to speak. We almost made it to the exit without my fears taking form. Luckily, our necks remained in tact when the gravity returned and zombies rained down. Zombies of course are subject to physics the same as anything else, and I doubt any of them escaped the fall without breaking a shitload of bones. We removed the weights from our feet and simply skirted around the crippled piles of flesh sprawled between us and the exit. Shelly stopped to stuff her pockets with some of her winnings from the slot machine before saying adios to the fly infested hall. Fresh air never smelled better.

Needless to say, I stored the weights in the bike’s saddlebags and plan on fitting them with some sort of harness system. In an upside down world, it’s important to keep your feet planted firmly on the ground.

Netherlandish Proverbs "The World Turned ...

Netherlandish Proverbs “The World Turned Upside Down” by Pieter Brueghel the younger after his father (Photo credit: Martin Beek)

There and Hacknslash Again

English: A M1914 Colt

The good thing about motorcycles is you don’t pedal them. The bad thing about motorcycles is you don’t pedal them. The latter, of course, only applies to pedestrians like me who are forced to learn the bare essentials of motorcycle riding while attempting to keep up with a biker who’s hell-bent on testing her limits. To my credit, I almost made it to the freeway before my bike coughed its last breath. Seems I burned up the transmission. How was I supposed to know I had to shift gears? To Shelly’s credit, she didn’t abandon me and stuck me on the back of her Harley. I’m not certain which is worse, being snacked on by zombies or the humiliation of riding on the back of a chick’s bike.

Don’t laugh. It’s not funny.

In case you didn’t read my last post, Shelly and I have set off for greener pastures, or at least pastures where the laws of nature aren’t being screwed with by discourteous ETs. We decided to travel light and forage for supplies along the way, choosing to carry weapons and ammo in lieu of food. This, as you might expect, was Shelly’s idea. I would have preferred to bring food instead of weapons and thus avoid the messy scavenging bits altogether. Strange how she always seems to get her way. Then again, maybe it’s not. Better to die for someone worth dying for than to live on for no reason at all.

Who am I kidding? It’s the sex, plain and simple.

Abandoned casino at Asbury Park, NJ

Speaking of the devil, Shelly, true to her nature, led me on another of her suicide adventures not fifteen miles from home. Besides Walmart or Disneyland, what’s the last place in Southern California you’d wish to visit during a zombie apocalypse? An Indian casino, right? Do you know how many people swarmed to the casinos with their life savings when they realized the world was coming to an end? From what I’ve seen, the answer is a lot. And what does Shelly decide she just has to do? Play the slots, that’s what. God help me, my girlfriend’s got the survival instincts of a Lemming, and I keep swimming after her.

Needless to say, our gambling spree was short lived. We stormed into the casino with shotguns pumped and ready. We ventilated the skulls of those who greeted us inside and Shelly blew open the giant slot machine that welcomed gamblers to the casino. Tokens spilled out onto the floor, and Shelly jumped around like a shameless game show contestant, screaming. “I won! I won! I won!”

I won’t bore you with the details of our escape—if you want to call it that. Just take my word that we found ourselves surrounded by a gazillion zombies and fought our way to the casino roof where we managed to barricade the door.

Anyway, I hate long posts so I’ll end this one here. Stay tuned to see if Shelly and I die a horrible death.

Jackpot #neon #neonmuesum #sign #vintage

I really expected a bigger bang from the end of the world

Strange how I used to obsess about things like the Mayan calendar prediction–things like that were the focus of this website back then as you might recall– Now I just mock things like that. Funny how the world turning upsidedown and outsidein changes your perspective on things. Four months ago, I would have been devoting most of my posts to the Mayans predicting the end of an age on this date. Truth is I was really hoping it was true. The world seemed to be on the edge of a precipice. War, mass murder, and discourteous drivers were bad enough without all the world’s governments’ insistence on dragging everyone with them as they sank into the mire of their own obscene weight. A peaceful collision with a planet killer asteroid seemed like a nice alternative. Quick, to the point, and with no lingering pain. Oh well, I’m sure God has a plan. All this misery can’t be for nothing…can it?

Sorry. I’m being morbid. Life is dandy. Keep your chin up. Things will be better in the morning. Tomorrow’s a new day. Just look into the eyes of the living dead, and you’ll see there’s a future for you at the end of the tunnel. Merry Christmas and a happy new year to all. I can hardly wait to look in my stocking.

If I’m lucky, maybe the lights will go out again tonight, and I’ll get to see what an extraterrestrial really looks like. They’ll probably give Spielberg the finger and present themselves as something from a John Carpenter movie.

Anyone ever think of the amazing state of mind Slim Pickin’s character would have had to be in to yippeekayay his way to oblivion while riding a nuclear bomb? Freaking Buddha on steroids, if you ask me. Talk about embracing the inevitable. Yes, Shelly’s still watching that movie. I for one have refused to watch it more than twice a day. Worlds in Collision. I can walk. It’s a miracle. Yippeekayay!

Christ, I gotta stop drinking so much. Just one more shot and I’m calling it a night.

How-de-ho! Christmas 2012

How-de-ho! Christmas 2012 (Photo credit: SkyFireXII)

Happy Thought of the Day :)

Earth vs. the Flying Saucers

Earth vs. the Flying Saucers (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Here’s something new to chew on. Seems there’s still a strain of the original plague going around. Rod was kind enough to contract it and bring it into my home.

His behavior became erratic, tilting toward insane. At first we attributed his mood swings to the meth.

As I’d locked myself inside my home alone when the plague first began, I’d never actually witnessed the disease’s process before. Shelly, on the other hand, had been in the thick of it from the start. Hell, she’d been in Moulder, Arizona on Z-Day—that’s ground zero in my book. Anyhow, it was she who recognized what was happening to Rod. If not for her, I’d probably be a walking piece of mindless flesh by now.

Once we realized what was happening to Rod (I feel bad about calling him Rodney. He was adamant about being called Rod), we had to decide what to do with him. Basically it came down to casting him outside to join the rest of the ravenous dead, or simply kill him. Usually we’d opt for a shot to the head, but Shelly felt a debt of gratitude for all the cleaning he’d done. Rod, himself, in a moment of lucidity, requested exile.

Before the end came, we tried to gather from Rod what had happened. It’s the world consensus that the initial phase of the disease transformed everyone without natural immunity within three days of contact. Rod told us of something strange that happened to him when he went foraging in town. He’d cleared out a number of living dead inside a supermarket, but due to the automatic doors, he expected more dead to at any time. He was hurrying to fill his shopping cart when all the lights went out, and the entire store began to tremble and then shake. Believing it was an earthquake, he ran for the exit and stopped. Outside, something unprecedented was taking place.  Zombie was attacking zombie.

Rod was too mesmerized to move and watched as they tore each other to shreds. This is weird enough for me, and I’m someone who thrives on weird, but what else he saw goes beyond weird.  Rippling invisible humanoid figures flitted among the ravaging dead, pausing beside them momentarily before moving on to the next. He likened them to the shimmering air of thermal mirage.

The shaking stopped and the lights came back on. The shimmering figures were gone and the living dead lay on the ground, still as death. I guess that would make them the unliving dead. In any caser, I have to hand it to Rod, he finished his shopping and then head back. Even remembered my booze.

Who or what were these shimmering creatures? Had Rod made the whole thing up? I don’t believe so. They bring to mind the question I keep asking: who’s keeping the power on? I can think of no Earthly reason why we still have internet, cellphone, or any other electrical service after this much time.

So I’ve a new question. Are these shimmer beings friend or foe?

Are they here to help us, or are they the ones responsible for the plague?  Somehow, I don’t feel all that optimistic. Not when Rod somehow contracted a phase of the plague he should have been immune to.

Happy thought of the day: Maybe we simply haven’t yet seen the last stage of the plague.

As for Rod, I find it hard to believe, but I think I’m going miss him. It would have been nice having someone around willing to go on a liquor run when asked.

Oh well, water under the bridge. Friend or not, if he doesn’t find another house to hang around in the next couple days, I’m going outside and putting a bullet in his rotting skull.

Along came Rod-ney

Just when things couldn’t get any worse, Rod shows up. He doesn’t just show up, he appears like some asshole out of a harlequin novel. Lock of hair falling over an eye that makes my eyes look like they belong to a jellyfish. Blood splattered wife beater T barely covering his Hollywood physique. You know the type.

I hate guys like that. They’re so full of themselves. On his own, Rod couldn’t level past ten in WOW without forking out cash for Asian gold.

And no, I’m not afraid he’ll read my blog and know what I’m thinking. If my blog isn’t about him, I doubt he’ll pay it any interest.

Ludovico technique apparatus.

Ludovico technique apparatus. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

All right, maybe I am insecure. Sue me.

Play nice, that’s my motto. This post isn’t to rail on Rod. Allow me to move on.

How’d Rod chance upon our humble abode you ask? Goes back to this morning when I went to check on Shelly and asked her to turn off Dr. Strangelove on the TV so we could talk. She about took my head off at the suggestion and it was then I noticed her not-quite-right look, sort of what I imagine Gollum would look like on LSD. Interesting but not pretty.

What did she do? Nothing all that strange by today’s standards, I suppose. She vacated the den–where she could have easily locked me out–and set up the TV and DVD player in the living room and declared it her personal space. Death to all trespassers, i.e. me. End of story.

Or it would have been, had there not been a fireplace. Shelly decided that the furniture in the living room—which I must mention, was willed to me by my beloved, deceased mother—was more suitable for burning than for sitting on or setting things on as was my bent.

Seriously, I don’t know what the weather’s like where you are, but this is California. I sleep with only a sheet over me 364 days out of the year. The 365th night, the sheet is in the wash.

So long story short–fire, smoke, signal, hello, somebody lives here, hi my name is Rod and I just happened to be in the neighborhood and saw your smoke, I hope you don’t mind.

Asshole. At least he cleaned up the zombie mess he made around the house before he came to steal my woman.

I wish he were a rapist. I find rapists are so much easier to deal with.

I need to stop being like this. Put on a happy face.

I wonder if Rod likes Beethoven?

Save a bullet. Feed a zombie.

Things came to a head shortly after my last post. Seems Derik let me live because he found me amusing. I suppose you could say he was saving me for a rainy day, for when he was bored and needed some entertainment. I might have complied had he not trod on my tail and made the worm turn.

I passed out before midnight on the 5th and woke with Felicia poking my temple with the barrel of a revolver. When she saw I was awake, she cocked the gun to make sure I knew she meant business. It worked. I nearly pissed myself.

“Get up,” she said. “They want you to watch.”

“Watch what?” I could hear what sounded like scuffling coming from another room.

“Your slutty girlfriend getting what she deserves.”

“She’s done nothing,” I said as she prodded me toward the kitchen. “Give me the gun. Please. You can’t let them hurt her.”

“Shut up. It’s the @^%#’s own fault.” Felicia had all the class and reasoning faculties of a Jerry Springer guest.

I will not go into the details of Shelly’s rape by Derik and Carl. Only that they waited for me arrive so I could watch it in its entirety. I will say this, however. It took both of them to manage. I don’t believe either one could have had his way with her had he been alone, unless Shelly had been bound or unconscious. Her struggles were relentless and not once did she look my way. She clenched her jaw throughout and never cried out.

When it was over, they showed their disdain for us by merely dismissing us. I took Shelly to my study while the others loudly celebrated their superiority.

If this were a story, I’d say things got worse over the days that followed and that things looked truly hopeless. But this is not fiction, and Derik and the others were not the caliber of fictional villains. The simple truth is we waited until they all passed out. Then we cut their throats. It was much easier than I’d thought possible. I took out Carl; Shelly, Derik. Felicia was supposed to be my responsibility, but I couldn’t bring myself to kill a sleeping woman. Shelly had no such compunction. We dumped their bodies out a second story window, and that was that.

It’s a pity the living dead only eat viable flesh. Seems like such a waste, now that I’ve have time to think about it. I regret not having gone along with Shelly’s desire to spare Derik’s and the others’ lives. She wished to hamstring the lot of them and then toss them outdoors. I feel bad thinking about how many hungry zombies we could have fed had I not squeamishly insisted on the slit throat course. I’m such a wuss.

Oh well. I am what I am. No sense crying over spilt blood, I suppose.

Mother Nature’s a Mother

Tropical Cyclone Bingiza

Tropical Cyclone Bingiza (Photo credit: NASA Goddard Photo and Video)

I’ve been so preoccupied with the living dead prowling outside my doors that I’d completely forgotten about good ol’ Mother Nature. She came back into focus yesterday with the storm news from the upper east coast. The internet is on overload. The pictures I’m seeing are mind boggling. It looks to me like a hurricane. Do they have hurricanes in New England?

Reports are coming in about power outages in several storm states. I fear that once power is lost, it will be lost for good. After all, who’s going to bring it back on line? For those without power, I pray it’s a mild winter.

This brings me to my own regional vulnerability. It’s been five years to the month since wildfires ravaged southern California. If not for the firefighters, I’d have lost my home. What will be the result with no one to fight the fires? You’ve certainly heard the reports that Fresno, Bakersfield, and Oxnard are burning.  I feel like I’m sitting on a time bomb. How long do I have before my home goes up in flames?

Of course, fire is also a fool proof means of purging the living dead. May this eastern storm have a similar effect.

Wildfires

Wildfires (Photo credit: agrilifetoday)