Tuesday May ?? 2019
We've been trapped inside this derelict Taco Hell fast food joint in Shitsberg for ten days now, and I've begun wiping my ass with my left hand and eating with my right. That just came naturally, after we ran out of TP about a week ago. Luckily, we still have plenty of canned food, H20 and ammo for our Big Guns. But that's all beside the point. The problem we're having is not with braining the zombies that crash through the boarded-up windows, it's what to do with them once we brain them. We've stacked them 8-high in front of the glass doors, and piled them up on the roof, but now the ceiling is bowed. We tried to burn some in the dumpster, but without gasoline they wouldn't catch fire. In case you don't know it, dead zombies smell REALLY bad and their slippery red brains get everywhere. I think we can survive this EOTW scenario, if only we can figure out how to dispose of all these dead zombies, and all their soon-to-be-dead undead friends who will soon have their brains smashed in.
Later…
Me and Jezebeth have been putting hairnets on the dead zombies, to keep their brains from greasing up the floor. It works like a charm. And if they have smashed hands we put gloves on them, to keep their brains from leaking out of their fingertips.
One time I put a hairnet on a live zombie BEFORE I smashed his head in. It didn't make a mess.
Later still…
Did I mention that some of the dead zombies in our little Taco Hellhole are pooping out of their necks? I probably did already.
Much later…
The zombies outside never stop moaning. We put wet taco wrappers in our ears, but it’s slowly driving us all mad.
Wednesday May ?? 2019
We are just SO FULL OF DEAD ZOMBIES in here! There is a tire shop across the way...we may have to make a run for it and set up new digs. Luckily, these are slow zombies, so we stand a good chance of successfully kung fu-ing and hockey-sticking our way thru the mob. Maybe if we make it to the tire shop we can lay tomorrow's dead zombies on top of piles of tires and nuke ‘em like that.
Thursday May ?? 2019
Our attempt at relocation failed catastrophically. Jimmy jumped the fence in the middle of the night and ‘jacked an abandoned squad car over on Fifth Street, but on the way back he accidentally blew it up while chucking a torch at a Stinker. There went our bugout vehicle. Jimmy burned his shoes off but made it back alive. Thank Gosh!
Later…
The space situation has become dire. There are dead zombies literally piled up in every nook and cranny of this fortified hellhole. We put napkins in our noses but it doesn’t really stop the smell. Everyone else is sleeping in hammocks. Me, I don’t have a hammock, so I have to sleep on a dead zombie each night.
Way later…
Me and Squeaky were manning the Big Guns, and Squeaky had an epiphany. Maybe we can eat the dead Stinks? It’d get rid of them, and keep us in protein at the same time. We ARE getting low on canned meat. If we can eat these buggers (did I say buggers, or burgers?), we can outlive them! But, will we turn into zombies if we eat them? Or, will we turn into zombies if we eat NOT-FULLY-COOKED zombies? There are risks. It’s late. My trigger finger is sore. Tomorrow we test.
Friday May ?? 2019
Day 13 in Taco Hell, and what do we have to show for it except our gaunt, haggard faces and two dead zombies more than there need to be?
Jezebeth forced the Chihuahua to eat a torched Stink limb at dawn. It turned, and Persepolis brained the bitch with a frying pan. We debated whether the meat was fully cooked, and decided it was only medium-rare, not medium-well. Then, Johnny Raj had the bright idea of slow-cooking a Stink finger all day long in a hot curry sauce with chickpeas, so that there wouldn’t be the slightest chance of undercooking, which we did. Johnny willfully ate the meat in the late afternoon. By dusk, he was moaning the Bhagavad Gita backwards, and trying to bust out of his restraints. He turned at sunset, and we brained him with a hockey stick by the light of the full moon.
We lost two really good troopers today. Actually, the Chihuahua was a pain in the ass if you want to know the truth (all Chihuahuas are), but Johnny Raj was stand-up. Seven of us remain.
Later…
Persepolis just had an idea. There’s oil in the fryers and in a waste barrel in the janitor’s closet, why not use it as an accelerant to make the dead Stinks burn?
Saturday May ?? 2019
Empenada oil works wonders...we've been burning zombies all day and night in the dumpster to great effect. Smells like French fries cooking! Also, Boris devised a flaming oil-filled burrito bomb that lights the live Stinks up like Tiki torches. We tossed a bunch off the roof and Dorito played Hells Bells on the boom box while we watched the flaming Stinks dance and shake.
Sunday May ?? 2019
Did you know that in this EOTW scenario I am actually bald, and my long hair is in fact a Spec-Ops wig that has saved my ass several times now when zombies reached thru the drive-thru window and grabbed my pony tail and merely pulled my wig off rather than pulling ME out thru the order-hole into their stinking, ghastly outstretched arms of revolting, painful horror and undeath?
There’s a lot of elbowroom in this Taco Hell now that we cleared the place of dead Stinkers!
Later…
Crawlers are the worst. When zombies loose their legs they are WAY more dangerous than regular Stinks. Crawlers sneak up on you and usually sink their teeth into your ankle before you even know they are there. Then begins your slow journey into madness, death and zombiehood. I personally saw this happen to Jocko Croft on the day we arrived at this Taco Hell, and I had to brain him with a brick and throw his carcass to the zombies, even though he and I went to college together, and both dated Zilla Fritz, and knew each other for eleven years.
Tuesday May ?? 2019
We ran out of fryer grease today. The dead Stinks are piling up again. The Big Guns are running dangerously low on ammo. Also, Boris got bit on the nuts by a Stinker last night, and Dorito had to knock his block off with a rock-filled sock.
Later…
The Big Guns both ran out of ammo within minutes of each other, enabling the zombie horde to storm our Alamo en masse…thank Gosh we all made it onto the roof intact, along with several cases of food and our remaining weapons and ammo. No water, though.
Much later...
Want to know what sucks? Trying to sleep on a dirty, crowded, sagging Taco Hell rooftop while you’re sucking on a tar-covered roof pebble to keep your thirst at bay AND you’re listening to the wailing and scratching of 439 hunger-crazed zombies beneath you.
Wednesday May ?? 2019
Good news is, it rained. Bad news is, it rained.
Later…
What to do with dead zombies? There aren't any ocean cliffs around here, so I can't lead the Stinks off a cliff like lemmings, to slowly decompose in the salty brine. But, imaginationally speaking, if I were to mount a war stallion and lead a herd of zombies off, say, the top level of a parking garage, I could then pour soydiesel on their smooshed remains and set them alight, or, perhaps, throw dynamite on them and blow them to smithereens. At least, these are possibilities. It gives me hope, writing this. Thank Gosh this is an EOTW scenario with slow zombies!
Laterer…
Toying with the idea of a brain-on-a-stick, a Pied Piper-ish apparatus to lead zombies to their doom…
Much more later…
I did it. Tied a brain to a stick. We've been taunting the zombies all day by dangling the brain over the edge of the roof just out of reach of their rotting hands. It's sort of like a reverse piñata, works like a charm. Unfortunately, Jimmy lost his balance while playing, and fell onto the Stinkers, and they ate his heart and brains out, so now we have one less defender...BUT, Jezebeth managed to save the brain-on-a-stick :-).
Thursday May ?? 2019
Just when you think everything sucks so bad it can’t suck any worse, it gets suckier. Like, try maintaining your dignity while crapping off the side of a small rooftop, in the rain, with five other people watching you, and fifty disgusting zombie hands reaching for your butt the whole time. And then, having to wipe with your left hand – HAND – because there’s no TP. And then, washing your hand with your own pee-pee because there’s no water. At least the pee-pee was warm. I’m sorry I had to write this, but it’s the truth, and writing it helps keep me sane, SHMG.
?? ?? ?? 2019
No water for 2 days now. Dang, we’re thirsty.
?? ?? ?? 2019
We took back the Alamo. Dropped down thru the access hole into the kitchen with all our weapons, and spent 20 minutes frenetically blowing heads off and bashing brains in. We ran out of water days ago, so we had to. Now we’re out of ammo, down to hockey sticks and bricks. This place is flowing with blood and guts. We stacked the dead zombies two-thick and nine-high all along the windows and doors. Thank Gosh the faucets are still working – we were all badly dehydrated. But without any ammo, we can’t hold out long.
Later…
Lost track of what day it is.
?? ?? ?? 2019
The history of the Zombie Wars will be written in the very brain juice of the Stinks themselves, with mine own middle finger, which I shall use as a veritable "Fuck You" stylus, on the lead-painted and blood-splattered cinderblock walls of this Taco Hell Alamo where Humanity -- me, Persepolis, Squeaky, Jezebeth and Dorito -- makes its Final Stand (in this particular EOTW scenario).
?? ?? ?? 2019
No idea what day it is. We busted out of Taco Hell with our last cans of food, and brained our way across the street, into the tire shop. We’re barricaded in here now, with much more room than we had in the Hellhole. We all made it. Not much food, but the sink works, thank Gosh.
Later…
We lost the brain-on-a-stick in the fight to get here.
?? ?? ?? 2019
We’ve been resting for the past few days. This garage is so secure that the Stinks can’t break in. Last night Dorito and Squeaky stole across the rooftops to the market at the end of the block, and managed to bring back enough food for a meal, and TP. TP! We feasted on crackers and ham and Twinkies. It’s nice to eat with both hands again.
?? ?? ?? 2019
There isn’t any electricity in here, of course. It went out weeks ago. But there’s a big electric truck, one of these Fjord F350s with picket sides and a quad cab. Dorito says it would make an excellent fortified wagon, if only we had stallions to pull it with.
Later…
Persepolis had another bright idea. Squeaky and Dorito are lightening the truck up by removing its motor and batteries. We tied another brain to a stick.
?? ?? ?? 2019
Goodbye, Shitsberg! We did it. No time for all the details, but we hitched a 12-pack of zombies to the front of our truck, and hung the brain-on-a-stick in front of them, and they are hauling our tired asses into the stink and gloom right now, towards a far-off better place called San Diego, where we hope to commandeer a derelict yacht and float to some untainted tropical paradise island that still has hot, nude, bi sunbather chicks on it, so we can live out the rest of our days fishing and fucking on the sun-warmed beach.
Who needs dead zombies, anyway? Leave them undead and make them do the shit-work for you.
Later…
If you don’t hear from me again, it means I either got brained en route, or we made it†
We've been trapped inside this derelict Taco Hell fast food joint in Shitsberg for ten days now, and I've begun wiping my ass with my left hand and eating with my right. That just came naturally, after we ran out of TP about a week ago. Luckily, we still have plenty of canned food, H20 and ammo for our Big Guns. But that's all beside the point. The problem we're having is not with braining the zombies that crash through the boarded-up windows, it's what to do with them once we brain them. We've stacked them 8-high in front of the glass doors, and piled them up on the roof, but now the ceiling is bowed. We tried to burn some in the dumpster, but without gasoline they wouldn't catch fire. In case you don't know it, dead zombies smell REALLY bad and their slippery red brains get everywhere. I think we can survive this EOTW scenario, if only we can figure out how to dispose of all these dead zombies, and all their soon-to-be-dead undead friends who will soon have their brains smashed in.
Later…
Me and Jezebeth have been putting hairnets on the dead zombies, to keep their brains from greasing up the floor. It works like a charm. And if they have smashed hands we put gloves on them, to keep their brains from leaking out of their fingertips.
One time I put a hairnet on a live zombie BEFORE I smashed his head in. It didn't make a mess.
Later still…
Did I mention that some of the dead zombies in our little Taco Hellhole are pooping out of their necks? I probably did already.
Much later…
The zombies outside never stop moaning. We put wet taco wrappers in our ears, but it’s slowly driving us all mad.
Wednesday May ?? 2019
We are just SO FULL OF DEAD ZOMBIES in here! There is a tire shop across the way...we may have to make a run for it and set up new digs. Luckily, these are slow zombies, so we stand a good chance of successfully kung fu-ing and hockey-sticking our way thru the mob. Maybe if we make it to the tire shop we can lay tomorrow's dead zombies on top of piles of tires and nuke ‘em like that.
Thursday May ?? 2019
Our attempt at relocation failed catastrophically. Jimmy jumped the fence in the middle of the night and ‘jacked an abandoned squad car over on Fifth Street, but on the way back he accidentally blew it up while chucking a torch at a Stinker. There went our bugout vehicle. Jimmy burned his shoes off but made it back alive. Thank Gosh!
Later…
The space situation has become dire. There are dead zombies literally piled up in every nook and cranny of this fortified hellhole. We put napkins in our noses but it doesn’t really stop the smell. Everyone else is sleeping in hammocks. Me, I don’t have a hammock, so I have to sleep on a dead zombie each night.
Way later…
Me and Squeaky were manning the Big Guns, and Squeaky had an epiphany. Maybe we can eat the dead Stinks? It’d get rid of them, and keep us in protein at the same time. We ARE getting low on canned meat. If we can eat these buggers (did I say buggers, or burgers?), we can outlive them! But, will we turn into zombies if we eat them? Or, will we turn into zombies if we eat NOT-FULLY-COOKED zombies? There are risks. It’s late. My trigger finger is sore. Tomorrow we test.
Friday May ?? 2019
Day 13 in Taco Hell, and what do we have to show for it except our gaunt, haggard faces and two dead zombies more than there need to be?
Jezebeth forced the Chihuahua to eat a torched Stink limb at dawn. It turned, and Persepolis brained the bitch with a frying pan. We debated whether the meat was fully cooked, and decided it was only medium-rare, not medium-well. Then, Johnny Raj had the bright idea of slow-cooking a Stink finger all day long in a hot curry sauce with chickpeas, so that there wouldn’t be the slightest chance of undercooking, which we did. Johnny willfully ate the meat in the late afternoon. By dusk, he was moaning the Bhagavad Gita backwards, and trying to bust out of his restraints. He turned at sunset, and we brained him with a hockey stick by the light of the full moon.
We lost two really good troopers today. Actually, the Chihuahua was a pain in the ass if you want to know the truth (all Chihuahuas are), but Johnny Raj was stand-up. Seven of us remain.
Later…
Persepolis just had an idea. There’s oil in the fryers and in a waste barrel in the janitor’s closet, why not use it as an accelerant to make the dead Stinks burn?
Saturday May ?? 2019
Empenada oil works wonders...we've been burning zombies all day and night in the dumpster to great effect. Smells like French fries cooking! Also, Boris devised a flaming oil-filled burrito bomb that lights the live Stinks up like Tiki torches. We tossed a bunch off the roof and Dorito played Hells Bells on the boom box while we watched the flaming Stinks dance and shake.
Sunday May ?? 2019
Did you know that in this EOTW scenario I am actually bald, and my long hair is in fact a Spec-Ops wig that has saved my ass several times now when zombies reached thru the drive-thru window and grabbed my pony tail and merely pulled my wig off rather than pulling ME out thru the order-hole into their stinking, ghastly outstretched arms of revolting, painful horror and undeath?
There’s a lot of elbowroom in this Taco Hell now that we cleared the place of dead Stinkers!
Later…
Crawlers are the worst. When zombies loose their legs they are WAY more dangerous than regular Stinks. Crawlers sneak up on you and usually sink their teeth into your ankle before you even know they are there. Then begins your slow journey into madness, death and zombiehood. I personally saw this happen to Jocko Croft on the day we arrived at this Taco Hell, and I had to brain him with a brick and throw his carcass to the zombies, even though he and I went to college together, and both dated Zilla Fritz, and knew each other for eleven years.
Tuesday May ?? 2019
We ran out of fryer grease today. The dead Stinks are piling up again. The Big Guns are running dangerously low on ammo. Also, Boris got bit on the nuts by a Stinker last night, and Dorito had to knock his block off with a rock-filled sock.
Later…
The Big Guns both ran out of ammo within minutes of each other, enabling the zombie horde to storm our Alamo en masse…thank Gosh we all made it onto the roof intact, along with several cases of food and our remaining weapons and ammo. No water, though.
Much later...
Want to know what sucks? Trying to sleep on a dirty, crowded, sagging Taco Hell rooftop while you’re sucking on a tar-covered roof pebble to keep your thirst at bay AND you’re listening to the wailing and scratching of 439 hunger-crazed zombies beneath you.
Wednesday May ?? 2019
Good news is, it rained. Bad news is, it rained.
Later…
What to do with dead zombies? There aren't any ocean cliffs around here, so I can't lead the Stinks off a cliff like lemmings, to slowly decompose in the salty brine. But, imaginationally speaking, if I were to mount a war stallion and lead a herd of zombies off, say, the top level of a parking garage, I could then pour soydiesel on their smooshed remains and set them alight, or, perhaps, throw dynamite on them and blow them to smithereens. At least, these are possibilities. It gives me hope, writing this. Thank Gosh this is an EOTW scenario with slow zombies!
Laterer…
Toying with the idea of a brain-on-a-stick, a Pied Piper-ish apparatus to lead zombies to their doom…
Much more later…
I did it. Tied a brain to a stick. We've been taunting the zombies all day by dangling the brain over the edge of the roof just out of reach of their rotting hands. It's sort of like a reverse piñata, works like a charm. Unfortunately, Jimmy lost his balance while playing, and fell onto the Stinkers, and they ate his heart and brains out, so now we have one less defender...BUT, Jezebeth managed to save the brain-on-a-stick :-).
Thursday May ?? 2019
Just when you think everything sucks so bad it can’t suck any worse, it gets suckier. Like, try maintaining your dignity while crapping off the side of a small rooftop, in the rain, with five other people watching you, and fifty disgusting zombie hands reaching for your butt the whole time. And then, having to wipe with your left hand – HAND – because there’s no TP. And then, washing your hand with your own pee-pee because there’s no water. At least the pee-pee was warm. I’m sorry I had to write this, but it’s the truth, and writing it helps keep me sane, SHMG.
?? ?? ?? 2019
No water for 2 days now. Dang, we’re thirsty.
?? ?? ?? 2019
We took back the Alamo. Dropped down thru the access hole into the kitchen with all our weapons, and spent 20 minutes frenetically blowing heads off and bashing brains in. We ran out of water days ago, so we had to. Now we’re out of ammo, down to hockey sticks and bricks. This place is flowing with blood and guts. We stacked the dead zombies two-thick and nine-high all along the windows and doors. Thank Gosh the faucets are still working – we were all badly dehydrated. But without any ammo, we can’t hold out long.
Later…
Lost track of what day it is.
?? ?? ?? 2019
The history of the Zombie Wars will be written in the very brain juice of the Stinks themselves, with mine own middle finger, which I shall use as a veritable "Fuck You" stylus, on the lead-painted and blood-splattered cinderblock walls of this Taco Hell Alamo where Humanity -- me, Persepolis, Squeaky, Jezebeth and Dorito -- makes its Final Stand (in this particular EOTW scenario).
?? ?? ?? 2019
No idea what day it is. We busted out of Taco Hell with our last cans of food, and brained our way across the street, into the tire shop. We’re barricaded in here now, with much more room than we had in the Hellhole. We all made it. Not much food, but the sink works, thank Gosh.
Later…
We lost the brain-on-a-stick in the fight to get here.
?? ?? ?? 2019
We’ve been resting for the past few days. This garage is so secure that the Stinks can’t break in. Last night Dorito and Squeaky stole across the rooftops to the market at the end of the block, and managed to bring back enough food for a meal, and TP. TP! We feasted on crackers and ham and Twinkies. It’s nice to eat with both hands again.
?? ?? ?? 2019
There isn’t any electricity in here, of course. It went out weeks ago. But there’s a big electric truck, one of these Fjord F350s with picket sides and a quad cab. Dorito says it would make an excellent fortified wagon, if only we had stallions to pull it with.
Later…
Persepolis had another bright idea. Squeaky and Dorito are lightening the truck up by removing its motor and batteries. We tied another brain to a stick.
?? ?? ?? 2019
Goodbye, Shitsberg! We did it. No time for all the details, but we hitched a 12-pack of zombies to the front of our truck, and hung the brain-on-a-stick in front of them, and they are hauling our tired asses into the stink and gloom right now, towards a far-off better place called San Diego, where we hope to commandeer a derelict yacht and float to some untainted tropical paradise island that still has hot, nude, bi sunbather chicks on it, so we can live out the rest of our days fishing and fucking on the sun-warmed beach.
Who needs dead zombies, anyway? Leave them undead and make them do the shit-work for you.
Later…
If you don’t hear from me again, it means I either got brained en route, or we made it†
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