Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27012445-20151026183659

“This is some ol’bullshit!”

I tell ya what, the zombie apocalypse ain’t living up to what it was supposed to be. To top it all off, it had to happen at the worst possible time! 1.	It had to happen when I was back in Texas. 2.	It had to be the middle of summer. 3.	They had to be runners, not shamblers, but runners; and them sonovabitches are fast too!

I was like everybody else, I played the games, watched the movies and TV shows. I fantasized about the day the zombies would come and bite the shit out of everyone, especially those sum’umu’bitches at the credit card companies. I was so sick of them bill collectors calling me all the time. I don’t recall the last time I didn’t answer my house phone without a fake foreign accent.

 “Duhh harro.” “Hello, may I speak with Mr. Swanson?” “Duh, he no here!” “When do you expect…” “Duh, he no live here no more! He moves to ‘udder’ place! You call here no more!”

The last time they tried to call me, they caught onto my game and I had to speak with the actual bill collector. He’s all condescending and says, “Mr. Swanson, when can we expect payment on the balance due on your account?”

I was like, “You can expect payment anytime you want! How about this, why don’t you pick a date and we’ll both be surprised on that day when you still don’t get your money!”

Nope, this zombie apocalypse ain’t nothing like it should be. There were no grocery stores, fully stocked and waiting to be plundered. There was no running water, no lights. There were no fortified mansions sitting empty, just waiting to be occupied. There were no pockets of civilization, waiting with open arms to take in the remaining prodigal sons who wandered in from the wilderness. None of that was true.

I always imaged that I would be the badass loner who wandered place to place, getting into adventures. My pistols and my shotgun would be my only companions. Oh, and a sword! I’d want a sword too! I’d carry it on my back like He-Man done did in them cartoons when I was a youngster. Mama hated them cartoons. One time she caught me watching a show after school and she cried, “Sweet Jesus! Why does that man got no clothes on and why do all them girls look like whores of Babylon?”

I count my blessing she never caught me watching The Thunder Cats.

Poor Mama, bless her heart. I had to put her down myself. I was doing my annual obligatory visit when the shit hit the fan. I didn’t know what I was gonna do, Mama was really in no shape to be evading hordes of ravenous zombies. She definitely let herself go in the past few years. She says Dr. Harris told her the weight gain was from a glandular problem. Hmph, a glandular problem? I said, “Mama, the only gland you have problems with is your saliva gland. Heh, heh, heh. But honestly, she did have a weight problem. She could not “weight” to eat. Hahaha! I should’ve been a professional joke teller.

We wuz making our plans to leave the farm when that girl from down the road showed up on our front porch. What was her name again? Jenny? Yeah, Jenny, the one with the fucked up eyes. It was damn near impossible to have a serious conversation with that girl. She would strike up a conversation with one eye looking at you and the other would be looking at your shoes. That is mighty distracting when a fella’s trying to speak his mind.

We came out of the house and there she was, all dirty and tore up like she had a run-in with a pack of coyotes. We froze as we locked eyes. It felt like we stared at each other for hours. One bloodshot eye stared at Mama and the other one fixated on me. Well, more like it fixated on my left elbow, but I understood her intent. Whatever goes on in their heads, I could tell it was working overtime trying to decide which one of us would be a more tasty meal. It wasn’t a hard decision and a low growl began to emerge, getting louder and louder, then she leapt at Mama.

Hand to the Bible, what happened next is the absolute truth! I swear on my Mama’s grave! Lil Jenny jumped on top of Mama and they crashed to the ground. She then bit down on Mama’s throat and then out of the blue, she stopped! She looked up from her catch, smacked her lips a couple of time and made a face like she had bit down on the sourest lemon ever grown. The look of revulsion was almost funny to watch. That gave me the opportunity to gather my wits about myself and I pulled out my handgun and aimed it at the face that was now sticking its tongue out and gagging. Before I pulled the trigger, I thought to myself, “I knew it! I knew it! That woman was so mean, that if anything ever tried to eat her, it would either spit her up or crawl up and die.”

Mama was pretty much done in. I made sure it was permanent. She was a proud woman and I knew she would want to keep her dignity. Because ya’ll know it's true: there ain’t nothing more pathetic than a fat zombie trying to run you down. 