I realize you are probably totally all disappointed in me because I haven’t been discussing the end of the world and you have come to count on me for your apocalypse updates. Sometimes I have personal shit occurring that prevents me from discussing the apocalypse in a timely fashion. Listen, you need to be a little proactive. It’s not like I’m going to be there to protect you when the zombies come. Well, not all of you. Dumbcat and I do plan on hiking our asses on over to wherever The Nephew is. The zombies won’t be getting The Nephew, nosiree Bob.
The zombie apocalypse is nigh and don’t even think I didn’t warn you like eleventy-billion times this was coming. It’s your own damn fault you decided to be all blithe and ignore me and go trip the light fandango or whatever it is you do in your personal life and not prepare for this shit appropriately.
In Miami, some guy ate another guy’s FACE. He ATE HIS FACE RIGHT OFF.
How often do I mention eating your face on here? I’m going to do a search. Because I’m pretty sure it means I’m psychic. Oh, the answer is 15. Fifteen times in a year I have mentioned either eating your face off, biting your face off, or chewing your face off. I AM A PSYCHIC WONDER. I knew this was going down. I just wasn’t sure WHEN. You can’t put a timeline on face-eating. Don’t try to puzzle out my powers. They’re inscrutable.
So, in Miami on Sunday, the cops found a naked man (zombies don’t need clothes, why would they need clothes? They have no shame. That part of their brain is dead as disco. DID YOU HEAR THAT JIM? DEAD AS *DISCO*) chewing on a homeless man’s face on an off-ramp. They were all, “Sir? Sir, could you please stop the face-chewery? That’s totally the grossest, no joke. Back away from the man-buffet, Naked McGee.” The naked man IGNORED THEM. Also? CNN says that “When the officer approached him, told him to stop, pointed a gun at him, he turned around and growled like a wild animal and kept eating at the man’s face.” The cop was all, “AW HELL NO” and then shot him. Well, the cop obviously didn’t watch (or read, the comics are better) a lot of Walking Dead, because the bullet didn’t stop him. He just kept on a’nommin’. Nom nom nom. Well! You KNOW that cop shot him somewhere non-lethal, right? Like, in the leg or something. Like cops are trained to do. Guess how many more times the cop shot him? Five. FIVE MORE TIMES. It took SIX SHOTS for that man to stop eating the homeless man’s face. SIX. (One good head shot and that homeless man wouldn’t need to wear a Phantom of the Opera mask, copper-copper-crime-stopper. Just letting you know. Do your research. It’s your civic duty to know these things. We COUNT on you. Sheesh. Rick Grimes is a cop, he knows these things.)
The naked man (let’s just start calling him the zombie, ok?) was killed. Or he was already dead and he was put down, I suppose. The victim, Ronald Poppo, was transported to the hospital with critical injuries. According to this article, “most of his face, save for his goatee, is missing.” Well, this is a new one. Zombies don’t eat beards! Good to know. You should all grow beards. This is good news for those of us who find bearded men attractive. (Now, listen, I’m not saying the victim is going to die and then rise again with a hunger for human flesh and brain matter, but I sure as hell wouldn’t be his nurse. Or at least wouldn’t be his nurse without a fireaxe strapped to my hip or something.)
The zombie, before he was a zombie, was a man named Rudy Eugene. (TWO FIRST NAMES! That’s already suspicious. I mean, look at James Earl Ray! He had THREE first names, and NOTHING good came of that. NOTHING.) People say that “Eugene could often be seen wandering the area looking confused.” That is because HE WAS ADJUSTING TO BEING A VERY DEAD ZOMBIE.
Now, the cops, in a massive coverup attempt, are all, “NO NO NO, it’s not ZOMBIEISM, it’s a new drug, it’s so new…um…you’ve never heard of it…we call it…um…bath salts.” They SAY “bath salts” are like meth and also amphetamine and maybe also bear testosterone. I made up part of that. NO I’m not telling you which part. This “drug” that I am not sure exists causes you to “use your jaws as a weapons.” So does zombieism, you cover-uppers. I don’t buy this for a minute.
The man being depicted by the media as a “face eater” or a “monster” is not the man she knew, she said. He smoked marijuana often, though had recently said he wanted to quit, but he didn’t use stronger recreational drugs and even refused to take over-the-counter medication for simple ailments like headaches, she said. He was sweet and well-mannered, she said.
Eugene’s girlfriend has her own theory on what happened that day. She believes Eugene was drugged unknowingly. The only other explanation, she said, was supernatural — that someone put a Vodou curse on him. The girlfriend, who unlike Eugene is not Haitian, said she has never believed in Vodou, until now.
You do realize that voodoo creates ZOMBIES, right? Right.
So, there’s that. There’s a zombie in Miami, who, before he died, made WHO KNOWS how many more zombies. Likely amongst the homeless community, which is, if you think about it, a very good place to start, because they already sometimes have dead eyes and shamble about, so they could fly under the radar until they’ve got their numbers up, and then kill us, kill us all. Now, if that was it, I’d be all, ok, maybe we can contain this. MAYBE. But I’d still stock up on canned goods and shelf-stable milk.
(Side note: I shared this story with K. that I work with. K.’s response: “That’s not true. That’s disgusting. That’s not zombies. Why do you think everything’s zombies? You always think things are zombies. It’s not zombies. Probably he was just a cuckoo. It was in Miami? He probably had sunstroke. Was he wearing sunscreen? Did the article say he was sufficiently hydrated, and wearing sunscreen?” IF YOU PEOPLE KEEP BURYING YOUR HEADS IN THE SAND THE ZOMBIES ARE JUST GOING TO BITE YOU IN THE ASSES. Also? You can still be infected by an ass-bite. I CAN’T TELL YOU EVERYTHING, PEOPLE. You need to do some RESEARCH.)
NO, I’m not kidding. How could I make something like that up? Come on, even I’m not that twisted. Heh. Intestines. Twisted. Nice one, Amy. Thanks, Amy.
When the cops showed up at this shouty dude’s house, he started stabbing himself. They noticed his intestines were hanging out of him. He continued to stab himself, then PULLED HIS INTESTINES OUT and WIELDED THEM AT THE COPS. I like that he furnished his own disgusting weapons. You have to admire that kind of MacGuyverism.
The cops sprayed two cans of pepper spray at him. It did nothing. Well, why would it? Zombies can’t feel pain. THEY ARE ALREADY DEAD.
(Although, listen, I’m not sure this one’s a zombie. I think this one might just be a demon or a revenant or something. This one seems to think and use crude tools too well to be a zombie.)
This article doesn’t even tell us why this guy was using his own intestines as sticky weaponry. Just that he’s been treated in the past for mental problems. Huh. This is a worry.
You think we’re done, don’t you? WE ARE NOT DONE. Listen, you’ve been relaxing for FAR TOO LONG. The apocalypse is HERE, people. This week it HAILED on my HEAD in MAY. That’s total apocalypse behavior.
On Memorial Day, this tweet was sent out from the University of Illinois:
Hazardous materials released at Institute for Genomic Biology. Escape area if safe to do so. Otherwise seek shelter.
— Illini-Alert(@IlliniAlert) May 29, 2012
Um. UM YOU GUYS. Um.
Now, the university is immediately all “ha ha! No, no. All is well! All has been contained. THERE IS TOTALLY NO DANGER AT ALL. But, if, you know, you see glow-in-the-dark monkeys with laser-beam eyes or maybe tentacle-beasts in the campus library bathroom, you might want to, oh, I don’t know, lock yourself in your dorm closet for the time being. With a sharpened dining-hall butter knife as a weapon. Just a thought.”
Genomic Biology? Andreas, we’re in deep shit right now, right? Well, you’re not, you’ve got an ocean separating you from the glowing monkeys and tentacle-beasts and I don’t know that they can swim. But we are, right? I mean, I’m totally prepared for zombies but I don’t know how prepared I am for monkeys. They’re cunning, monkeys are. I can only assume whatever got spilled would make them MORE cunning. Oh, this is bad. This is so, so bad. Zombies are slow. Monkeys are NOT AT ALL SLOW. When I went to the zoo last month, there was this one monkey that was SO FAST. It was zipping all around its cage. And Dad was like, “Isn’t that baby monkey cute?” and I apparently looked horrified and he said, “What?” and I said, “I’m just imagining how fast that would be if it got in your bedroom at night in the dark and ripped off your face.”
Dad just shook his head and worried about how my brain works but WHO’S LAUGHING NOW DAD. Not me, I’m too busy worrying about GLOW IN THE DARK GENETICALLY ALTERED MONKEY BEASTS.
Now, I know, you want to know what you can do to prepare. I’m really kind of mad at you all for not already BEING prepared, but fine. I’ll help. Because I don’t want you to all be dead. Then who would read my blog?
Stock up on non-perishable food items (and water, don’t be a dummy.) Also, if you can learn to hunt and can your own food, that’d be good. The non-perishables are only going to be good for a year or so, and then you’re going to get pretty hungry if you can’t fend for yourself.
Learn to use weapons. Also, if you can get good at weapons that are self-sustaining, like axes or swords or something, that’d be good. Once all the bullets and arrows are looted, you’re shit out of luck, Good-Time Charlie.
Find a place to hole up and be ready to defend that sucker. You might have to kill non-zombies to do it, because other people are going to try to steal your hidey-hole. If you’re squeamish, be ready to die. Nice knowing you.
Bone up. Zombie movies/shows/literature. I know, it’s like homework. Well, it’s homework that can save your life, Slappy Jones. So put down the Draw Something and read a damn comic.
Try not to get too attached. Your friends and family are going to get eaten. It’s just the way of the apocalypse. I mean, sure, you can mourn a little. But mourn too much, and your tear-soaked eyes are going to miss that zombie sneaking up on you to eat your face off.
Learn basic survival skills. You already know you need to know how to hunt and can your own food. You also will need to know how to build a fire. Swimming would be good. Driving a standard. Building a shelter. Growing your own food. Purifying your own water. It’s kind of like competing on Survivor, except Jeff Probst wants to eat you.
And, above all else, what did we learn from Zombieland? Which you watched as part of your homework, right? Right. The Double Tap, mofos. YOU NEED TO BE SURE THEY’RE DEAD.
Don’t come crawling to me when the zombies come. I’m looking out for myself, Dumbcat, and The Nephew. A girl’s gotta have priorities. You’re on your own, my little squash blossoms.
In the meantime, look out for the glow-in-the-dark monkeys. Speedy bastards.
(I know there’s no way to PROVE this, but I’m totally writing this WEDNESDAY, and then this came out today, so now I look like a thief. I promise I’m not. It’s very good and any similarities are due to perhaps some sort of mind-meld vortex because I finished this at 1pm and read the article at 3pm so I don’t know. I did mention I was psychic. So maybe it’s that. Or you could just call me a liar and say I stole it, either way. But if I stole it, would I put a link to this article in my post? Am I really that devious a mastermind? Am I really?)