So I got all this zombie gear in the mail. And what I'm thinking is that it's all fun and games right now, but in case of real Zombie Apocalypse, maybe the gear should stay in the closet. Sure, wearing a Grateful Undead shirt and letting my kid play with Night of the Living Dead action figures seems harmless enough now, but when the Zombie's rise, I'm pretty sure that flaunting this stuff will get me on their short list.
I don't care how Apocalypse-ready Mr. Poppins is, I do not want to be on the short list.
On the other hand, the Zombie Emergency Response Operations kit is going to keep me alive, I just know it. I mean it's got stickers and toe tags and that bright yellow warning tape. All that's missing is some twinkies and a machete. I'm not sure which I would find more important were the undead to actually rise, say, tomorrow. I guess it depends on whether or not I've eaten breakfast.
Missing from this photo is Mr. Poppins t-shirt. You know, the one I actually paid for and thought he'd look ridiculously hot in. I put that shirt in the wash immediately. To remove the sizing. Because, hey, it's not just zombies I worry about. I also worry about the chemicals used to size the shirts for display.
Now, my longtime schoolmate--and by longtime I mean we went to school together from kindergarten until graduation, not that we went to prostitution school together. We no love each other longtime. Nothing like that. Just learned to write our names together and achieved our full height in educational proximity. That kind of longtime.
Whatever.
My buddy, Scott, who I shall name because I don't think he's anonymous and I'm well past the point where I think any of you are interested enough to stalk me via my elementary-school mates. And also because I don't think he wants the moniker "Zombie Dude." I could be wrong. Anyway.
Scott.
Scott hooked me up with all kinds of freebies and fun stuff, which I totally appreciate. He wanted nothing but to encourage preparation for the aforementioned Zombie Apocalypse, as he would like, if not to actually win, to put up a good fight in the event of an, ahem, uprising. Also, let's face it, if the Zombies win, we all lose. Really. Because once our brains have been eaten, what will the Zombies do? They'll either turn on each other or languish once they finish off all of the dairy cows. Neither bodes well for their future.
Although either scenario is good for the planet.
Just sayin.
But Scott, who I might mention--at the risk of annoying him--spent a good deal of time in the principal's office throughout elementary school, grew up to work at a horror merchandising--what, firm? agency? corporation?--place called FearWerx. Horror merchandising wasn't exactly on the list for that jump rope chant, you know:
Gypsy, Gypsy, please tell me what it is I'm going to be.
And yet, Scott found his way to what appears to be the perfect career for him.
And now I'm going to spend the rest of my morning hunting up a machete to go with my new shirts.
Thanks, Scott!
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