I woke up this morning with the realization that I was woefully unprepared in the case of a zombie attack. What follows is the 3 step program that I prepared in the event you are attack by the undead horde.

Decapitation-

As we all know the only way to kill a zombie is to sever said zombie’s head. With that in mind I have lowered all of my ceiling fans to neck height.

Misdirection-

I have placed “Free Brains” sighs on all of my neighbors doors. I am not sure if zombies can read but if they can my hope is they will pass me by.

Appeasement-

I have posted a sign on my front door that lists directions to my local Walmart. I say that it is a store full of brains and is called Brainmart. This might seem cruel but lets face facts. Those people are already dead inside.

Feel free to implement this plan if you don’t already have one, unless you are my neighbor.

As you may know, I have many odd medical conditions as I have spoken of here, here and here. This is a good one as well. Nothing has freaked me out as much as my latest oddity.

I was sitting in my favorite chair, legs crossed as I penned my latest missive to Ron Paul to tell him how he has affected my life and that he is nuttier than a chipmunk turd( I write him once a week lest he forget). I got up to get a soda and felt an odd tingle in my crotch (not like that you perverts). I knew this feeling, my crotch had fallen asleep!

I didn’t know this was possible and was scared. Legs or feet that fall asleep are in fact you just feeling in the loss of blood flow to that part of the body but this was localized. Nothing below or above my crotch had this same feeling. I was in full freak-out! I stood up, no good. I tried to “walk it off”, that helps with legs but not here. I paced back and forth thinking if I should call 911.

“Yes hello, I have severe tingling in my groin……. Yes I know this line is for emergencies and I’m not joking”. Thats how the call would go, or so I imagined. I thought it best not to call.

I stopped, thought about it rationally and sat back down in the chair. Just as I thought! The seams of my cargo pants run across my femoral arteries and when I cross my legs the cut blood flow to the arteries. Not much but enough to freak my freak.

Problem solved! Blood flow normalized. I sat back in my chair and crossed my legs.

20 minutes later, you guessed it.It happens again.

I hate ADD.

Gotta go, I see something shiny.

Walmart at its best is a nightmare, the shallow end of the gene pool laid bare for all to see. At it’s worst its akin to a Fellini movie starring the cast of Deliverance. As I walked in I was accosted by some twenty-something stoners driving the Walmart scooters in circles. The scooters are for the elderly and disabled. Cheech and Chong over here seemed to think that the carts were meant for them and not the elderly lady walking in the door. After a few moments of this lady waiting for the stoners to get up and offer her a cart she started to hobble into the store. I saw this and as I had already reached my limit of rudeness and bullshit for the day took action.

I walked over and yelled “Hey, jackball. Get of the cart”. His reply was that there were other carts available and then he questioned my parentage. I tend to act rashly at times and my tolerance for jackassery is very low, so I leaned back a bit, raised my knee to waist height and loosed a vicious snap kick to the scooter seat. The desired effect was realized as the hippie went flying. His buddy got of his scooter and I walked the scooter over to lady. She said she was fine and I insisted that she use the scooter that she obviously needed. She thanked me and I wished a good day.

The moral of my story should be obvious by now, I am a complete tool with poor impulse control. That and I think I’m a superhero. A Walmart Superhero!

Thats what I heard for five minutes while we were in the Quicky Mart. Your 3 year old was running all over and knocking stuff down while you and your Whiskey Tango (white trash) wife were getting your post methadone clinic Big Gulps. You would just just yell every 30 seconds “Brandon come here” like an hillbilly fog horn. I wanted to yell “turn your fat jowls and watch your crotch fruit, yelling Brandon every thirty seconds does not make up for your lack of parenting “. I chose not to as I just wanted out of there.

I paid and left and I guess you paid as well as you came out of the store as I was unlocking my car. Brandon came running out of the door and straight towards the open traffic. At 2 foot he would run right by me and not be seen by the car that was coming. I glanced at you hoping to see a look of horror as you realized the impending impact but not you were busy playing with a coupon for Skoal Bandits. I grabbed the kid with my free hand and jerked him back from running in front of that car and then walked him over to you for what I thought would be a hero’s welcome.

Not so much. You just squared off and said that I should get my hands off of your son. I asked you if you were sure he was your son because your wife looks like a real goer, know what I mean? Say no more. Nudge nudge, wink wink.

I have since found out that Monty Python references seem to make white trash confused and upset and want to fight.

You raised your fists, started to say something and kicked you square in the nuts. I’m not a fighter, I’m not a lover either but what I am is a cheap bastard and I didn’t want to spill the soda in my right hand. So in retrospect I am sorry I kicked you in the balls but I felt threatened and reacted.

I hope Brandon is ok and you are feeling better. The soda was delicious.