I’m Todd. Most people often ask me if I was a movie star before the world fell apart. I usually use a mixed Martial Arts combo to do a big-time take down before they can finish their sentence. My secrets are my secrets.
Oh by the way, Noah Webster, is a nincompoop. I know everyone thinks he’s totally smart because he wrote the human language or whatever, but I have news for you, HE ISN’T SMART. I’ve had toilet paper stuck to my shoe for an entire day that was smarter than him. Here’s how I figured out he’s so wrong.
My OCD forced me to go looking for a dictionary. Stupid, I know, since pretty much the entirety of the human population now uses monosyllabic moans. I risked my life on a number of occasions trying to locate that stupid dictionary. I came across a little city library earlier today, in this nowhere town I was passing through. The town is called Kilgore, what a dump. The library was swamped with like a billion biters. Looking through the windows, I could see that they had gnawed the covers off of most of the sci-fiction section, and were working their way through the romance novels. It was dangerous but I was like a freakin’ stealth ninja. I creeped through the biographies on hands and knees.
I’m super awesome in hand to hand combat, which is probably why I’ve lasted longer than all other other no-talent jerks in the world. I’ve got other skills too though. I could have taken the whole library of zombies out with a few moves for sure, but I didn’t really feel like it. So instead I decided to open up a can of Dewy-decible instead of the traditional kind. I’ve spent about as much time in libraries as I did in my karate dojo. I’ve been in Karate since I was six and had my yellow belt by the time I was 22. I also was growing whiskers by then too, so my mind stuff is pretty much equally matched to my mixed martial arts, take downs, grapple, choke holds, and whatever else is needed to get the job done.
After about ten minutes in cloaking mode, I found a Webster’s Dictionary in the reference section.
It was exactly like I thought, Mr. Webster, you venom tongued liar. You defined apocalypse as, “the complete final destruction of the world.” I wish! Wouldn’t that have been peaches and cream? Instead, the world continues in it’s utter state of awfulness. It’s as if the planet was totally unaware that it was supposed go down like a North Korean Airways Jet.
“I knew it!” I said out loud when I saw that stupid word printed on that stupid page of that stupid book. The groans of the reanimated monsters, let me know they had heard me from somewhere in the erotica section. I flipped the switch in my brain, turing ninja-stealth mode back on. I started making my way toward the exit. I thought it’d be nice to scoop up a magazine on the way out. As I snuck by I could see that the rack had been picked clean. “Freakin’ vultures,” I whispered this time.
The only thing that was still available for checkout, was a five year old issue of Women’s health, and a water damaged issue of Radio Controlled Car Magazine. Why couldn’t there ever be anything good? Just like everyone who survived, I believe in the power of prayer. So I whispered a quicky in the upward direction. “Dear Lord in Heaven, Just once I’d like to roll up on a fully loaded rack of comic books. I’ll do anything you ask if you’d give me an issue of Avengers. I’d even be happy with one of the mini-series like Terminatrix Objective. In fact, I’d settle for anything in the Marvel canon. But whatever you do Lord, please have the grace to allow all DC comics to burn in the fire of this apocolypse. Amen”
I would have basically considered anything but woman’s health to be gold. Notwithstanding my obsessive compulsive disorder, ordered me to risk my life and place both magazines in my backpack. Still ducking by the magazine rack, I slipped my jansport from my back and slowly worked the zipper. Once I’d added both useless magazines to my inventory, I was on my way.
I didn’t have my library card with me. I’d left all six of them back in my home town. Also, considering that every human in this pitiful little city had been turned to decaying, brain hungry, monsters I figured the local administration wouldn’t miss the two magazines I’d pocketed. I made it out of the front door without drawing any more attention to my self.
Once outside I pulled the hood of my fubu over my head. Don’t judge me. I never used to wear fubu when there were other people still alive to see me, but now that I am basically like the last person alive, there’s no reason I can’t look good, right? Anyway it makes me feel tough. When things get rough you have to have a method to deal with it. Sure I have my mixed martial arts training, but without the proper meditation it’s dangerous for my mind. Those of us who are trained know not to just flip the martial arts switch flippantly. It’s like firing a gun before you’ve looked down the barrel to see if theirs a bullet in it. I have to be in the right head space. You probably wouldn’t get it, it’s like some deep guru type stuff.
That’s why I usually use stealth mode. When that’s not enough my last resort is to ask myself, how would Snoop Dawg handle this situation. Wearing fubu helps me Channel Snoop’s no-nonsense attitude, while staying silky smooth. On top of that, the more clothes the better. When you’re surrounded by a hungry hoard of green-skins and your about to get gang-bit, believe me, you want to wear layers. The thing about baggy clothes is they’re always falling off. In civilized culture that’s bad. With a pack of hungry zombies grabbing for anything they can, it’s good. I’ve left loose jackets, hats, and pants in the hands of a confused green-skin more than once. Sure, I could do a round house kick and knock em’ to pieces, but as my Karate Sensei, Mrs. Susan Pendergast, once taught me: “You’ll get a time out for fighting.” She was also a part time fourth grade P.E. teacher so you know she had seen some crazy stuff. I take her words very seriously. So I’ve learned to cage the rage when at all possible.
I was free of the public Library. Even better, I gotten out without having to go super sayian. As I walked along I pulled out my new copy of Women’s Health and began to thumb through the pages as I walked the sidewalk. You know what guys say, “I read that magazine for the articles.” Yeah right! I’m just in it for the pictures, and I have to say, Women’s Health has a lot of really attractive old women. I might would have gotten a subscription in the old world had I known how good it was.
It wasn’t long before my mind began to wander. I was thinking about the catastrophe that the planet had endured in the last few years. Honestly, I came to the conclusion that Earth should be ashamed of herself. The planet has been trying to commit suicide for decades, but I’m really starting to wonder if it’s one of those suicide attempts that’s more about drawing attention to ones self. We’ve all done it right? I know I have. Despite all the mass destruction, the world just keeps on ticking, like that stupid pink bunny… Oh man, what I wouldn’t give to see a TV again. Even that dumb commercial with the battery powered, bass drum banging, furry rabbit would be totally divine.
The little town I was passing through was called Kilgore by the way, at least that was the name on the front of the public library. I was following what used to be the main road. Now the cracked asphalt would probably be undrivable, but it was growing a nice range of wild flowers between the cracks. So unfortunately this town smelled awful just like everywhere I had visited so far. I guess I’ll probably just keep on searching. As if the failed destruction of life as we know it isn’t bad enough, the planet has to reek as well. Most of my traveling has more to do with the smell than anything else. I just want to find a place to live that doesn’t smell like wet dumpster full of dead skunks.
I’m basically an expert in zombies books, movies, and comics. However, the smell is one thing the genre didn’t prepare me for. As I wandered past the burned out remains of an exxon gas station I took in another lung full of the moistly acrid airborne putrefaction. Its possible that someone will find this journal at a time when the world no longer lives in a perpetual state of smelliness. For the sake of perpetuity, here’s the recipe for recreating the smell that sits like a soiled blanket over every town I’ve visited so far. Take a large pot and place these items in it. A used diaper filled to maximum capacity, A quart of year-old curtailed milk, A pinch of road-kill, a pillowcase full of severed fish heads, and finally a giant ball of burnt hair. Get this recipe up to boiling and you’ll have some idea of the kind of abuse my olfactory senses have been enduing for the last year.
I keep hoping that my nose will get used to the offensive odor, but maybe that’s the wrong approach. That’s like the nerd saying, “If my nose could just get used to the bullies fist then everything would be great.”
Across the street from the charred exxon was a large building. It looked like one of those places that every small town has. You know the type, cheap real-estate that just about every business in town has occupied at one time or another. This one had probably started as a grocery store, converted to a bank of office spaces, and then converted to a church, oilfield warehouse, back to a grocery store. It was probably then bought by a local private school before going bankrupt, and then who knows what else. It had probably even done a short stint as a laser tag, or a roller cade. Now, mind you, I couldn’t tell this by the look of the place. It’s just that when you’re on the road as much as I am you get super good at picking out back stories. I’m pretty much a pro at it.
I decided to take a closer look at this multipurpose multiplex. Maybe there was nothing worth seeing, but you never know until you look.
By the way, I’ve coined a new phrase. I think it was highly inconsiderate of The Almighty to not let the world end abruptly with the zombie apocalypse, but instead allow this whole nightmare to continue. Therefore, I’m calling the whole thing The Zombie Apoco-lapse… See what I did there. Apoco-lapse… A lapse in judgment… Oh I’m sorry, am I insulting you by explaining the joke. Oh excuse me! It might just be that I had to eat a cat meat sandwich last night, and I’m still feeling weird about it, so you can just back off already…
Ok breath. See, I have a short fuse, and you don’t want to get me going or I might go off. Martial arts is a powerful thing.
“There you are?” A voice said, as I pressed my body through the half opened door. I reached for my pocket knife. Yeah that’s right, pocket knife. It’s not like in the movies, where you’re always jamming a blade into the skull of a dead walker. I treat them more like bees. If you leave them alone they most likely will leave you alone… unless they don’t. In which case, I usually have to totally destroy them with a kick combo.
“Who’s there?” I called back into the shadowed guts of the busted building. I brandished my swiss army high enough for the body attached to the voice to see. It was a girl by the sound of the words.
“I’ve been waiting for someone to come!” She said, stepping halfway into the light. I pressed backward agains the door, not cause I was scared, but because it’s dangerous to corner me. I might black out and wake up after hurting someone. I lunged my knife blade deftly into the open air to show off my ninja skills. I didn’t want her to get any ideas.
“You haven’t been waiting for me because I’m not from this stupid town. It’s my legal duty to warn you that I have been trained to kill. My hands are considered deadly weapons in a court of law. Don’t force me to use them.” I said sternly. I dusted my shoulder off with my free hand like I thought Snoop might do. My strong words must have confused her because she reacted as almost no other living human would.
“Thank you for finding me!” She shouted. Holy Crap if she wasn’t charging me all of the sudden. Now in the light I could see that she was unarmed, but she had her hands out like she was going to grab me, grapple, or worse, hug me. With my back against the door I had no choice. As my enemy charged me I whispered an apology to my late Karate Senysia
“Sorry Mrs. Pendergast, sometimes a man has to fight!” With those words I leapt into action. I used a super maneuver and thrust my knife blade toward her abdomen. I hated to end her but a ninja’s got to do what he’s got to do.
What happened next was entirely the fault of the knife manufacturer and my stingy mother. My swiss army knife isn’t the kind with a locking blade. Those were $29.99 and my mom thought that was too much for a “knife I’d never use,” as she put it. I guess I showed her, too bad she’s too dead to see. So no locking blade, but it does have the tweezers and toothpick, which is a nice feature. If it wasn’t for my mom being a total tight wad, I would have had the kind with the locking blade. Because I had no locking blade, I had no way of knowing that I had accidentally unsheathed the finger nail file instead of the sharp edged steel dagger. Either way, the girl who was wearing a stupid looking denim dress didn’t notice. As she wrapped her arms around me, I jabbed her hard with the manicure utensil that the Swiss Army considered standard issue. Honestly, what kind of army deems a fingernail file “survival gear.” This would be the kind of deep martial arts stuff that me and Sensei Pedergast would agree about.
So, there she is; a total stranger all hugged up on me like we’re at Jr. college prom. As I’m trying to wriggle out of my fubu, to which she is clinging to desperately, she whispers something creepy in my ear.
“I’m just so glad that there is something else alive. I thought I was all alone-” and a bunch of other crazy crap.
I’d like to tell ya I corrected my knife blade mistake, detracted the correct blade for the task, and protected myself from an extremely needed and incredibly insane female person, but I played it cool. I decided to wait for the opportune moment to strike. After all, maybe she has some valuable information.
I’m a little bit glad I didn’t mortally wound her right off the bat. I mean, I hadn’t seen anything but zombies in a really long time. I think I might bump her off tomorrow, but as for now I’m just going to play it like snoop.
As for the Journal. Well I’m trying it out. Anastasia, that’s the girls name, insisted that I should be journaling. So I’m trying it out, but I’m telling you, tomorrow I’m probably going to do her in. She says that journaling is good for emotional health. So I’m trying it out, but tomorrow she’s going to be surprised at what I have in store for her. If she thinks this stupid journal is going to cage the rage, she must have been struck with the stupid stick. She can’t control me. Anyway, I’m going to try not to go ballistic and tear this whole building down.
I’m Todd, and that’s why I’m awesome.