I'm writing a story 140 words at a time and posting the results here
daily. Can I sustain interest? Will I lose the narrative thread? Find
out in this next installment of Bullets Ain't Cheap
and ammo cost money. All the tools you use cost money. Where does it come from?”
There was a long silence. I felt the gun on the back of my skull again. “You passed Green Street.”
“I told Theda you wouldn’t steal,” I said. “But you did it, didn’t you? How much, Kelly? What was your price?”
“You know them,” he replied, a tiny quaver in his usually-strong voice, “Telrik are bad people. The worst.”
“That doesn’t make stealing from them okay.”
He pressed the pistol more firmly against my head. “Is stealing from a thief wrong? Or is it poetic justice?”
I took a deep breath and gripped the wheel tight. I was going to take a gamble, one that I couldn’t afford to lose. “If you were gone for two years just because of money... you might
Showing posts with label zombies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label zombies. Show all posts
Friday, July 4, 2014
Friday, July 22, 2011
If I Were A Blues Musician...
If I were a blues musician I'd have a great nickname. Because all blues musicians have great nicknames, like Blind Lemon Jefferson, T-Bone Walker, or Lightnin' Hopkins. If you have a cool nickname people treat you better, they move aside when you pass by, they hold doors open for you. Mostly, though, you get that cool nickname on your tombstone so people 100 years from now can pass by your grave and wonder how cool that guy was to get a nickname like 'Jelly Roll.'
So I decided to cut out the middleman - and, coincidentally, all the tragedy and pathos of being an actual blues musician - and come up with my own blues nickname. I tried to think of things that define me, or at least that others might think define me.
Scratchin' Don H.
Needs a Shave Hartshorn
Junk Food Hartshorn
Don 'Cut the Damn Grass' Hartshorn
Knee Poppin' Don
Old Man Groan Hartshorn
Don 'Too Much Mayonnaise' Hartshorn
The Bellybutton Lint Kid
White Guy Rhythm Hartshorn
Bad Haircut Don
Don 'Pays Bills On Time' Hartshorn
Sullen Resentment Hartshorn
Inappropriate Mutterin' Don
One of those just has to fit. I'll go to local jazz clubs and get the emcee to announce me over the microphone, see which one has the right reverb.
So I decided to cut out the middleman - and, coincidentally, all the tragedy and pathos of being an actual blues musician - and come up with my own blues nickname. I tried to think of things that define me, or at least that others might think define me.
Scratchin' Don H.
Needs a Shave Hartshorn
Junk Food Hartshorn
Don 'Cut the Damn Grass' Hartshorn
Knee Poppin' Don
Old Man Groan Hartshorn
Don 'Too Much Mayonnaise' Hartshorn
The Bellybutton Lint Kid
White Guy Rhythm Hartshorn
Bad Haircut Don
Don 'Pays Bills On Time' Hartshorn
Sullen Resentment Hartshorn
Inappropriate Mutterin' Don
One of those just has to fit. I'll go to local jazz clubs and get the emcee to announce me over the microphone, see which one has the right reverb.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Under My Skin
Maybe I'm a little sensitive, maybe a little touchy, or maybe - just maybe - I'm a touch too polite. Living the Golden Rule and all, it just aggravates me when people don't think of others when just a moment's consideration would go so far.
Here, in no particular order, are various impolite things that have gotten under my skin lately.
In the car:
The douchebag in the Cadillac Escalade in front of me flicking his cigarette ash out the sunroof.
Same douchebag veering across three lanes of traffic to make an exit.
The battered green LeBaron making a right turn from the left lane. Just go a few blocks down, turn around and come back. Nothing you have on your agenda is more important than my life.
The flattened aluminum cans falling like raindrops from the flatbed trailer pulled by the wheezing and laboring Ford utility pickup. You can't be environmentally conscious about recycling if you're littering for miles on your way to the reclamation station.
In the grocery store:
Every woman who's ever pushed a grocery cart in a grocery store. The place is packed full of people, you're not alone. Get the hell out of the center of the aisle. Watch the men, see how they stay out of each other's way? Do that.
Morbidly obese people elbowing people out of the way to get to the diet soda. You're not fooling anyone, and you're only making your condition worse.
Serving sushi in the middle of a South Texas Summer, right at the front of the store. So many things wrong with this idea it's hard to know where to begin the list.
The person who forgets his coupons until he's already paid for his groceries with his debit card, so the clerk has to give him cash back. Seems like some sort of scam to me.
At the Post Office:
The passport office is that one over there. With the big label that says 'Passport Office.' Don't get snippy with the clerks because you waited in the wrong line.
Mr. Impatient who shows up at the Post Office at noon on a weekday and is put out when he has to wait more than two minutes. Of course if all the passport people weren't in the wrong line...
The same Mr. Impatient who gets testy when the postal clerks run through their list of added services. It's their job to ask, so don't get all pissy about it, just say 'No, thank you' like your parents taught you when you were three.
In the gym:
Mr. Smell-Good. The slightest spritz of Axe body spray makes you smell like an Armenian pimp, practically drowning in it clears the room. Just take a bath like a normal person, Junior.
The Chatty Kathies on the treadmill. It's a gym, not a coffee shop, and you're yelling to be heard over the whir of the machines. I can hear every icky detail of your lady-parts surgery story, and I'm twenty feet away.
The Creeper standing by the water fountain, trying to be slick while he watches the hot chicks on the eliptical machines. Gonna get yourself arrested there, Peeping Tom.
Here, in no particular order, are various impolite things that have gotten under my skin lately.
In the car:
The douchebag in the Cadillac Escalade in front of me flicking his cigarette ash out the sunroof.
Same douchebag veering across three lanes of traffic to make an exit.
The battered green LeBaron making a right turn from the left lane. Just go a few blocks down, turn around and come back. Nothing you have on your agenda is more important than my life.
The flattened aluminum cans falling like raindrops from the flatbed trailer pulled by the wheezing and laboring Ford utility pickup. You can't be environmentally conscious about recycling if you're littering for miles on your way to the reclamation station.
In the grocery store:
Every woman who's ever pushed a grocery cart in a grocery store. The place is packed full of people, you're not alone. Get the hell out of the center of the aisle. Watch the men, see how they stay out of each other's way? Do that.
Morbidly obese people elbowing people out of the way to get to the diet soda. You're not fooling anyone, and you're only making your condition worse.
Serving sushi in the middle of a South Texas Summer, right at the front of the store. So many things wrong with this idea it's hard to know where to begin the list.
The person who forgets his coupons until he's already paid for his groceries with his debit card, so the clerk has to give him cash back. Seems like some sort of scam to me.
At the Post Office:
The passport office is that one over there. With the big label that says 'Passport Office.' Don't get snippy with the clerks because you waited in the wrong line.
Mr. Impatient who shows up at the Post Office at noon on a weekday and is put out when he has to wait more than two minutes. Of course if all the passport people weren't in the wrong line...
The same Mr. Impatient who gets testy when the postal clerks run through their list of added services. It's their job to ask, so don't get all pissy about it, just say 'No, thank you' like your parents taught you when you were three.
In the gym:
Mr. Smell-Good. The slightest spritz of Axe body spray makes you smell like an Armenian pimp, practically drowning in it clears the room. Just take a bath like a normal person, Junior.
The Chatty Kathies on the treadmill. It's a gym, not a coffee shop, and you're yelling to be heard over the whir of the machines. I can hear every icky detail of your lady-parts surgery story, and I'm twenty feet away.
The Creeper standing by the water fountain, trying to be slick while he watches the hot chicks on the eliptical machines. Gonna get yourself arrested there, Peeping Tom.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Anbody Think Of...
I went out to get my truck inspected today - because they have safety inspections for vehicles in Texas, unlike in California - and while I was waiting I had one of those moments. The one where about five different thoughts converge on you all at the same time, flying so fast and furious that you can't hold onto any single one of them. Usually you remember the least worthy of them, while the best one, the million-dollar idea, scatters off into the aether, where Coleridge's 'Kubla Khan' is.
Ah, but not this time.
I have a digital voice recorder now, and I take it with me everywhere. So when I have a thought or a notion or when I see something memorable, I can click the recorder and - presto! - instant note. And don't even have to decipher my increasingly-bad handwriting.*
The one idea I remembered of four or five rolling through my brain was 'call the dude to fix the lights.' The dude in this case is Jack, the infamous missing-digit handyman.
Normally that would be the one thing I remembered. But... I had my recorder. So I grabbed it and babbled my other ideas. Pure gold. Something pithy enough to be chiseled into stone, no doubt.
Not quite.
Here's the text of the last of my notes, which, I believe, I recorded while watching someone try to cross the very busy street by the inspection station, almost getting creamed in the attempt.
'You should... uh... check to see if... what the hell?... Jesus, what a moron... uh... raffle...'
I was wrong before. This isn't pure gold. It's platinum. Want another?
'Couldn't you put cellophane on regular cars like they do on NASCAR racers? Or would that just make more litter on the highway?'
Wow. Genius. Here's the best:
'Could you use the steam from a fryer to spin a little turbine? Just enough to power a restaurant?'
The inspection station is next to a Jack-in-the-Box.
I think the lesson here is not to voice record while you're distracted. I guess you gotta sift through a little manure to find the diamonds.
* which, distressingly, looks more and more like my father's handwriting as time goes on
Ah, but not this time.
I have a digital voice recorder now, and I take it with me everywhere. So when I have a thought or a notion or when I see something memorable, I can click the recorder and - presto! - instant note. And don't even have to decipher my increasingly-bad handwriting.*
The one idea I remembered of four or five rolling through my brain was 'call the dude to fix the lights.' The dude in this case is Jack, the infamous missing-digit handyman.
Normally that would be the one thing I remembered. But... I had my recorder. So I grabbed it and babbled my other ideas. Pure gold. Something pithy enough to be chiseled into stone, no doubt.
Not quite.
Here's the text of the last of my notes, which, I believe, I recorded while watching someone try to cross the very busy street by the inspection station, almost getting creamed in the attempt.
'You should... uh... check to see if... what the hell?... Jesus, what a moron... uh... raffle...'
I was wrong before. This isn't pure gold. It's platinum. Want another?
'Couldn't you put cellophane on regular cars like they do on NASCAR racers? Or would that just make more litter on the highway?'
Wow. Genius. Here's the best:
'Could you use the steam from a fryer to spin a little turbine? Just enough to power a restaurant?'
The inspection station is next to a Jack-in-the-Box.
I think the lesson here is not to voice record while you're distracted. I guess you gotta sift through a little manure to find the diamonds.
* which, distressingly, looks more and more like my father's handwriting as time goes on
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Snap, Crackle, Creak
I have to get used to new sounds.
Back in SoCal I'd been in my place so long - eight years - there were sounds I just didn't hear any more. Like the guy next door leaving for work on his Harley. Or the garbage trucks backing up beeping, or the shower from the apartment downstairs.* Sounds so regular that I knew what they were and ignored them.
Now I have a whole new set of sounds. Not creaks, this house I'm renting is too new for that, but there are... pops? Something falling? Something outside?
Every time I hear a new sound my frightened-mammal brain perks up, it wants to know what caused that sound, where it came from, and how to prevent it from making that noise again. It's exhausting paying attention all the time.
There are some things I recognize. Dogs outside. Training airplanes from the Air Force base flying overhead. Wind chimes from the wind-chime family in the house behind this one. I know what these are but I'm not used to them. And I'm certainly not used to the 'snap' of the refrigerator coming on. Or the clunk the ceiling fan makes when it is just coming up to speed. Or the moan of air being sucked up the chimney flue when the wind blows hard.
I'll give it time. I really am glad to be home, but this is going to take some getting used to.
* I never got used to the fire trucks at the old folks' home across the street. Whenever I heard an approaching siren I held my breath, because if the sound stopped in front of my apartment that meant emergency workers were responding to a call in the old folks' home. I always hated that.
Back in SoCal I'd been in my place so long - eight years - there were sounds I just didn't hear any more. Like the guy next door leaving for work on his Harley. Or the garbage trucks backing up beeping, or the shower from the apartment downstairs.* Sounds so regular that I knew what they were and ignored them.
Now I have a whole new set of sounds. Not creaks, this house I'm renting is too new for that, but there are... pops? Something falling? Something outside?
Every time I hear a new sound my frightened-mammal brain perks up, it wants to know what caused that sound, where it came from, and how to prevent it from making that noise again. It's exhausting paying attention all the time.
There are some things I recognize. Dogs outside. Training airplanes from the Air Force base flying overhead. Wind chimes from the wind-chime family in the house behind this one. I know what these are but I'm not used to them. And I'm certainly not used to the 'snap' of the refrigerator coming on. Or the clunk the ceiling fan makes when it is just coming up to speed. Or the moan of air being sucked up the chimney flue when the wind blows hard.
I'll give it time. I really am glad to be home, but this is going to take some getting used to.
* I never got used to the fire trucks at the old folks' home across the street. Whenever I heard an approaching siren I held my breath, because if the sound stopped in front of my apartment that meant emergency workers were responding to a call in the old folks' home. I always hated that.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Like Falling Off A Bicycle...
I cut my lawn today.
BFD, you might say. Who doesn't cut a lawn? And I might have said the same thing with you nine years ago. I made spending cash for a very long time cutting lawns and doing yardwork and generally being an indentured servant to people with more time and money than I. At least once a week from the time I was 8 years old until I was 35 I did some sort of manual labor out in the hot Texas sun. Even when I lived in an apartment I still did work on my grandmother's house, or for my parents, or - less frequently - for friends and friends of friends.
Then I moved to SoCal.
People don't do their own yards in California, they get someone else to do the heavy lifting. That someone else used to be me, but I lived in an apartment in the Playhouse District in Pasadena, a place with more concrete than yard, and there just wasn't any reason for me to do any real work. In the past nine years I've grown accustomed to not sweating in that way, to not moving in that way, to not thinking in that way. I got out of the yardwork habit.
But now that I'm back in Texas and now that I have a yard of my own I've been shoved into the deep end of the manual labor pool. I borrowed my brother-in-law's mower and edger this morning and got to work.
I gotta say, I did pretty good for being nine years out of practice. I never realized when I was still doing it just how particular I had become about the way I do things. Very picky. And I'm right back there now, finding the rhythm, feeling the beat, getting back into the groove. I'll get this yard into the shape I want it, and then I'll keep it that way. Because that's how I roll. Behind a lawnmower once again.
BFD, you might say. Who doesn't cut a lawn? And I might have said the same thing with you nine years ago. I made spending cash for a very long time cutting lawns and doing yardwork and generally being an indentured servant to people with more time and money than I. At least once a week from the time I was 8 years old until I was 35 I did some sort of manual labor out in the hot Texas sun. Even when I lived in an apartment I still did work on my grandmother's house, or for my parents, or - less frequently - for friends and friends of friends.
Then I moved to SoCal.
People don't do their own yards in California, they get someone else to do the heavy lifting. That someone else used to be me, but I lived in an apartment in the Playhouse District in Pasadena, a place with more concrete than yard, and there just wasn't any reason for me to do any real work. In the past nine years I've grown accustomed to not sweating in that way, to not moving in that way, to not thinking in that way. I got out of the yardwork habit.
But now that I'm back in Texas and now that I have a yard of my own I've been shoved into the deep end of the manual labor pool. I borrowed my brother-in-law's mower and edger this morning and got to work.
I gotta say, I did pretty good for being nine years out of practice. I never realized when I was still doing it just how particular I had become about the way I do things. Very picky. And I'm right back there now, finding the rhythm, feeling the beat, getting back into the groove. I'll get this yard into the shape I want it, and then I'll keep it that way. Because that's how I roll. Behind a lawnmower once again.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
A Zombie Walks Into A Bar...
Hey there, pal, how's it going?
Unnhh...
Yeah, tell me about it. You're looking a little rough around the edges. Unnhh...
Well sit down, take a load off. What can I get you?
Br...
Beer? Bottle or tap?
N-no... need bra...
Brass monkey? Haven't had anyone ask for that in a loooong time. Don't know if I have the stuff. Gimme a second, I'll check.
Brains! Need brains!
Well, we all have those kind of days. I'm Harvey, by the way.
Unnhh... I hunger...
We got peanuts and pretzels. If you're really famished I can order from the pizza place next door.
P-pizza... with brains?
You're really fixated on that, huh? Something go down at the office?
W-walking dead... invade...
Jeez? Again? Don't tell me you're... of course you are. Should have seen it when you shambled in. I thought the red stuff around your mouth was strawberry jam.
Unnhh... how about a b-b-bourbon?
Sorry, I'm cutting you off. We don't serve unholy armies of undead.
B-but... just me...
Yeah, now. But if I serve you then before too long you'll bite one of my other customers, and he'll bite someone else, suddenly everyone in here's a zombie. And you know what? Zombies don't tip for shit.
P-profiling... illegal... call the cops...
I've danced this dance before. You know what this is?
Sh-shotgun...
And you know what happens to zombies when there's a shotgun around?
G-get the message... leaving...
I thought so. And tell your cheap bastard friends they're not welcome either. Man, I hate zombies.
Unnhh...
Yeah, tell me about it. You're looking a little rough around the edges. Unnhh...
Well sit down, take a load off. What can I get you?
Br...
Beer? Bottle or tap?
N-no... need bra...
Brass monkey? Haven't had anyone ask for that in a loooong time. Don't know if I have the stuff. Gimme a second, I'll check.
Brains! Need brains!
Well, we all have those kind of days. I'm Harvey, by the way.
Unnhh... I hunger...
We got peanuts and pretzels. If you're really famished I can order from the pizza place next door.
P-pizza... with brains?
You're really fixated on that, huh? Something go down at the office?
W-walking dead... invade...
Jeez? Again? Don't tell me you're... of course you are. Should have seen it when you shambled in. I thought the red stuff around your mouth was strawberry jam.
Unnhh... how about a b-b-bourbon?
Sorry, I'm cutting you off. We don't serve unholy armies of undead.
B-but... just me...
Yeah, now. But if I serve you then before too long you'll bite one of my other customers, and he'll bite someone else, suddenly everyone in here's a zombie. And you know what? Zombies don't tip for shit.
P-profiling... illegal... call the cops...
I've danced this dance before. You know what this is?
Sh-shotgun...
And you know what happens to zombies when there's a shotgun around?
G-get the message... leaving...
I thought so. And tell your cheap bastard friends they're not welcome either. Man, I hate zombies.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Creep Repellent
You know how you have mosquito repellent? Slather some on your arms and legs on a summer night and you might not get bitten and thus might not get malaria. There are those little electronic things you plug in that keep roaches and vermin out of your house. There are plastic owls you hang in your trees to keep bothersome birds away. We can buy all sorts of stuff designed to keep away things we don't want near us.
And yet creepy people still manage to get all up your grill, don't they?
I'm not talking about people with clipboards and an agenda, or homeless people, or those guys who set up a card table outside the grocery store. I don't mind those people, they want to accomplish something. I mean the guy with the obnoxious laugh and the big cowboy hat who sits right in front of you in the movie theater. Or the tipsy office gals who take the booth beside you at the restaurant and talk waaaaaay too loudly about their lady business. Or the guy in the grocery store who isn't following you around but just happens to be on every aisle you are. Or the guy who parks his beat-up white panel van just a little too close to the elementary school.
Wouldn't it be great if you could just whip out a can of something, spray it in the air, and these people would find somewhere else to be? You could watch your movie in peace, enjoy your meal, and even get your shopping done unmolested. Literally.
Only thing is, what if you were out and about and someone sprayed something in the air, and then you had an overwhelming urge to run away? How would you explain that one?
And yet creepy people still manage to get all up your grill, don't they?
I'm not talking about people with clipboards and an agenda, or homeless people, or those guys who set up a card table outside the grocery store. I don't mind those people, they want to accomplish something. I mean the guy with the obnoxious laugh and the big cowboy hat who sits right in front of you in the movie theater. Or the tipsy office gals who take the booth beside you at the restaurant and talk waaaaaay too loudly about their lady business. Or the guy in the grocery store who isn't following you around but just happens to be on every aisle you are. Or the guy who parks his beat-up white panel van just a little too close to the elementary school.
Wouldn't it be great if you could just whip out a can of something, spray it in the air, and these people would find somewhere else to be? You could watch your movie in peace, enjoy your meal, and even get your shopping done unmolested. Literally.
Only thing is, what if you were out and about and someone sprayed something in the air, and then you had an overwhelming urge to run away? How would you explain that one?
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Our Hero Returns
Captain Grant Manley gazed out across the stark Venusian landscape, ready to spring into action in the event one of the degenerate insectoid natives had survived the assault launched from the USS Victorious. The sulfurous volcanic winds blew hot and fast, but Manley kept cool and calm in his skin-tight pressure suit, supplied as it was with patriotic Earth air and kept at a normal, non-degenerate Earth temperature.
"I think that's the last of them," Manley muttered, though he still kept an eye peeled. "Looks like we taught them a lesson they won't forget."
"You do good work, Grant," Estelle Sparks sighed. She ran her hands along his wide shoulders, which bulged and rippled with muscles even through his pressure suit. "And I don't just mean slaughtering aliens."
"Aren't we the aliens here?" Teddy Courage asked. The Captain's trusty cabin boy, Teddy took Manley's depleted Q-ray blaster and replaced it with a fully-charged one.
"Nonsense, my boy," Manley chuckled, gesturing at the ochre plain littered with the remains of chitinous exoskeletons. "Look at them, with their compound eyes and six legs and those disgusting mouth parts. Why, you can blow three legs off one of those grasshoppers and they still keep coming. That counts as an alien in my book."
"Grasshoppers," Estelle mumbled, the term the Earth Council troops used to refer to the indigenous Venusian lifeforms. "Why can't they be more like us?"
"Some day, the good Lord willing, they will be," Manley said, his hand casually draping around Estelle's waist. She sighed.
Teddy moved between Estelle and his Captain, pressing his fingers hard into Manley's shoulders just the way he liked. The way Estelle could never get right.
"But this is their planet," Teddy insisted, "we're the invaders."
"We're only here to win their hearts and minds," Manley reminded Teddy. "And to bring civilization to this backwater cesspool of a planet."
"Didn't they have a thriving civilization before we got here?" Teddy asked. "Aren't we the ones who blew up their cities and killed thousands of their people and ruined their infrastructure?"
Manley turned slowly, his square jaw set, his steel-gray eyes focused with purpose. Teddy quailed under his Captain's masterful gaze and his heart flutered in his chest.
"I'd hate to think you didn't support the Earth Council one-hundred percent, lad," Manley growled. "If you're not completely with us you're against us."
"Isn't informed dissent one of the cornerstones of Earth Council governance?" Estelle remarked idly. "Didn't our founding fathers and mothers disagree on almost everything?"
Both Teddy and Manley stopped and turned to the lithe, buxon, raven-haired science officer, astonished at her words.
"I don't think I like your tone, Estelle," Manley said.
Teddy nestled closer to his Captain's rock-hard physique. "Sir, doesn't that sound dangerously close to treason?"
Manley nodded his head. "I believe it does, lad. Estelle, get back into the ship. You and I are going to have a talk about what it means to be a patriot."
Pale and shaken, Estelle trudged back towards the USS Victorious landing site, her ample hips shaking a counterpoint with each step.
"Such a shame," Manley said when Estelle was out of earshot, "she's a good officer, but a little too smart for her own good. History is what the Earth Council says it is, not what you read in books."
"Besides, she's just a girl," Teddy said as he kneaded the knots out of his Captain's shoulders, "she'll never really understand what it's like for us men, out here, alone, on the desolate frontiers of proper civilization."
Manley sighed and relaxed under his trusty cabin boy's ministrations. "Truer words were never spoken, lad."
"I think that's the last of them," Manley muttered, though he still kept an eye peeled. "Looks like we taught them a lesson they won't forget."
"You do good work, Grant," Estelle Sparks sighed. She ran her hands along his wide shoulders, which bulged and rippled with muscles even through his pressure suit. "And I don't just mean slaughtering aliens."
"Aren't we the aliens here?" Teddy Courage asked. The Captain's trusty cabin boy, Teddy took Manley's depleted Q-ray blaster and replaced it with a fully-charged one.
"Nonsense, my boy," Manley chuckled, gesturing at the ochre plain littered with the remains of chitinous exoskeletons. "Look at them, with their compound eyes and six legs and those disgusting mouth parts. Why, you can blow three legs off one of those grasshoppers and they still keep coming. That counts as an alien in my book."
"Grasshoppers," Estelle mumbled, the term the Earth Council troops used to refer to the indigenous Venusian lifeforms. "Why can't they be more like us?"
"Some day, the good Lord willing, they will be," Manley said, his hand casually draping around Estelle's waist. She sighed.
Teddy moved between Estelle and his Captain, pressing his fingers hard into Manley's shoulders just the way he liked. The way Estelle could never get right.
"But this is their planet," Teddy insisted, "we're the invaders."
"We're only here to win their hearts and minds," Manley reminded Teddy. "And to bring civilization to this backwater cesspool of a planet."
"Didn't they have a thriving civilization before we got here?" Teddy asked. "Aren't we the ones who blew up their cities and killed thousands of their people and ruined their infrastructure?"
Manley turned slowly, his square jaw set, his steel-gray eyes focused with purpose. Teddy quailed under his Captain's masterful gaze and his heart flutered in his chest.
"I'd hate to think you didn't support the Earth Council one-hundred percent, lad," Manley growled. "If you're not completely with us you're against us."
"Isn't informed dissent one of the cornerstones of Earth Council governance?" Estelle remarked idly. "Didn't our founding fathers and mothers disagree on almost everything?"
Both Teddy and Manley stopped and turned to the lithe, buxon, raven-haired science officer, astonished at her words.
"I don't think I like your tone, Estelle," Manley said.
Teddy nestled closer to his Captain's rock-hard physique. "Sir, doesn't that sound dangerously close to treason?"
Manley nodded his head. "I believe it does, lad. Estelle, get back into the ship. You and I are going to have a talk about what it means to be a patriot."
Pale and shaken, Estelle trudged back towards the USS Victorious landing site, her ample hips shaking a counterpoint with each step.
"Such a shame," Manley said when Estelle was out of earshot, "she's a good officer, but a little too smart for her own good. History is what the Earth Council says it is, not what you read in books."
"Besides, she's just a girl," Teddy said as he kneaded the knots out of his Captain's shoulders, "she'll never really understand what it's like for us men, out here, alone, on the desolate frontiers of proper civilization."
Manley sighed and relaxed under his trusty cabin boy's ministrations. "Truer words were never spoken, lad."
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Gimme Fever
I'm sick.
Probably got it from work (ugh...) where some people just don't understand the concept of staying home if you've got something contagious. So I have a fever and chills, and I've been wrapped up in a blanket in my recliner for much of the morning, dozing and waking myself up with my own snoring.
I think I've figured it out. Being sick is not just a virus's method of propagating itself - though it is that - it's really a way for your body to say 'enough' and make you rest.
I've been sleeping poorly the past week or so, maybe longer, and I've been keeping on. Going to work, writing, fencing, working out, as if everything is just fine. But it's not. The sleep was the first clue, when that's interrupted you need to pay attention. But I didn't. And now I'm sick.
I don't feel like going anywhere or doing anything, all I want is to sit and wrap myself in a blanket and watch really bad TV. And I probably should do just that for the next few days.
But you know what? I'm going to get up tomorrow morning and I'm going to go to work. Why? Because if some bastard infected me with his sickness I'm going to make sure everybody else gets it too. Let them spend their Thanksgiving shivering and locked in a bedroom while the rest of the house enjoys a turkey dinner with all the trimmings.
What's that? I'm being vindictive? Damn straight. I didn't even want to be working in the first place...
Probably got it from work (ugh...) where some people just don't understand the concept of staying home if you've got something contagious. So I have a fever and chills, and I've been wrapped up in a blanket in my recliner for much of the morning, dozing and waking myself up with my own snoring.
I think I've figured it out. Being sick is not just a virus's method of propagating itself - though it is that - it's really a way for your body to say 'enough' and make you rest.
I've been sleeping poorly the past week or so, maybe longer, and I've been keeping on. Going to work, writing, fencing, working out, as if everything is just fine. But it's not. The sleep was the first clue, when that's interrupted you need to pay attention. But I didn't. And now I'm sick.
I don't feel like going anywhere or doing anything, all I want is to sit and wrap myself in a blanket and watch really bad TV. And I probably should do just that for the next few days.
But you know what? I'm going to get up tomorrow morning and I'm going to go to work. Why? Because if some bastard infected me with his sickness I'm going to make sure everybody else gets it too. Let them spend their Thanksgiving shivering and locked in a bedroom while the rest of the house enjoys a turkey dinner with all the trimmings.
What's that? I'm being vindictive? Damn straight. I didn't even want to be working in the first place...
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Everything I Need To Know
Everything I need to know about driving I learned from LA drivers.
Veer. Especially when there's no reason for it.
If the space is too small you should still try to parallel park.
Buses can drag race.
No matter what, always slow down and gawk at a car on the side of the highway. You never know, there might be something cool.
Don't get out of the way, especially if you're going 10 mph slower than the posted limit.
Right-hand turns from the far left lane are a fantastic idea.
If you don't know where you are, stop in the middle of the street and look around.
One-way streets are really just a suggestion.
It's okay to back into traffic from a driveway, other people will watch out for you.
Fire trucks are like a good blocker in football, let them clear the way and you can follow behind.
Pedestrians are invulnerable, so you don't have to watch out for them at all.
Your conversation with the person in the next car is more important than going when the light turns green.
After the red there's time for another three cars to turn left. (this is actually the only way to make a left in certain parts of LA)
When it rains act like it's your first time behind the wheel, that way you'll fit in with everybody else.
COMMUTE - there - 35 minutes back - 36 minutes
CONTRACT COUNTDOWN: 20-something days, I'm losing track...
Veer. Especially when there's no reason for it.
If the space is too small you should still try to parallel park.
Buses can drag race.
No matter what, always slow down and gawk at a car on the side of the highway. You never know, there might be something cool.
Don't get out of the way, especially if you're going 10 mph slower than the posted limit.
Right-hand turns from the far left lane are a fantastic idea.
If you don't know where you are, stop in the middle of the street and look around.
One-way streets are really just a suggestion.
It's okay to back into traffic from a driveway, other people will watch out for you.
Fire trucks are like a good blocker in football, let them clear the way and you can follow behind.
Pedestrians are invulnerable, so you don't have to watch out for them at all.
Your conversation with the person in the next car is more important than going when the light turns green.
After the red there's time for another three cars to turn left. (this is actually the only way to make a left in certain parts of LA)
When it rains act like it's your first time behind the wheel, that way you'll fit in with everybody else.
COMMUTE - there - 35 minutes back - 36 minutes
CONTRACT COUNTDOWN: 20-something days, I'm losing track...
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Woe Is Me
There's a thing I've been struggling with for years, decades, actually, and I've just given up. Thrown my hands into the air and resigned myself to my fate. It's not going to get any better and there's nothing I can do about it. They've won. You know, them, the people behind it all.
I just cannot get a good haircut.
No matter what I try, where I go, how much I pay, how much I tip, it just doesn't matter. I can't get a good haircut. The haircuts I get aren't astonishingly bad - most of them - but they're not particularly good either. Men barbers or women hairstylists, it seems none of them can give me a decent cut.
At first, years ago, hairstyles were so terrible that you couldn't really tell if I had a good haircut or not, nobody had a good one so I fit right in. But after disco died and then after Regan stopped being President things changed. You could get a good haircut. Or so I thought.
Turns out good haircuts for men are like cover models on women's magazines: nobody looks like that, it's all Photoshop magic.
There was guy back in San Antonio, his name was JB and he had cut my father's hair in decades past - no lie. JB gave good hair. He'd been doing it forever, longer than my father had been alive, and he could do no wrong. But JB was old and growing older, he came into his barber shop less and less frequently, leaving me to the tender mercies of his second-in-command, who was bald, or a lady barber who meant well but just didn't have the skills. I long for the days when could wander into JB's and never worry that I would come out looking like an escaped mental patient.
I need a haircut right now, this very second. Have for at least a week but I've been putting it off. I just don't want to be disappointed any more.
I just cannot get a good haircut.
No matter what I try, where I go, how much I pay, how much I tip, it just doesn't matter. I can't get a good haircut. The haircuts I get aren't astonishingly bad - most of them - but they're not particularly good either. Men barbers or women hairstylists, it seems none of them can give me a decent cut.
At first, years ago, hairstyles were so terrible that you couldn't really tell if I had a good haircut or not, nobody had a good one so I fit right in. But after disco died and then after Regan stopped being President things changed. You could get a good haircut. Or so I thought.
Turns out good haircuts for men are like cover models on women's magazines: nobody looks like that, it's all Photoshop magic.
There was guy back in San Antonio, his name was JB and he had cut my father's hair in decades past - no lie. JB gave good hair. He'd been doing it forever, longer than my father had been alive, and he could do no wrong. But JB was old and growing older, he came into his barber shop less and less frequently, leaving me to the tender mercies of his second-in-command, who was bald, or a lady barber who meant well but just didn't have the skills. I long for the days when could wander into JB's and never worry that I would come out looking like an escaped mental patient.
I need a haircut right now, this very second. Have for at least a week but I've been putting it off. I just don't want to be disappointed any more.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
More Travel Notes
I spent 10 hours in transit yesterday - DFW and snow never mix well - and I'm trying not to be resentful of the delays and inconvenience. It's a miracle of modern technology that I can be annoyed when it takes me 10 hours to get from Texas to California when it normally takes about 5 hours. Just hours to cross 1,300 miles is a privilege I kind of take for granted, honestly. If I had been traveling 70 years ago, 5 hours would have gotten me about 100 miles West of San Antonio. Maybe. So I count myself lucky I can make the trip as quickly as it happens now.
But still...
Some random stuff I noticed during my sojurn yesterday. My lengthy sojurn... see? I just can't let it go.
Extra classy- I saw a fat redneck wearing knee-length camo shorts (yes, while it was snowing outside) but the best part was the 'F' and the 'U' tattooed prominently on each of his meaty calves. I bet that brings the ladies a-runnin'.
When you haven't eaten in five hours the smell of the onion rings from the TGI Fridays by gate C29 in DFW is almost enough to make you want to kill for a taste. Then you realize that it's TGI Fridays and you get over it.
More red sneakers. I mentioned before that I saw more red shoes at the airport than I ever had and the trend continued this time. One pair in San Antonio, one pair in DFW. I swear, I never see them anywhere else.
Standing side-by-side: a guy with the biggest head I've ever seen and a guy with the smallest head I've ever seen. These were not deformities or abnormalities, these were just regular guys, one with a noggin the size of a jack-o-lantern and one with a head the size of canteloupe. As far as I could tell they did not know each other, but they would have made a great comedy duo. Big-head and Tiny.
When you wash your hands with yellowish antiseptic soap they end up smelling like Band-Aids. It took me a little while to figure out why I imagined I was back in the infirmary getting stitched up after wrecking my 3-speed on the elementary school parking lot.
In a truly odd travel-related coincidence, I saw a friend of mine in DFW. Turns out she was on the same flight as I was back to Burbank. But I have unexpectedly encountered people I know in airports before, it happens. The really freaky part is she was in the seat right next to me. Really.
But still...
Some random stuff I noticed during my sojurn yesterday. My lengthy sojurn... see? I just can't let it go.
Extra classy- I saw a fat redneck wearing knee-length camo shorts (yes, while it was snowing outside) but the best part was the 'F' and the 'U' tattooed prominently on each of his meaty calves. I bet that brings the ladies a-runnin'.
When you haven't eaten in five hours the smell of the onion rings from the TGI Fridays by gate C29 in DFW is almost enough to make you want to kill for a taste. Then you realize that it's TGI Fridays and you get over it.
More red sneakers. I mentioned before that I saw more red shoes at the airport than I ever had and the trend continued this time. One pair in San Antonio, one pair in DFW. I swear, I never see them anywhere else.
Standing side-by-side: a guy with the biggest head I've ever seen and a guy with the smallest head I've ever seen. These were not deformities or abnormalities, these were just regular guys, one with a noggin the size of a jack-o-lantern and one with a head the size of canteloupe. As far as I could tell they did not know each other, but they would have made a great comedy duo. Big-head and Tiny.
When you wash your hands with yellowish antiseptic soap they end up smelling like Band-Aids. It took me a little while to figure out why I imagined I was back in the infirmary getting stitched up after wrecking my 3-speed on the elementary school parking lot.
In a truly odd travel-related coincidence, I saw a friend of mine in DFW. Turns out she was on the same flight as I was back to Burbank. But I have unexpectedly encountered people I know in airports before, it happens. The really freaky part is she was in the seat right next to me. Really.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
More Holiday Cheer
Why stop with just a Christmas list? This is the holiday season, after all, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Diwali, and whatever Wiccans celebrate... I dunno, the Winter Solstice or something? So here are some non-Jesus, non-Santa holiday things.
Let me preface this by saying I loathe Adam Sandler. A lot. An awful lot. Along with Will Ferrell and almost everyone else from the last 30 years of SNL his one-joke shtick got stale decades ago. But Adam Sandler did write The Chanukah Song, even if he didn't sing it very well. The good news is Neil Diamond has done a cover of The Chanukah Song and his version not only does not suck, it's very good. And who doesn't love Neil Diamond?
Did you know there are Kwanzaa songs? Me neither, but why shouldn't there be? I don't think Kwanzaa has been around long enough for it to become as commercialized and subverted as Christmas has, though. But if I have to sit through the barking-dog version of Jingle Bells, why shouldn't people celebrating Kwanzaa be just as annoyed?
Okay, so Diwali fell in October this year, months before Christmas, but it's the closest thing in the Hindu faith, so I'm lumping it in. It's the celebration of good over evil so it's pretty much in the Christmas spirit anyway. I'm guessing there are Diwali songs - there's lots of music in India for everything else - but I'm fairly certain there aren't any barking-dog versions of any of them. I could be wrong, though. Can anybody tell me if there's a Diwali version of 'A Christmas Carol?' The British Raj ruled India for almost 100 years, some of that Dickens stuff had to have rubbed off.
Three years ago I was in Australia for Christmas - technically Chanukah, since my friends are Jewish - but since December in Australia is the middle of summer, Santa isn't the jolly German elf we know from the Thomas Nast illustrations, rather he wears shorts and is ably assisted by koalas and kangaroos. It was very odd having a barbeque cookout on Boxing Day, with the chance of thunderstorms.
Let me preface this by saying I loathe Adam Sandler. A lot. An awful lot. Along with Will Ferrell and almost everyone else from the last 30 years of SNL his one-joke shtick got stale decades ago. But Adam Sandler did write The Chanukah Song, even if he didn't sing it very well. The good news is Neil Diamond has done a cover of The Chanukah Song and his version not only does not suck, it's very good. And who doesn't love Neil Diamond?
Did you know there are Kwanzaa songs? Me neither, but why shouldn't there be? I don't think Kwanzaa has been around long enough for it to become as commercialized and subverted as Christmas has, though. But if I have to sit through the barking-dog version of Jingle Bells, why shouldn't people celebrating Kwanzaa be just as annoyed?
Okay, so Diwali fell in October this year, months before Christmas, but it's the closest thing in the Hindu faith, so I'm lumping it in. It's the celebration of good over evil so it's pretty much in the Christmas spirit anyway. I'm guessing there are Diwali songs - there's lots of music in India for everything else - but I'm fairly certain there aren't any barking-dog versions of any of them. I could be wrong, though. Can anybody tell me if there's a Diwali version of 'A Christmas Carol?' The British Raj ruled India for almost 100 years, some of that Dickens stuff had to have rubbed off.
Three years ago I was in Australia for Christmas - technically Chanukah, since my friends are Jewish - but since December in Australia is the middle of summer, Santa isn't the jolly German elf we know from the Thomas Nast illustrations, rather he wears shorts and is ably assisted by koalas and kangaroos. It was very odd having a barbeque cookout on Boxing Day, with the chance of thunderstorms.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Tales From My Past - Dot-Com Madness
Do you remember the good old days? 1999? Back when Y2K was making people dig holes in their back yards? When the Euro was new and worth less than a dollar? When Brandi Chastain stripped for America at the World Cup? When the dot-com bubble hadn't yet burst, when companies who made nothing and provided no service were trading for $50 a share? When people who had no business playing in the stock market got their own personal accounts and traded their salary like it was Monopoly money?
Ahh.... good times.
Back then I worked for a soul-less, privately-held corporation - which is different from a soul-less public corporation in that it's easier for the private corp to lie - that was spending money as if they printed their own. Which they may have been doing. They were just figuring out the power of the Internet to drive their business, and one of the projects I was working on was creating a centralized customer database. I used specific software to get this done, and that software company held a 'user's conference' every year, which was, as we all now know, just another sales call and an excuse to spend far too much money. But since I was overworked and underpaid I got to go. Score one for Don.
The software company rented out Universal Studios in Orlando, FL. The entire place, just for four hundred or so conference attendees. They had plenty of food and performers in costume and all the rides were open. It was crazy and fun, and had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the software product. Even though I felt a little guilty about it, I did eat their food and ride their rides and talk to the guy dressed as Captain America.
Our regional sales manager took us to a very expensive Italian restaurant and picked up the entire tab, liquor included, for seventy people. When they found out I used to work at an Italian restaurant they made me pick the wines, and when I balked at the $90 bottle - we'd have needed at least six bottles to cover everyone drinking, minimum $540 - they just laughed and told me to get what I thought was best. So I did. I'm sure the liquor tab alone was over $1000.
We got tons of branded crap. Empty notebooks, scratch pads, pens, watches, spiral-bound ledgers, and acres of slick product marketing junk. All of it free to us, none of it free to produce.
When I think of the money that one company wasted in just four days, and how much better their financial position would be right now if they hadn't spent it...
Aww, who am I trying to kid? I want those old days back. The spendthrift, crazy dot-com days, when a simple analyst got treated like a king, on the off chance that he might tell the decision-makers at a company to keep using a product they'd already bought. Come on, people, whatever happened to irrational exuberance?
Ahh.... good times.
Back then I worked for a soul-less, privately-held corporation - which is different from a soul-less public corporation in that it's easier for the private corp to lie - that was spending money as if they printed their own. Which they may have been doing. They were just figuring out the power of the Internet to drive their business, and one of the projects I was working on was creating a centralized customer database. I used specific software to get this done, and that software company held a 'user's conference' every year, which was, as we all now know, just another sales call and an excuse to spend far too much money. But since I was overworked and underpaid I got to go. Score one for Don.
The software company rented out Universal Studios in Orlando, FL. The entire place, just for four hundred or so conference attendees. They had plenty of food and performers in costume and all the rides were open. It was crazy and fun, and had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the software product. Even though I felt a little guilty about it, I did eat their food and ride their rides and talk to the guy dressed as Captain America.
Our regional sales manager took us to a very expensive Italian restaurant and picked up the entire tab, liquor included, for seventy people. When they found out I used to work at an Italian restaurant they made me pick the wines, and when I balked at the $90 bottle - we'd have needed at least six bottles to cover everyone drinking, minimum $540 - they just laughed and told me to get what I thought was best. So I did. I'm sure the liquor tab alone was over $1000.
We got tons of branded crap. Empty notebooks, scratch pads, pens, watches, spiral-bound ledgers, and acres of slick product marketing junk. All of it free to us, none of it free to produce.
When I think of the money that one company wasted in just four days, and how much better their financial position would be right now if they hadn't spent it...
Aww, who am I trying to kid? I want those old days back. The spendthrift, crazy dot-com days, when a simple analyst got treated like a king, on the off chance that he might tell the decision-makers at a company to keep using a product they'd already bought. Come on, people, whatever happened to irrational exuberance?
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Cutting Off The Tail
Disclaimer: I have a bit of a cold today, and a fever, so if I'm less coherent I usually am please excuse me. And for those of you who say 'how can I tell the difference?' I say 'shut up, that's how.'
I've noticed a trend among the big retailers - Target, Wal-Mart, most grocery stores, department stores - of focusing on the bland middle. Shelf space is reserved for those products that sell the most, or that they can get the best profit margin on, or from manufacturers with whom they have a special deal. They're catering to the middle of the bell curve and ignoring the outliers, cutting off the tail.
For instance, my nasal spray decongestant is well past its expiration date (two years!) so I went to the store to get some fresher spray. I couldn't find the brand I had in my drawer. Not there, they didn't carry it, even though it's still a national brand. They carried exactly 1 national brand name product - four different styles - and 1 store brand. I guess the kind I wanted didn't sell enough or generate enough of a profit on a per-SKU basis to make the analyst's cut.
Same deal with deodorant. The kind I used for years back in Texas they don't carry here in SoCal, not any more. Retailers did stock it when I first moved out here, and then it became harder and harder to find, until now I can't find it at all, it's just not available. I stock up when I go home, like I do with fajitas and good bar-b-que.
It's the same with most products, where before shoppers might find a good selection of different brands, now they find acres of shelf space given over to just one or two brands. The retail analysts have done a remarkably poor job of understanding their own business, and they assume that concentrating on the bland middle - where they get the most sales with the least amount of effort - is the best thing for their business. Retailers are focusing on just a few at the expense of others, the idea being that people will just buy what's there, rather than move on.
Problem is, with people watching their pennies nowadays that assumption is just not true. People are more discerning than they were even six months ago, and tighter with the buck. If people don't find what they want in a store they're not going to settle for the crap lying around, they're going to go somewhere else.
Like me and shoe laces. At the same store this morning, where I did not buy nasal decongestant, I was looking for laces for my boots. I found the little stand with laces, and after ten minutes of searching found laces that would work, but not exactly the laces that I wanted. So rather than settle for what they had, I decided to wait 24 hours and go to the little shoe store a few blocks from my house, where I will probably find exactly what I want. And if I don't find them there, I have at least three more little shops I can go to. I'll not only get exactly what I want, but I'll be giving my money to a local business.
I think this is going to happen more and more, as people become dissatisfied with the big retailers they're going to go back to the smaller vendors, back to businesses more interested in listening to what people want instead of telling them what they're going to get.
I've noticed a trend among the big retailers - Target, Wal-Mart, most grocery stores, department stores - of focusing on the bland middle. Shelf space is reserved for those products that sell the most, or that they can get the best profit margin on, or from manufacturers with whom they have a special deal. They're catering to the middle of the bell curve and ignoring the outliers, cutting off the tail.
For instance, my nasal spray decongestant is well past its expiration date (two years!) so I went to the store to get some fresher spray. I couldn't find the brand I had in my drawer. Not there, they didn't carry it, even though it's still a national brand. They carried exactly 1 national brand name product - four different styles - and 1 store brand. I guess the kind I wanted didn't sell enough or generate enough of a profit on a per-SKU basis to make the analyst's cut.
Same deal with deodorant. The kind I used for years back in Texas they don't carry here in SoCal, not any more. Retailers did stock it when I first moved out here, and then it became harder and harder to find, until now I can't find it at all, it's just not available. I stock up when I go home, like I do with fajitas and good bar-b-que.
It's the same with most products, where before shoppers might find a good selection of different brands, now they find acres of shelf space given over to just one or two brands. The retail analysts have done a remarkably poor job of understanding their own business, and they assume that concentrating on the bland middle - where they get the most sales with the least amount of effort - is the best thing for their business. Retailers are focusing on just a few at the expense of others, the idea being that people will just buy what's there, rather than move on.
Problem is, with people watching their pennies nowadays that assumption is just not true. People are more discerning than they were even six months ago, and tighter with the buck. If people don't find what they want in a store they're not going to settle for the crap lying around, they're going to go somewhere else.
Like me and shoe laces. At the same store this morning, where I did not buy nasal decongestant, I was looking for laces for my boots. I found the little stand with laces, and after ten minutes of searching found laces that would work, but not exactly the laces that I wanted. So rather than settle for what they had, I decided to wait 24 hours and go to the little shoe store a few blocks from my house, where I will probably find exactly what I want. And if I don't find them there, I have at least three more little shops I can go to. I'll not only get exactly what I want, but I'll be giving my money to a local business.
I think this is going to happen more and more, as people become dissatisfied with the big retailers they're going to go back to the smaller vendors, back to businesses more interested in listening to what people want instead of telling them what they're going to get.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Things That Worry Me Which Probably Shouldn't
I'm worried that a zombie plague will take over the planet, turning everyone else into flesh-eating undead things, and I'll end up being the last non-zombie person on the face of the Earth.
But I'm not concerned because I think that I would be the ultimate target for the stagging, ravenous walking corpses, the one bright spot of light in a world of darkness. I'm not worried that I'd be the last guardian of a vanished society, bravely facing each day determined to hold on to my humanity. I'm not worried that the zombie horde will stalk me like hyenas stalk their prey, waiting for me to make the one mistake that will allow them to finally consume me and make me one of them at last.
No, I'm worried that if I'm the last non-zombie on the Earth, when the inevitable last day comes and I get turned into a zombie they'll be fresh out of brains.
Think about it, if everyone in the world got turned into zombies but me, and if zombies eat brains (they do), then wouldn't they have pretty much run out of brains by the time they got around to infecting me?
The last thing I want is to be the loneliest zombie, starving to death after Armageddon because the other greedy bastard zombies ate up all the brains before I could get there.
But I'm not concerned because I think that I would be the ultimate target for the stagging, ravenous walking corpses, the one bright spot of light in a world of darkness. I'm not worried that I'd be the last guardian of a vanished society, bravely facing each day determined to hold on to my humanity. I'm not worried that the zombie horde will stalk me like hyenas stalk their prey, waiting for me to make the one mistake that will allow them to finally consume me and make me one of them at last.
No, I'm worried that if I'm the last non-zombie on the Earth, when the inevitable last day comes and I get turned into a zombie they'll be fresh out of brains.
Think about it, if everyone in the world got turned into zombies but me, and if zombies eat brains (they do), then wouldn't they have pretty much run out of brains by the time they got around to infecting me?
The last thing I want is to be the loneliest zombie, starving to death after Armageddon because the other greedy bastard zombies ate up all the brains before I could get there.
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