Tag Archives: zombies

Zombies/Snow/New England

HollowAsLegs

HOLLOW AS LEGS:

The dead start eating townies, in a quaint New England suburb. During a snowstorm.

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A song about Zombies and the Ladies

Freightliner – The Creedence

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Filed under Art, Folk punk, Ladies

Happy St. Patrick’s Day

St. Patrick’s Day is a top notch holiday because it gives everyone an excuse to put off doing their taxes by irrigating the ol’ crops with servings upon servings of corned beef and barrels of frothy booze. But its in the pale March light of the next morning, when you still can’t find where you left your W-2 form and there’s green vomit on your car. The REAL reason that America loves Green-o-Ween is because of the rich cultural history associated with it; zombies.

The foundations of St. Patrick’s day go back millions of years, when the excess and disco of the Cretaceous period was finally coming to an end. This was about the time that a hot meteor shower plowed into Nevada and annihilated dinosaur kind. What Paleontologists don’t tell children (because it’s too awesome) was that the dinosaurs were already dead when that space rock struck the planet’s crust. That’s correct: land walking zombie dinosaurs.

Most scholarly articles concur that the outbreak stemmed from a rare thirty foot long algae eating fish that washed ashore, deemed the inferus pescusaurus. Now the Pescusaurus has a very unique neurotoxin found in its fin that, when ingested, inhibits nerve binding cognitive cells in the nervous system of the unlucky animal of prey. Doctors hypothesize that a foraging Camptosaurus probably came across the corpse of the hell-celled voodoo fish and initiated a full on reptile zombie apocalypse.

Millions of years later, some Peruvian fisherman caught a prehistoric fish in their net off the coast of 1980s era Cabo San Lucas (Mexico). Now this seems somewhat farfetched, however, fisherman accidentally catch prehistoric fish all the time. It’s very easy research. What happened next is crazy and the thing about 1980s era Cabo San Lucas was that there was no web based social networking, so nothing was officially recorded whatsoever. The meat of the fish made its way to a border town hibachi restaurant, where it was served as a lunch special to some wayward spring breakers. An unfortunate student ingested a small portion of Pescusaurus and by the time people started to notice that these students weren’t just being crazy kids these days, it was too late. Hoards of staggering ghouls starved for epidermis were already spawning across the American Southwest.

What society does not recognize about zombie outbreaks is that they are extremely serious and sad.  It’s a tragic plague and many people end up being eaten. Luckily, it was the 80’s and there was this young priest, who at the time was questioning his faith as well as his place in the world. Him and a small group of survivors (investment bankers, single moms, sucrose corn farmers, ect.) put aside their differences with a south central chapter gang and stood up against the growing legions of undead. This brave faction of humanity made a three day pilgrimage to the Golden Gate Bridge, where there was a rumored army camp that had been set up to prevent any spread of the virus from the isolated contamination zone. On March 17th, this unlikely band of survivors, lead by the brave priest, took to arms and defended the bridge for an infamous 72 hours.  They reached the sanctity of the camp, however most of the them were bitten in the battle, and were not allowed past the barricades. The Priest drew a line in the hot California sand with the tip of his sword (which he had previously set on fire and used to slay zombies). He cleared his great bearded throat and beckoned any uninfected to join the camp across the barricades. No one crossed. The doomed wounded and unscathed alike all stayed with the priest, who himself, had an infected wound in his side.

The survivors made a modest fire under the bridge, where they sat and drank from lukewarm bottles of Guinness that they looted from a truck in the abandoned gridlock. And as the government dropped bombs on the city, this song began to play in the background,  drowning out the overhead drumfire of explosions. At exactly one minute and ten seconds into the tune, the priest wiped Guinness froth from his lips and his gaze passed from the faces of his fellow survivors and in that moment he felt the true spirit of St. Patrick’s Day.

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Filed under Beards, Booze, Folk punk, Mythical beasts