Monday, September 24, 2012


I make no secret of the fact that I am one of those geeks that loves all things Zombie.  I have seen every zombie movie ever made.  For those of you seeking recommendations; Day of the Dead, Shaun on the Dead, and Zombieland are personal favorites.  For all of you aviators out there, I recently discovered Flight of the Dead about a weaponized zombie virus that is accidentally released in the cargo hold of a jet plane, requiring the Pilots and Cabin Crew to battle the Undead at 30,000 feet.  I watch The Walking Dead TV series religiously and participate in discussion groups analyzing how the series strays from the original comic.. er, I mean, graphic novel.  I have read World War Z by Max Brooks (okay, I've read it five times... with a highlighter) and purchased the audio book (which effing rocks!).  Hey!  I've already admitted to being a geek!

In spite of my love for zombie Apocalypse scenarios, its not like I am preparing for one.... until now.  I recently stopped at a Walmart in Mocksville NC one evening.  The patrons of this particular Walmart had me concerned.  They all had the shuffling unsteady gait and vacant blank expression that is the hallmark of Zombie virus infection or the consumption of copious amounts of Haldol, or some other equally powerful anti-psychotic medication.  Either way, it wasn't good.

All I needed was a gallon of milk, and a bag of dog food.  Unfortunately, these items were located in opposite ends of the store.  As the other customers clumsily staggered about, drooling slightly, smelling like the undead (or the unwashed), I hastily grabbed a shopping cart thinking I could use it to mow down some of the "Walkers" if they attacked.  Rather than go straight for the dog food at the back corner of the store, I went to the hunting department and selected a crossbow.  Then I made a quick pass through sporting goods and picked up an aluminum baseball bat.  Finally, I made my way to the housewares department for a new meat cleaver.

Fully armed to battle the Undead (if necessary), I picked up a gallon of milk and a bag of Dog Chow.  I rapidly made my way to the express checkout lane, weaving in and out of the walking dead.  With a quick swipe of my credit card, I ran from the store, threw my purchases in my truck, and sped out of the parking lot.

Now I just have to find a way to explain the crossbow, baseball bat, and meat cleaver to PilotHusband.


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