“But when a giant black man is screaming at the top of his lungs in a post-apocalyptic world that you need to get your skinny asses back on the truck to save yourselves, you tend to listen.”
“Ah, precocious kids, don’t you just want to throw them up against a wall and see if they stick?”
“When confronted with a wild animal (in this case a female human), it is best to avoid direct eye contact and make no fast or sudden movements.”
“I survived,” would be my meek reply. Might as well have said “Blue! No, No, Yellow!!” Right before I was launched into the abyss. (You would have to be a fan of Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail to catch the reference. If you have by some chance gone this far in your life and have not witnessed one of the greatest comedies created then odds are you’re not going to find a DVD player that works now, sorry.)”
“Hey, Mr. T?” “Yeah, Tommy,” I answered as I slowed”
“I was beginning to wonder if Justin was a zombie GPS. Our own portable ‘Harmin’ (you know rhymes with Garmin) or better yet how about a Zom-Zom. Wonderful, death all around and I’m making plays on product names.”
“Not sure if this was an angle Glade would want to use – ‘NEW Gas scented plug-ins for all your zombie stench needs. Is Grandma’s rotting corpse beginning to embarrass you? Do guests avoid coming to your house because of the decomposing children? Whisk away those horrible odors with our new GAS plug-ins, now available in Diesel and Oil”
“How is that light still on, Talbot?” BT asked in hushed tones with a note of reverence in his voice. “There’s a machine with Kit-Kats in there, do you have any change, Mr. T?” Tommy asked hopefully. It’s amazing to me that all of us had known Tommy long enough that nobody even looked halfway cross-eyed at him at his pronouncement. If Tommy had said that a convention of clowns respite with balloon animals was in there singing Billy Joel songs, we would all have believed him. Of course I wouldn’t have gone in, clowns are evil, but I still would have believed him.”
“The beauty of being this far east of Denver is that the landscape is much like Kansas: flat and unremarkable. We’d be able to see zombies for miles, unless of course they were hiding in snowdrifts or scrub brush.”
“BT came up to the rear of the truck. “Who made you boss?” his voice boomed. “You know what, BT?” I said as I tried to make myself as tall and intimidating as possible. Not an easy trick to pull off when I was pretty much looking him in the sternum. “No, what?” he asked. “Rhetorical, BT, rhetorical. Nobody made me boss. In fact, I don’t want to be boss at all. That would make this entire fuck fest a lot easier if I didn’t have to worry about any of my decisions getting people killed. I would like nothing more than to lie in the back of that truck and help Igor polish off whatever liquor he has stowed away. So, my giant friend, feel free to take the reins of this carnival ride and do with it what you may. I’m just too tired to deal with it.”
“Like any smart person in my predicament, I made sure the light was pointing right in my eyes when I turned it on. Nothing like a case of temporary blindness to get your adrenaline running.”
“Ah, what I’d do for a nuclear bomb.” “A nuclear what?” my wife asked. Her contortion of fear was clearly outlined. “Did I say that out loud?” I asked, clearly confused.”
“The bullet didn’t come out. I’ve got to go in and get it.” “Have you ever done that?” she asked, quickly thrusting the bottle into my hands. I guess she thought whoever possessed the bottle had to perform the surgery. “I filled in pot holes, Jen. Not much call for field surgery in that line of work.” “What about before that?” she grasped. “Oh yeah sure, I left a lucrative and life-fulfilling job as a highly skilled surgeon to live the prosaic life of a road crew man. Filling holes seemed a much nobler profession.” “Don’t”
“I grabbed some sani-wipes from Tracy and cleaned off my hands as best I could, and then drizzled whiskey over them. If it didn’t kill the germs, at least it would get them drunk enough to be cooperative.”
“A dictator decrees,” she later wrote, “a president asks Congress for permission to organize.”
“When you were young and asking about him, how do you tell a six-year-old that his father hung himself? And then the older you got, the more it was just easier to pretend like I was protecting you from the awfulness of the truth.”
“I think we all make choices in our lives that set us down the road to happiness or disappointment. It’s just that we can’t always see where the road is leading us until we’re halfway there.”
“U.S. Public Health Service statistics show that eight out of ten drug users are white, but of those in jail for drugs only one in ten is white. Several uprisings in federal prisons labeled “racial riots” by the media have been protests against unjust sentencing policies. Crack addicts are punished a hundred times more severely than cocaine users. Literally one hundred times: according to federal law, a gram of crack is equivalent to one hundred grams of cocaine. Practically everyone imprisoned for crack is black.”
“The simplicity of living astounds me. But it’s the terror of death that devours me.”
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