“We had an understanding, you and me, Talbot. I would hang with you, if and only if, you didn’t get any fucking nuttier,”
“Mike, as the only black member of this dysfunctional group, I’m truly amazed that I’m still alive. I mean I’ve watched almost every horror movie ever made, and without fail, if a man of color is in the movie, he dies first. In recent years, however, it has gotten somewhat better. Now, we sometimes make it to second killed, after the ditzy blonde, but I’ve got to imagine that a brother’s life expectancy in any horror setting is generally a couple of hours, at most.”
“The splitting up, I know, I know. I feel like the idiot that says, ‘Yeah I’ll go down to the basement alone to check out the breaker box, and I only have this one wooden match to light my way. Oh, and did I mention that we heard suspicious sounds down there only moments earlier?”
“BT barely registered my existence as I pulled the gun from his hand. He looked up at me with a tear-soaked face. “I’ve been bit, Mike,” BT sobbed.”
“Careful, the number one cause of accidental shootings is careful aim.”
“Grenades! Please tell me grenades!” I said, almost jumping up and down like a schoolgirl that found out the captain of the football team liked her.”
“Close your mouth when you’re nodding, Talbot,” Tracy said, “You look like the village idiot.”
“Oh, Talbot,” Tracy said, falling welcomingly into my arms. “What are we going to do with you?” she said, burying her face into my shoulder. “There’s always the rodeo,” I told her. It was the first thing that came to my mind. She wiped a tear from her eye and looked up at me. “You rarely think before you speak, don’t you?” “What? I think I’d be great, those guys that get in the barrel and everything.” “You know those are rodeo clowns, right?” she was telling me. “Clowns? I hate clowns. They are the root of all evil in this world,” I answered. “You honestly believe that, don’t you?” Tracy said. “There are zombies and vampires roaming this world, but clowns rule as the supreme evil being in your world.”
“Hi, occupants.” “What are you? Junk mail?”
“The first zombie reached BT and met a blissful exit from this world courtesy of a Louisville Slugger, the preferred choice of zombie slayers nationwide.”
“Brian was shaking his head, walking around in small circles. He was mumbling to himself. “No guns! The world is caving in on itself and this crazy old bastard doesn’t even have a gun.” “What’s wrong with your friend?” Crotchety asked. “He looks like he has distemper.”
“Nice pistol,” Paul said as I was looking it over, trying to figure out the cocking mechanism, safety and every other moving part. “You should give it to Deneaux.” I looked at him like he had just snorted some weed. “No, man, I’m not kidding. The lady can shoot the balls off a gnat from across the room,”
“There’s a safe!” Gary said, sticking his head back out. “Great, maybe we’ll see who he willed his gold watch to,” I said, looking at the zombie’s feet, which were still twitching. It was creeping the hell out of me, but at least she wasn’t telling me she wanted some Dr. Scholl’s or something. “Gun safe, Mike.” Gary said as if I were Gary Busey. Does that need any further explanation? “I”
“I guess zombies were a lot like stoners; neither did much in the way of action until food was involved. At least I would be able to keep myself amused.”
“It really does suck having the attention span of a coconut-laden swallow”
“You’re still concentrating, right?” BT asked to my retreating back. “Yes I’m still concentrating, Mrs. Weinstedder.” “What?” “Nothing, just my old algebra teacher.” “So somehow this whole scene reminded you of an old math teacher? Who did the wiring in your head? Because you should get your deposit back.”
“The weapons-of-mass-destruction-seeking team came back a couple of hours later with about as much luck finding anything, as the US had been a few years previous.”
“We got some swords,” Brian said, putting three sharp-edged blades on the ground. “They any good?” I asked, picking one up. I’d seen some that would fall apart from the impact with a watermelon and others with a blade so dull they couldn’t cut a fart.”
“I do not want to die, Talbot,” a heaving-chested BT said to me as we watched the zombies chase after Gary. “You just took on eighteen zombies with a wooden stick, I’d say your actions speak differently.” “No, just because I’m pissed off shouldn’t be construed as a suicidal gesture.”
“Careful, the number one cause of accidental shootings is careful aim.” Paul”
“I guess that makes me a hero,” Mike said. Paul knew he was kidding; but kidding or not, it was the truth. “I guess it does.” “Dude, you’re embarrassing me, and you need to be quiet for a while. I think I’ve found a way to move things with my mind.” “Are you shitting me?” “Nope, try it, man. You’re on the same shit as I am.”
“Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel himself very insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who was kind to him at all was the Skin Horse.
The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.
"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.
But the Skin Horse only smiled.”
“She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.”
“Nobody is driven by abstractions like 'seeking truth.”
“Don't make it worse by thinking it's more painful than it actually is.”
“Galadriel his sister went not with him to Nargothrond, for in Doriath dwelt Celeborn, kinsman of Thingol, and there was great love between them. Therefore she remained in the Hidden Kingdom, and abode with Melian, and of her learned great lore and wisdom concerning Middle-earth.”
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