Daily Archives: February 22, 2016

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 47


On the front steps of the church, Slade, Sarah, Gunther, and Ophelia Hutchins stood, staring in awe at what was in front of them.

“Is this thing going to kill me?” Gunther asked. The ex-deputy was looking more dapper than usual. His hair was pulled back in a pony tail and he sported a suit that looked like it had seen better days, but was an improvement just the same.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t talk, Mr. Beauregard,” Ophelia said. Busybody that she was, the overweight housewife had snookered her way in as Sarah’s Maid of Honor earlier in the day.

“No,” Gunther said. “I really want to know. Is this thing going to kill me? If that thing is going to explode and shoot flames at me I have a right to know.”

Mr. O’Brien pulled his head out from the heavy black curtain attached to his  camera and addressed Gunther.

“It’s perfectly safe,” O’Brien said.

“Impossible,” Gunther said. “I read in the paper one of those things blew up at a hoedown in Kentucky and set a hundred people on fire.”

“It was only a dozen people,” O’Brien said. “And besides, that was a decade ago. The technology has improved greatly since then.”

“Do we not know what we all look like?” Gunther said as he stared at the flash standing on a pole next to O’Brien. “Do we really have to risk being burnt to a crisp just to commemorate what we already know?”

“Mr. Beauregard,” O’Brien said. “Photography is quickly becoming a part of life. Why, the top experts in the field have theorized that one day cameras will become so simple and compact that ordinary laymen will be able to carry these miraculous devices with them and document everything they see.”

“Why in the hell would anyone want to do that?” Gunther asked.

“I don’t know,” O’Brien said. “People might like to share their experiences with one another. If you see something interesting you could take a picture of it and show your friends.”

“I could just tell people what it looked like,” Gunther said. “And don’t people know what everything looks like already? If I see a tree, can’t I just tell you I saw a tree? Do you need to see a picture of the tree?”

“People could take pictures of each other,” O’Brien said.

“What kind of narcissistic jackasses would want to sit around taking pictures of each other all day?” Gunther asked. “And then what would they do? Show the pictures of themselves to each other? Sounds boring as all get out.”

“One day people might even be able to take pictures of themselves,” O’Brien said.

“Well now you’re just talking crazy,” Gunther said.

O’Brien returned under his curtain. “Now everyone please stay perfectly still for the next minute. Starting…now.”

“A whole minute?” Gunther asked.

“Let’s try it again,” O’Brien said. “Starting now.”

The wedding party remained solemn faced and perfectly still for sixty whole seconds. Sparks flew out of the flash. Gunther drew his sidearm and pointed it at the pole then seeing no danger, holstered his weapon.

“Sorry,” Gunther said. “Reflex.”

O’Brien popped out from under the blanket. “Yes,” the photographer said. “I do believe that will be lovely folks. I’ll have it ready in a month.”

“This world’s going to hell,” Gunther said.

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The Walking Dead – S5:E10 – “The Next World”

Holy Crap, 3.5 readers!


Seemed like it was coming for awhile but no one was ever sure but bam, it happened.  Rick and Michonne got it on, did the hibbitty dibbitty horizontal mambo and breathed fresh life into Dr. King’s dream amidst the zombie apocalypse.

“Richonne” is now a thing.  Good for them.

What’s up with this Jesus guy?

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 46


In his room, Blythe sat Indian-style, levitating three feet above the floor. His eyes were closed as he was in deep meditation.

A knock on the door. One eye opened.


The other eye opened. “Enter.”

Hewitt and Becker walked in.

“We just overheard those shit heads downstairs,” Hewitt said. “Jack and some of his boys are gunning for Slade.”

“Interesting,” Blythe said. He revolved his body around to face his henchmen.

“You want us to break it up?” Becker asked. “They could set things off too early.”

Blythe sighed. “I had so hoped to delay the festivities until our friends arrive.”

“They’ll be here by midnight,” Hewitt said. “Last I heard.”

“Close enough,” Blythe said. “No, let Mr. Buchanan have his fun. With any luck, he’ll kill Slade for me and free me of the board’s predilections.”

Blythe put his feet down on the floor and stood up. “Gentlemen, allow me a moment to adjourn to my quarters on the Marvel, then dispatch all the Buchanans remaining here.”

“Finally,” Hewitt said. “Can’t stand those hayseeds.”

“I notice there’s no boy with you,” Blythe said.

“He’s long gone,” Becker said. “Gotta be.”

“Very well,” Blythe replied. “If Freeman makes a move, terminate him immediately.”

“With pleasure,” Hewitt said.

“Oh and gentlemen,” Blythe said. “Miss Lassiter and Miss Farquhar are to remain alive. That is imperative. I cannot overstate the importance of this order.”

“Got it,” Becker said.

“When you are done downstairs, search for them and bring them to me.”
Hewitt and Becker left. Blythe put on his suit jacket and packed his things.

“I swear, the board’s incompetence will be this plan’s undoing.”

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How the West Was Zombed – The Marvel of the Rails

Ahem.  The next draft will feature a revision in which the train is named earlier as “The Marvel of the Rails.”

So don’t be surprised now that it will be referred to as such.

Thank you 3.5 readers.

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How the West Was Zombed – A Note on the Buchanans

I know I keep throwing out names of Buchanan Boys.  Keep in mind they are like superfluous minions, except less yellow and more inbred.  That I keep coming up with new names of Buchanan Boys is meant to be a joke in and of itself.  Remember, Smelly Jack was apprehended in the beginning with over 30 of his brother-cousins, so I can spew out names all day.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 45



Smelly Jack had been hearing that name bandied about amongst the barflies all day long. He repeated it in anger as he squeezed his beer mug until it shattered, sending glass pieces and brew all over his brother-cousins.

“Damn it, Jack!” said Frank Buchanan. “You got your suds all over me!”

Jack stood up and flipped the table over, sending cards and poker chips scattering to the floor.


“Aw hell, come on Jack,” said Rufus Buchanan. We’ve got a pretty sweet deal as railroad security agents here.”

“Yeah,” said Buck Buchanan. “This is our shot at going legit and living the sweet life.”

“FUCK THAT!” Smelly Jack bellowed. “That crooked schiester has kept us cooped up in this joint for two days and we haven’t seen so much as a dime or a job! All the while that chicken shit law man is strutting around like the cock of the walk, probably telling everyone how he got one over on me!”

“Calm down Jack,” Rufus said.

“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do!” Jack said. “And putting Slade six feet under is what this man’s gotta do!”

Frank, Rufus, and Buck eyeballed each other.

“Shit,” Frank said. “You sure we can’t talk you out of this, Jack?”

“NO!!!” was Jack’s reply.

“He is the boss,” Rufus said.

“We got your back, Jack,” Buck asked.

The quartet walked out of the saloon, proudly shouting about Slade’s imminent demise, just in time to be overhead by Hewitt and Becker as they returned from an unsuccessful day’s hunt.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 44

Doc opened up a trunk and filled it with his clothes, knick knacks, and of course, a hearty supply of his Miracle Cure-All. Annabelle, now in her best dress, walked into the room while fastening a ring to her ear.

“Whatcha doin’?” the ditzy prostitute asked.

“I’m afraid I’ve worn out my welcome in this town my dear,” Doc said. “I’m off to cross the Mississippi and share my Miracle Cure-All with the East.”

“No!” Annabelle said. “Why? Because of what Miss Bonnie said?”

“Indeed,” Doc replied. “I have always steadfastly maintained that a man is little more than his reputation and I will not remain in a locale where my good name is assaulted by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”

“You sold all your dope, didn’t you?” Annabelle asked.

“Yes,” Doc said. “I mean, it’s not dope, but yes.  And upon my arrival in Chicago I shall order more!”

Annabelle’s eyes bugged out. “Chicago?! Golly, I’ve always wanted to see a big city.”

Doc sat on the edge of the bed. “Yes,” he said. “ I suppose I sometimes forget that to the common folk my life is quite spectacular.”

Annabelle joined him. “It sure sounds like it.”

“My dear,” Doc said. “I do not wish to alarm you and I say this with every possible sense of humility but you are in the company of a genius.”

“Oh I know,” Annabelle said. “I knew it the second I met you.”

“Few share your remarkable foresight,” Doc said. “For all throughout history, those who dare to think differently from the commoners have always been subjected to ridicule.”

“They have?” Annabelle asked.

“Indubitably!” Doc replied as he stood up. “Why, the great Galileo was viciously persecuted for declaring that the Earth revolves around the Sun and not the other way around, as the biblical scholars believed at the time. Columbus was scoffed at when he surmised that the world was round and that he would prove it by circumnavigating the globe in order to reach India!”

“Did he ever reach India?” Annabelle asked.

“It doesn’t matter!” Doc said. “For though they were scorned in their day, history has proven that these men possessed a level of intelligence far greater than their contemporaries. We now know that the Earth does indeed revolve around the Sun, that the world most certainly is round and by God, though my fate as a genius is to be mocked by uncouth nitwits for the rest of my waking days, I cling to an unwavering belief that one day there will be a place for me in the history books in which I am praised as Doctor Elias T. Faraday by way of Boston, Massachusetts…”

Annabelle had heard Doc’s spiel before. She hopped up and proudly proclaimed, “But he’s no relation to those Chestnut Hill Faradays because they’re lousy beggars who will pick your pockets!”

“Precisely!” Doc said. “And I shall be remembered as the pioneer who revolutionized medicine by informing the world of the curative properties of cocaine and the benefits of weekly gynecological exams!”

“I still think those could just be yearly,” Annabelle said.

Doc slapped his forehead in disgust, then labored to respond. “It’s just that…”

“I’m sorry,” Annabelle said.

“…you have no idea the horrors that could transpire within your womanly chasm in the span of a single day let alone an entire year,” Doc said.

“I said I’m sorry!” Annabelle protested.

“No no,” Doc said. “Such is my lot in life. Such is the lot of all geniuses who are burdened with knowledge the world is not yet prepared to hear. Oh how I wish I could trade my brain for that of a dullard and live a blissfully unaware life but alas, I shall strive to muddle through. Good day, my dear.”

Annabelle threw herself at Doc, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “Take me with you!”

“What?” Doc asked.

“I want to see the big city and help you spread the word of the curative properties of cocaine and weekly guy-na…guy-na-col…of weekly beaver inspections!”

“No, no my dear!” Doc said. “I simply could not allow that! My work is much too tasking for a delicate flower such as yourself you know. Why, once I pass through New York City and big good morrow to my family in Boston I shall be off to England, Spain, France, even Russia on my mission to spread my Miracle Cure-All all over the world.”

Annabelle bounced up and down giddily. “I want to travel all over the world!”

“But my dear it’s not all visits with Kings and heads of states I’ll have you know,” Doc said. “I shall journey onward to the heart of Africa, for even the savage peoples of the Dark Continent deserve the medicinal effects of cocaine based drinks mixed with spider eggs for texture. This is my life now, my dear, and I will not rest until every hand in the entire world is holding a bottle of Doc Faraday’s Miracle Cure-All!”

Annabelle squeezed Doc tighter and begged. “Please, please, please, please…”

“Hmm,” Doc said as he stroked his devilish beard. “Dare I? Doctor Elias T. Faraday take a wife?”

Annabelle shoved Doc away. “Whoa! Slow down, buster! Who said anything about getting hitched?”

“I thought that was what you were implying,” Doc said.

“No,” Annabelle said. “I just want to see the world and…” She then whispered some very naughty activities into Doc’s ear that caused his right eyebrow to raise exceptionally high.

“Well in that case, come along my dear,” Doc said as he offered Annabelle his arm. He picked up his trunk with his free hand and walked downstairs with his new companion.

“Oh dear,” Doc said as he checked his pocket watch.

“What?” Annabelle asked.

“Well, the Slade-Farquhar nuptials shall be happening presently and as a man of high stature I really should attend.”

“You should?” Annabelle asked.

“I should,” Doc replied. “I saved Marshal Slade’s life in a harrowing shoot-out against a band of ruffians I’ll have you know.”

At a table with his favorite brother-cousins, Smelly Jack drank his twelfth beer of the day and eavesdropped on the conversation.

“You did?”  Annabelle asked.

“The Buchanan Boys they were called,” Doc said. “Oh it was quite gruesome. No decent man ever truly gets over taking another man’s life and yet I was forced to take so many lives that day.”

“Oh your poor thing,” Annabelle said.  She didn’t consider the fact that she was literally surrounded by many living Buchanans but then again putting two and two together wasn’t exactly Annabelle’s strong suit.

“Yes well, I shall persevere,” Doc said as he led Annabelle through the double doors. “Come my dear, let us attend Mr. Slade’s wedding and then we shall be off to travel the world!”

“Waldo!” Annabelle shouted to the barkeep.

Waldo looked bored out of his mind, listening to another bull session between Blake and Townsend.

“Tell Bonnie I quit!” Annabelle said.

“OK,” Waldo said.

“I’m going to be an assistant world traveling beaver inspecting dope salesman!” Annabelle proudly declared.

“Umm,” Waldo said. “You know I think I’ll probably just tell her you don’t want to be a whore anymore…if its just the same.”

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How the West Was Zombed – A Note on Chapter 44

Soo…I never really intended to give “Annabelle” any more screen time but…

  1.  I needed to somehow get Doc out of the saloon…
  2. …because if I don’t (spoiler alert) then there will be no more Doc…
  3. …and this was the best idea I could think of.

You have to go with what you’ve got and I actually think they make a nice couple.

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