Daily Archives: April 10, 2016

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 70

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“An immunity,” Doc said.  “Lad, as we speak, there are renowned scientists who are studying the concept that exposure of the body to minute doses of a disease could, in fact, build up the body’s defenses against said disease.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Miss Bonnie said.

“It does sound stupid Doc,” Gunther said.  “Get yourself sick to keep from getting sick?”

“A bold gambit to be sure but one that is espoused by the likes of Mr. Louis Pasteur,” Doc said.

“Who?”  Miss Bonnie asked.

“That shit head that told everyone they got to boil their milk,” Gunther replied.

“Oh,” Miss Bonnie said. “Fuck him there aint nothing wrong with milk.”

Doc erupted into a long coughing spell.  His throat settled down and he kept on.

“Imagine your body is a bare knuckle boxer and the disease an opponent,” Gunther said.  “Would a boxer not fair better against an opponent it has briefly fought before?  Said boxer would learn all of its opponent’s strengths and weaknesses and be better prepared for a full bout, would he not?”

Slade chomped on his cigar.  “But the opponent might just knock you the hell out in the first go around.”

“Possibly,” Doc said. “But unlikely if the match were short.”

Gunther looked at the spilled elixir coating the floor.

“Shit Doc,” Gunther said. “You’ve been guzzling this shit for as long as I’ve known you.  Short match my ass.”

Gunther pointed at Townsend.  “And if one bite was all took to turn this prick then I’m surprised you’re not a zombie already.”

“Ah,” Doc said as he slowly raised a finger, as if the small gesture was a great task in his weakened condition. “But as young Miles has indicated there are supernatural aspects at play.  I have never been one to espouse that science and religion are diametrically opposed forces but rather, science can be turned to for an explanation of what religion cannot enlighten us on and vice versa.”

Miles nodded.  “Vampires have been known to trick people into drinking their blood,” the boys said.  “Drinking it doesn’t kill a person and the soul fights the vampire’s will for as long as the person lives.  The person who drank it unwittingly would never even know what happened unless someone tells him.”

Doc stroked his beard.  “I would have to study samples of vampire blood in a laboratory to be certain, but I theorize that while ingesting vampire’s blood into one’s stomach causes no physical harm to the subject until the obvious post mortem zombification, the injection of this supernatural contagion directly into the bloodstream via a zombie bite is such a shock to the system that it instantly kills the victim and subsequently zombifies them.”

Gunther, Slade and Miss Bonnie exchanged confused looks.

“Translation?” Gunther asked.

“Don’t let a zombie bite you,” Miles said.

“Yes,” Doc said.  “Oh how I admire the ability of youth to put matters more succinctly than a man as learned as I.  At any rate, I have been a regular consumer of the vampire blood infused elixir for many weeks now, since the day I formed my lamentable partnership with Mr. Blythe.  Ergo, so much vampire’s blood now courses through my veins that it kept Mr. Townsend’s bite from instantly killing me but…”

Annabelle pouted.  Doc looked away from her.

“The more concentrated form of the contagion delivered into my system during my ill fated counter with Frank Buchanan’s tooth is slowly working against me” Doc said.  “Slowed by the copious amounts of vampire’s blood in my body yet in due course, I shall eventually become an undead man.”

The group stood around Doc quietly.  Miss Bonnie raised her barrel.  Gunther pushed it down again.

“Am I going to have to take that away from you?” Gunther asked.

“He just said he’s going to become a zombie!” Miss Bonnie said.

Anabelle knelt down and hugged Doc, who grimaced in pain at the contact.  “He’s not a zombie yet.”

The prostitute gently held Doc’s head in her hands.  “I don’t know how but we’re going to fix this.”

“My dear…”

“No,” Anabelle said.  “As long as you’re alive and not a zombie, there’s still hope.  Isn’t there?”

Doc’s eyes pointed downward.

“Well,” Annabelle said.  “Isn’t there?”

“In theory,” Doc said.

“I’ll take it,” Annabelle replied.

“So what?” Miss Bonnie asked.  “We just wait until he turns and bites one of us?”

“Damn it, Miss Bonnie,” Gunther said.  “In my entire life I have never left a man behind when he needed me and I’m not going to start now.”

Miss Bonnie looked at Slade, who, in his mind, went to work coming with the most diplomatic answer he could come up with.

“He’s still alive,” Slade said.  The ex-marshall looked at Miles.  “Anyone ever come back from becoming one of these things?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of,” Miles replied.

Doc shifted back in his chair and looked up at Annabelle.

“Oh my dear,” Doc said.  “How I wish I had known you longer but alas, the curtain most close early on the show of my life, the best act of which was certainly the day I met you.  Miss Lassiter is correct and she should be allowed to dispatch me posthaste.  Until she does, I am a threat to everyone in this room.”

Anabelle wept.  “Doc…no.”

Gunther put a hand on Doc’s shoulder.  “Is that what you really want, Doc?”

“It is my good man.”

Gunther shook his head and walked back next to Slade.  Annabelle kissed Doc and looked him in the eyes.

“Please…” she begged.

“It is for the best, my dear,” Doc said.  “We will always have that thing.”

Anabelle gave her man one final kiss then backed away.

“Do you wish me to read you your last rites, son?” the Reverend asked.

“No,” Doc replied.  “I’d prefer to have the matter over with.”  Doc looked at Miss Bonnie and closed his eyes.  “Fire at will, Miss Lassiter.”

Slade put his hand down on Miss Bonnie’s barrel this time.  “Maybe I should do it,” Slade said.  “Killing a man is a hell of a thing.  It’ll haunt you forever, whether it was justified or not.”

“I got it,” Miss Bonnie replied, coldly.

Miss Bonnie raised her weapon and took aim at Doc’s head.  Everyone watched as she maintained her line of sight until finally, she put her shotgun down.

“Son of a bitch,” Miss Bonnie said.  “I can’t do it with him all alive and dopey looking and everything.”

Doc opened his eyes.  He flicked his right wrist and his spring loaded gun popped out from underneath his sleeve.

“You are a kinder woman than I presumed, Miss Lassiter,” Doc said.  “And I can see now it was selfish of me to ask one of you to commit this heinous deed.”

Slowly, Doc rose up out of the chair and onto his feet, his body shaking and struggling to hold up his own weight.

“Adieu, my friends,” Doc said.  His arm trembled as brought the pistol to his temple.  “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

Before Doc even pulled the trigger, he crashed face first into the floor.

Gunther, Slade and Anabelle all crouched around him.

“What the hell was that?” Gunther asked.

“I think he’s still breathing,” Annabelle said.

Thump.  Thump.  Thump.  Multiple fists pounded on the church door.  The sound of hungry growls poured in through the broken window.

Miss Bonnie pointed her shotgun at the door.  “We’ve got bigger problems.”

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Top Ten Warning Signs Your Boyfriend Might Be a Shirtless Alpha Male in a Romance Novel

Romance novels.

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For Christ’s Sake, put a shirt on Chad.

Not only are they the fuel that keeps the fires of many a female reader burning, they keep the wheels of the publishing industry turning as well.

Ladies of all ages like a good story about a woman swept off her feet by the perfect man.

Said perfect man usually defined as being a) long haired b) muscular and c) shirtless.

It’s ok ladies.  I won’t point out that your love of these novels is more or less the equivalent of your boyfriend scoping out risqué sites on the Interwebs.

And romance authors, though I’ll never read them, keep churning them out as the more people who are reading anything, the longer the publishing industry stays afloat.

From BQB HQ in fabulous East Randomtown, here are the Top Ten Warning Signs Your Boyfriend Might Be a Shirtless Alpha Male in a Romance Novel:

10.  Always shirtless so as to show off his rock hard abs and other assorted muscles.  No matter the occasion.  Working out?  Shirtless.  Doing yard work?  Shirtless.  Trip to the store?  Shirtless.  Attending a state dinner with the Queen of England?  Shirtless.  Hell, the Queen probably digs that shit.

9.  Has a douchey name.  Examples include: Brodie, Body, Cody.  Chad, Brad, or Tad.  Lance. Guy. Trent. Blake. Basically, if you hear the guy’s name and can picture him as a blonde haired bully in a 1980’s movie with the arms of a fancy sweater tied around his neck while hassling Anthony Michael Hall then you know he’s got a douchey name.

8.  Has long, flawless locks of hair and wherever he is or whatever he is doing, they’re always blowing in the wind.  Even when there is no wind.  Put him on the Moon and his damn hair will still blow around.

7.  Ladies, let’s face it.  Whenever he bosses you around, you look up to him as a strong, take charge kind of guy.  Whip a pair of glasses on him and an extra thirty pounds and you’d bust out the pepper spray the instant he asks where his dinner is.

6.  Has tons of money but exhibits no visible signs of employment.  He’s just one of those miracle dudes who has tons of money to spend on his lady but still has plenty of time to keep those abs up.  Also, his muscles are always greased up, as if there’s always an assistant with a bucket of lotion following him around.

5.  Speaking of, you’re tired of being held up to the Barbie doll standard, but you also believe every man who doesn’t look like a shirtless alpha male is a loser.

4.  Rides a motorcycle.  Everywhere.  Except when he’s not riding a damn horse.  And if you try to tell him what to do, he’s going to ride that motorcycle or horse in the sunset, baby.

3.  You’re pretty sure you can change him into a nicer person through the awesome power of your vagina.  But let’s face it, if he were to become nicer, he wouldn’t be an badass shirtless alpha male anymore.  He might even start covering up with a collection of those polo shirts with the little alligator on the pocket, denying the world the sight of his muscles.

2.  Wherever he is, there’s inevitably a pile of wood he can chop in a gratuitous display of his manly muscles.  In a logging camp?  There’s a pile of wood.  In a forest? There’s a pile of wood.  On a beach?  Wood. In a desert? Wood.  Stop making jokes about wood.

  1.  Yup.  Nerdy men hate him about as much as nerdy women hate those supermodel chicks.  Maybe all the nerdy men and women of the world should just get together and read some comic books while all the good looking people of the world do it on beaches with the wind blowing through their hair.
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