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Sep 25 2016
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Zomcation

Zomcation – Chapter 13

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The Wombatorium, an immense plexiglass structure built high into the sky in order to resemble the large, luxurious mountain Willy Wombat lived on in the hit animated show, Willy Wombat and Friends, served as a majestic marker to indicate to one and all that they had arrived to America’s number one theme park dedicated to a cartoon marsupial.

Inside, there were a few gift shops, a stroller rental stand and Freezey the Penguin’s Ice Cream Parlor, none of it nearly as appealing as the exterior.

Underneath, there was a long, wide walkaway that connected the front entrance to the park itself.

And in front of that walkway, Wombat World Security Guard Doug Crocker went above and beyond (many often said way above and much farther beyond) in earning his eleven dollars an hour.

Doug’s pink uniform was neatly pressed. His boots were polished until they shined like mirrors, as was the wombat shaped badged pinned to the right side of his chest. His baby blue clip on tie was stain free.

And his shades? Mere coverings to mask the disgust he felt at all the potential threats he perceived around him.

“Mother of God, Earl,” Doug said as he rested his hands on the shiny belt buckle that sat underneath his protruding belly. “Look at all these rule breakers.”

Earl, a Wombat World Security guard in his mid-sixties, shook his head and sipped his morning coffee from a styrofoam cup while doing his best to ignore Doug.

Oblivious to Earl’s desire to be left alone, Doug prattled on. “Any one of these people, any one of them could be an undercover messenger of doom.”

Earl rolled his eyes.

“That sweet little old lady over there in the motorized scooter?” Doug said. “She might walk just fine. Maybe she’s an assassin trained in the ancient art of kung-fu sent by some vicious crime syndicate to take us all down. We’d never see it coming.”

“Oh Lord,” Earl mumbled.

“See that little boy wearing a Ferdinand Ferret backpack?” Doug asked.

Earl didn’t respond.

“Do you see him?” Doug asked.

Earl groaned. “Yup.”

“How do I know that there isn’t a pair of deadly nunchucks in that backpack?” Doug asked. “Here everyone is laughing it up, having a jolly old time like a bunch of morons while this kid could be preparing to nunchuck us all to death.”

“All bags are checked at the front gate,” Earl said.

“Oh,” Doug replied. “Right. But, do I know that kid’s backpack was actually checked? Perhaps he slipped the guard at the front gate a fiver to look the other way.”

Earl silently closed his eyes and prayed for strength.

“What about that little girl with that balloon?” Doug asked. “How do I know that balloon is filled with helium? How do I know that it isn’t filled with poison gas?”

Earl sighed. “Because poison gas wouldn’t make the balloon float.”

“I’m sorry, Earl,” Doug said. “I didn’t know you were a scientist. I wasn’t aware that you had a degree in Advanced Knowledge of Which Gases Make Balloons Float-a-nomics.”

Earl winced, quietly counted to ten, then took another sip of his coffee.

The duo of security guards stood there quietly for awhile, watching as one happy family after another passed by.

“Hey Earl?” Doug asked.

No response.

“Earl?”

Still, no response.

“Earl, buddy?”

Coffee sip. No response.

“Hey!” Doug shouted. “Earl!”

“What?!” Earl shouted back, finally losing his cool.

“Geeze,” Doug said. “No need to be snippy.”

“I’m not deaf,” Earl said.

“OK,” Doug said. “I just thought maybe you were, due to your advanced age and all.”

“I ought to advance age your ass,” Earl said.

“Remember from before, when I mocked you for not being a balloon gas scientist?” Doug asked.

Earl grunted in the affirmative.

“I just want to apologize for that,” Earl said. “It was uncalled for. We’re a good team, you and I…me, a young white man in my prime, you a decrepit, elderly black man with one foot in the grave…”

“You’re almost forty,” Earl said.

“I’m thirty-six, Earl,” Doug said. “No need to round up so vigorously.”

“Good lord I wish I could just have five minutes of peace,” Earl said.

Doug was oblivious to Earl’s wish.

“It’s just, you’re Murtaugh to my Riggs, you know?” Doug said. “Buddy cops. A duo of unlikely partners who somehow make it work.”

“Son,” Earl said. “Let’s get a few things straight. We’re not cops. We’re not partners. We’re private security staff who are paid to stand around, look presentable, make the tourists feel safe, and occasionally if asked, we give someone directions or help a lost kid find his family. If shit were to ever go down, we’d call in real, actual cops. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.”

Doug frowned. “You just took a whopper of a dump in my creme brulee, Earl.”

Earl sipped his coffee. “It needed it. Did I ever tell you what I did before this job?”

“No,” Doug said.

“For thirty-five long ass years, I worked for a portable toilet company,” Earl said. “I delivered them. Set them up. Picked them up when they were no longer needed at a site and worse, I had to clean them. Let me tell you boy, you know how people don’t give a shit about the condition they leave a public bathroom in?”

Doug nodded.

“Well multiply that times a hundred and that’s how people treat a damn porta-potty,” Early said. “I’m not just talking about the two substances you’d expect to find in a privy, no sir. I’m talking drugs, used needles, dead raccoons, dead rats, dead porcupines, dead animals of every kind including humans.”

“Dead humans?” Earl asked.

“Three times in my life I opened up a door to a stank ass toilet only to have an overdose victim fall the hell out of it,” Earl said. “That shit messes with a man for life.”

“That’s terrible, Earl,” Doug said.

“It is,” Earl said. “And I haven’t even mentioned the baby.”

Doug’s jaw dropped. “You found a dead baby in a portable toilet?”

“No,” Earl said. “I found a live baby in a portable toilet.”

“How did the baby get there?” Doug asked.

“I don’t know,” Earl said. “Do I look like Creskin? I walk up to the John. I hear a baby crying. I open it up and a damn baby is lying on the floor. I don’t know how it got there. I assume the kid’s mother didn’t want her. I called the police and they came and took her. I hope they found a happy home for the kid.”

“I had no idea you had it so bad, buddy,” Doug said.

“Yeah,” Earl replied. “So you can imagine the elation I felt when I retired, moved to Florida, and was able to find a nice, do-nothing job at a theme park where the only requirement is that I remain standing and smile politely at the tourists for eight hours.”

Earl took another sip. “But I guess like everything in life, there’s a catch. This job was nice for about a year. I stood here. I was nice to everyone. I had my coffee. I enjoyed the sun on my skin…then they had to go and post your dumb ass here, a Goddamn police academy washout who won’t stop running his mouth, never giving me a second of peace.”

A twelve-year-old girl walked up to Earl. “Where’s the arcade?”

Earl smiled and turned around to face the underpass. “Why, all you need to do is walk right underneath the Wombatatorium here, then keep going straight until you see the Willy-Go-Round. Take a right and you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” the girl said.

“No problem,” Earl replied. “You have a good time, now.”

Doug flipped the top of his shades to reveal the regular prescription glasses hiding underneath. Doing so gave him a better look at the mouth full of gum the girl was chewing on.

The girl started to walk away.

“Hey,” Doug said.

The girl ignored Doug, so he took a whistle that was hanging around his neck and blew it loudly, to an ear splitting degree.

“Hey,” Doug repeated. “Stop!”

“What?” the girl asked as she turned around.

“There’s no gum showing allowed in Wombat World, missy,” Doug said.
“But I just put it in and it still tastes like watermelon,” the girl said.

Doug hunched over and stared the girl right in the eyes. “Do I look like I care, delinquent? Spit it out right now.”

The girl puckered up, sucked up some wind, then spit the gum out…right at Doug. It landed square on his right lens.

Doug stood upright and slowly picked the spittle covered wad off of his glasses.

“Behavior like that is going to get you thrown into juvie right quick you know,” Doug said.

Earl slapped his forehead in protest of the spectacle that was unfolding in front of his eyes. The old man then reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a small booklet, and flipped open the cover.

“Oh, you’re in for it now, girly,” Doug said. “My partner’s going to write you up. You’ll be banned from Wombat World for life.”

“I’m all out of Willies,” Earl said. “You like Chester or Ferdinand?”

“Ferdinand,” the girl replied.

Earl pealed a ferret sticker out of his booklet and stuck it to the girl’s sleeve. She smiled, then skipped away.

“Nice, Earl,” Doug said. “Take the enemy’s side.”

“Enemy?” Earl asked. “She’s a little girl. And there’s no rule against chewing gum.”

“There should be,” Doug said. “This whole park is living history. I’m not going to stand idly by while ne’er-do-wells cover the Caruthers Brothers’ masterpiece with chewed up bubblegum.”

“Observe,” Earl said. “Report illegal shit. Help people with their problems to the best of our ability. That’s all we’re required to do.”

“You should get your partner’s back,” Doug said.

“You’re not my partner,” Earl replied. “You’re a guy assigned to stand in the same vicinity as me. That’s all.”

“That hurts, Earl,” Doug said.

“Don’t care,” Earl replied as he sipped his coffee.

A few minutes passed. Doug spotted another troublemaker. A dude in his early-twenties listening to music through his ear buds.

Doug blew his whistle but the dude paid him no mind.

“Sir,” Doug said. “It’s not really smart to walk around and listen to music at the same time. You might not pay attention to where you’re going and hurt yourself.”

“Eat a dick, Rent-a-Cop!” the dude shouted as he walked through the underpass.

Doug shook his head. “Did you hear that? The mouthes on some of these kids today.”

“Son,” Earl said. “Let me help you out with this. The thing you’re failing to realize is that it costs one-hundred and sixty-eight dollars to step foot in this park for one day. Just for one day. So if I’m one of these people and I shell out all that dough to come to a theme park and then some turkey in a pink uniform with a wombat shaped badge tells me not to listen to music, I’d probably tell him to eat a dick too.”

“No one has any respect, anymore,” Doug said as he pinched his thumb and pointer finger together. “I was this close to being a real cop, you know.”

“I know, kid,” Earl said.

The old man sipped from his cup again, then stoically stared up at the sky for a moment.

“But when it comes to horseshoes or life, ‘close’ doesn’t mean Jack shit.”

Doug nodded. “You’re a wise man, Earl. Tough, but wise. I needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome,” Earl said.

“I’m glad you’re my partner,” Doug said.

“I’m not you’re…you know what? Forget it. I don’t have the strength to argue anymore.

A few more minutes passed until another family made its way to the underpass. Mack was being regaled by his niece and nephew with tales of everything they wanted to do first, while Abby slurped soda out of an extra-large Gassy Gulp cup.

“Look,” Dylan said. “If we get in line now, we’ll beat the rush to the wombat copters,” Dylan said.

“But it’s going to take at least three hours to Princessify myself,” Paige replied.

“Paige, you can slather makeup over your face all day long back home,” Dylan said. “This is my one and only chance to ride a wombat copter.”

“Kids,” Abby said. “Just stop. We’re here all week. Everyone will be able to do everything they want.”

Doug’s heart fluttered when he spotted Abby. As he watched her sip her convenience store soda and walk away, a 1980s hair band power love ballad played inside his head.

“Damn,” Doug said.

“Yeah,” Earl said. “I saw it too but don’t make a fool of yourself.”

“Huh?” Doug asked, his mouth still slightly agape.

“That lady brought an outside beverage into the park instead of buying one from a Wombat World concession stand,” Earl said.

“She did?” Doug asked.

“Yeah,” Earl said. “So don’t blow your damn whistle at her because you know it will just end up with her dumping the soda on your head or something. For a hundred and sixty-eight bucks, she can keep her soda.”

“I didn’t even notice that she had a soda,” Doug said.

“Oh,” Earl said. “Then why are you staring at her like an idiot for?”

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Doug replied.

Earl squinted at Abby as she and her family approached the end of the underpass.

“Who are you talking about?” Earl asked.

“Her,” Doug said as he pointed at Abby.

“The hefty white bitch in the Lonnie Llama tank top built for a skinnier white bitch?” Earl asked.

“That’s the one,” Doug said. “Damn, I wish I could get me some of that.”

“You’re serious?” Earl asked.

“That I am,” Doug said. “I may come across as a cold blooded, unrelenting champion of justice, but my heart beats like anyone else’s and that woman has just stolen it.”

Earl shook his head. “To each their own I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Doug said as he shrugged his shoulders. “But what can I do? You see the big, musclebound lummox she was with?”

“Yup,” Earl said.

“I swear, Earl,” Doug said. “Only the stupid jocks get the hot babes.”

“Son,” Earl said. “I think you really ought to get your head examined.”

Earl’s walkie-talkie squawked.

“Earl,” came the gruff voice of Chief Weber, Head Supervisor of Wombat World’s Security Guard force.

“Chief?” Earl replied.

“Got a Funky Cola truck coming in soon at the loading dock,” the Chief said. “Bobby usually handles that but he’s out. You think either you or shit for brains can take care of it?”

Earl looked to his right only to witness Doug blowing a whistle at a woman for wearing sandals.

“Open toed shoes are definitely going to get your feet sun burnt, ma’am. You really should be wearing sneakers or perhaps a nice pair of boat shoes.”

The old man sighed. “I’m on it.”

 

 

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Sep 22 2016
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Zomcation

Zomcation – Chapter 11

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By late Sunday evening, Mack wasn’t being much of a bad ass at all. However, he and his sister were singing a classic Willy Wombat tune as Mack drove the family mini-van into Tampa.

“I’m a wombat, wombat! You’re a wombat, wombat…”

“Hashtag old people who don’t know they’re old,” Paige lamented from the back seat as she drafted a short essay about her favorite brand of lip balm to post onto Lifebox.

Mack ignored his niece’s snarky attitude. The air was warm, the temperature was perfect, and for the first time in a long time he was feeling as though it wouldn’t be terrible to let his guard down.

Dylan, riding shotgun up front next to his uncle, stuck with a Stank Daddy jam in his earbuds. “Clock that grip bitch, no it ain’t funny when yo ass owe me money, clock that grip bitch, better pay me fast or it’s the gun blast, clock that grip bitch…”

“Bringing down the vibe, Dill,” Abby said.

Oblivious to his mother’s protestations, Dylan continued. “…aint no joke when your ass gets smoked, clock that grip, bitch…”

“Check it out,” Mack said as he pointed to an official Wombat World billboard on the side of the highway. It featured a smiling Chester Chimp peeling a banana stating, through a cartoon bubble, “Two Miles to Wombat World. You’d be ‘bananas’ to turn back now!”

“Ha!” Abby said as she slapped her knee. “Because he’s eating a banana!”

“Hashtag corny,” Paige said as she typed away on her tablet.

“How are you kids not flipping out?” Abby asked. “I went bonkers when I saw that sign twenty years ago.”

“Hashtag so did the brontosaurus,” Paige said nonchalantly without looking up from her Lifebox posting session.

Mack spotted another bill board featuring a basketball player performing a sweet layup. Next to the player were the words, “The Wombat Dome: Home of the Tampa Bay Marsupials.”

“You and me, sneaking out to a game one night this week, buddy,” Mack said as he tapped Dylan on the shoulder. “What do you say?”

“Eh,” Dylan said as he lowered the volume on his phone. “Sports aren’t really my bag.”

“What?” a shocked Mack asked.

“The entire professional sports team industry is just a scheme by the man to subliminally impose a sense of loyalty amongst the populace to their geographic location,” Dylan said. “Thereby rendering the masses to nothing more than unwitting slaves to corrupt local governments.”

“Is he always this much of a contrarian?” Mack asked his sister.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Abby said.

The next billboard featured a picture of a grand, sprawling estate with the words, “Stay in the lap of luxury at the Imperial Wombat Spa and Resort.”

Dylan perked up as noticed it. “Are we staying there?”

“Nope,” Abby said.

“Aww,” Dylan said. “Cheap.”

“Hashtag super cheap,” Paige said.

“When you two get jobs you can upgrade to the Imperial Wombat,” Abby said. “Until then, we’re Ferret Lodge folk.”

“The Ferret Lodge?” Dylan asked incredulously.

“Hashtag just kill me now,” Paige said as her fingers worked her tablet.

“You kids complain about the Ferret Lodge,” Mack said. “But that time I was running a snatch and grab in Somalia,I had to sleep under a pile of dead…”

“Appreciate the help, Mack,” Abby said. “But I don’t need my kids to become warped for life.”

“I’d like to hear the rest of that story,” Dylan said.

“No you don’t,” Abby said.

Mack looked down at his nephew over the edge of his sunglasses. “Your mom’s right. You really don’t.”

Soon enough, Abby found herself gawking in awe at the sight of an enormous green rollercoaster that staggered up into the sky.

“Jimbo the Frog’s Hopper Coaster!” Abby exclaimed.

“Mom,” Dylan said. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Hashtag nerd,” Paige said.

“Do you remember that, Mack?” Abby asked.

“Sure do,” Mack replied. “We rode it twice and you barfed on me each time.”

Abby sighed. “Good times.”

Twenty minutes later, the family found themselves driving through Wombat Hotel Row. There was the previously mentioned Imperial Wombat, temporary home to only the wealthiest, snootiest Wombat World enthusiasts.

Then there were the more moderately priced hotels like “Lonnie Lllama’s Sweet Suites” and “Princess Paulina’s Castle.”

When Mack reached the end of the row, he pulled off onto a winding dirt road that led to a pathetic little collection of brightly painted mobile home trailers on blocks.

The kids’ pie holes dropped in despair.

“It’s the Wombat ghetto,” Dylan said.

“OMG,” Paige said. “I knew it. We’re poor, aren’t we?”

“Go hashtag yourself, Paige,” Abby said.

Mack pulled up to a guard station. A kindly southern gentleman wearing a ranger’s hat stepped out.

“Howdy folks,” the guard said. “Welcome to the Wombat Lodge. Who might you be?”

Mack showed the guard his driver’s license and replied. “The Mackenzies.”

“Lanes,” Abby corrected her brother.

“Right,” Mack said. “The Lane family…and a Mackenzie.”

“Oh wonderful,” the guard said as he studied his clipboard. “The Lane family. You’re in bungalow seven.”

The guard handed Mack a room key, some Wombat World maps, and a stick.

“Here you go,” the guard said.

“What’s the stick for?” Mack said.

“That’s your wombat bonking stick,” the guard said. “If you see Willy trying to sneak into your room, give him a good old bonk on the noggin and tell him to get lost.”

Mack replied with a mild chuckle. The guard leaned in and whispered, “That’s a little joke for the kids but seriously, these things are loaded with rats so if you see one don’t ask questions, just smack the shit out of it.”
“Got it,” Mack said.

“OK then, Lanes and Mackenzie,” the guard said. “Enjoy your stay.”

Mack passed out the maps, then drove to bungalow seven. He parked the car, then he and Abby checked out their new digs.

The bungalow smelled musty. Two beds replete with stained comforters. A big crack in the wall. And there was definitely a squeaking sound coming from inside the wall.

“Well,” Abby said. “At least the price was right.”

“One time in the jungle, I literally had to cut open a tiger’s belly and sleep inside,” Mack said. “This is nothing.”

“Again,” Abby said. “Appreciate the help but don’t want to warp the…hey…where are the kids?”

Mack and Abby walked out to the mini-van and opened up the side door to find a pair of rambunctious children who were excitedly reading their Wombat World maps out loud to each other.

“Paige!” Dylan shouted. “Did you see this? Shock Rocket! The world’s premiere deep space flight simulator.”

“OMG,” Paige said as she read her map. “‘Princessify Yourself. Sit back and let our team of stylists turn you into royalty.”

“Pretty sure that’s for little girls, Paige,” Dylan said.

“I don’t care,” Paige said. “I’m doing it.”

“And I’m flying a Wombat Copter,” Dylan said.

“‘Lonnie Lllama’s Good Time Dance Party,’” Paige read. “‘It’s a spitting good time.’”

“Whoa,” Mack said. “Power Action Ninja Soldier Force Stunt Show! Now with fifty percent more power action ninjas!”

“This place is awesome,” Paige said.

“It’s so awesome,” Dylan said.

Abby’s eyes welled up. “Finally. They’re becoming little Wombat World fans.”

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Sep 19 2016
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Zomcation

Zomcation Thoughts

shutterstock_225100087Hey 3.5 readers.

17,000 words in four days tells me that when your book is not set in the past and the plot isn’t that complicated, then you are able to get on a roll and not have to stop every five minutes to look up whether or not a certain product existence in old times or to think about what needs to happen with a in order for b to happen.

This is pretty much an action comedy with zombies.  Uncle/ex-soldier, kicked out of his unit, hates living with his sister and feels like a loser when he works at a fast food job, gets himself fired, ends up going on a vacation with his sister and niece and nephew to Wombat World because his sister and her husband are on the outs and she had a ticket that was going to go unused.

Blah blah blah, treachery ensues, zombies take over Wombat World and Mack must save the day.

I like it. At first it isn’t that complicated though I know it will have to get a little complicated as the tale moves forward and the zombies attack.  Something must happen to build the suspense.

Often in a good zombie story, the zombies aren’t the villains but rather there’s a human villain using the situation to his/her advantage.

This will be interesting because there is a female villain in this one. Not sure I’m a big fan of that, not because of some idea that women can’t be villains but because I’m not looking forward to a scene where a woman gets knocked around but somehow I think it will all work out.

It’s funny how you can go in with an idea and then characters start leaping off the page.  One unsung hero I think is Abby, Mack’s sister, who doesn’t really live her life but rather, life just happened and decided what she must do.

She married a dude she doesn’t really like.  She isn’t getting much satisfaction out of work. Her kids are little jerk faces who are mean to her.

And there’s a sign I think of how getting older has helped me write better. I’ve now seen life through the eyes of a kid who says things he doesn’t understand the full weight of and how those words can hurt someone and I’ve lived life as an adult who has had kids tell me jerky things and like Abby, I’ve just brushed it off because I know kids don’t understand what they’re saying.

Of course, I’ve never been a bad ass action hero, but a lot of this will just be an homage to a lot of my favorite action movies combined with endless parody of a certain park that shall remain nameless.

I’ve noticed several of you have been checking it out so if you have any feedback let e know.

Thank you 3.5 and remember, when in doubt, call your fairy wombat.

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Sep 18 2016
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Zomcation

Zomcation – Chapter 9

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In the election of 2016, the unthinkable happened. Republican billionaire Vincenzo “Vinny” Stugotz of New York made an alliance with Democratic Senator Mildred Pierce, a California lawyer prone to speaking in legalese, to form the first dual party ticket in modern history.

Their deal? They agreed to change positions every four years. Stugotz took the first go around as President with Mildred as VP. In 2020, they were to switch and let Mildred take the helm while Stugotz played second fiddle. Ultimately, they figured this would lead to them both having their hooks sunk into the presidency until 2032.

With nice sounding political promises to work together and heal a divided nation, the Stugotz/Pierce ticket won by a landslide against Democratic and Republican politicians who cried that it was outright blasphemy for members of opposing parties to do anything other than go on live TV and accuse each other of breathing fire, kicking babies and being the second comings of Hitler, all while average Americans sucked it up and accepted no one was ever going to solve any of their problems.

For a month, it seemed like America had turned a corner and that a brighter, more positive future was on the horizon.

But soon, it became crystal clear that Stugotz and Pierce were not going to be able to agree on anything.

It was certainly clear to General Merrick as he sat in the White House Situation Room, as he and other high ranking military men and security advisors sat back and waited for Stugotz and Pierce to resolve their latest bru ha ha.

“So we’re talking zombies, is that it?” Stugotz asked as he ran a comb through his long, luxurious, gravity defying, jet black pompadour. “Because let me tell you, no one would be better at defeating zombies than me, OK? We’re going to go after those zombies big time, you hear me? Big time. They won’t know what hit them. If you’re dead, then under a Stugotz administration, you’ve got to stay dead. No ifs ands or butts, not even some candy and coconuts, capiche?”

Mildred chimed in. “No Vinny, you right-wing fascist…”

“Don’t you ‘right-wing fascist’ me, you feminazi liberal commie,” Stugotz replied. “Go shave your armpits.”

“Look,” Mildred said. “All I’m trying to say is that before we go all crazy and blow up all the zombies, maybe we should just try to see things from the zombies’ point of view. Maybe the zombies aren’t so bad once you get to know them.”

“They’re criminals,” Stugotz said as he pounded his fist on the conference table. “Criminal zombies who won’t stop until all of our brains are devoured.”

“That’s a rather broad brush, isn’t it?” Mildred asked. “Surely there are some zombies who just end up getting confused. I would imagine there are many undead Americans who just want to keep bumping into walls until they figure out how to walk around them that don’t pose a threat to anyone.”

“Keep living in your fantasy world, pinko,” Stugotz said.

“Fine,” Mildred said. “And you can keep being a hateful, closed minded, rabid zombaphobe.”

Sitting next to Merrick was National Security Agency analyst Allan Carver.

“Are they always like this?” Merrick whispered.

“Worse,” Carver whispered back. “This is one of their good days.”

Merrick cleared his throat. “Mister President, Madame Vice-President, if I may…”

“Right,” Stugotz said. “The floor is yours.”

“Thank you, sir,” Merrick said “I’d first like to remind everyone that the debate over what to do with the quote unquote ‘zombies’ is premature due to the fact that there are no reports at this time of zombies being spotted in public.”

“Chop their ugly zombie heads off if you do see any,” Stugotz said.

“No,” Mildred said. “Herd the zombies into a nice holding area and then sign them up for free brain deliveries courtesy of the U.S. government.”

“Oh holy shit, Milly,” Stugotz said. “And where are you going to get the brains?”

“I’m sure if we think about it there are vast brain resources available,” Mildred said. “Goat brains. Sheep brains. Cow brains. Perhaps we can convince people to donate their brains to the hungry zombie cause when they die.”

“Yeah,” Stugotz scoffed. “Like that isn’t going to cost the taxpayer a pretty penny. Build a wall, make the zombies pay for it and bada bing, bada boom, problem solved.”

Merrick cleared his throat to remind his bosses that he was still there. “As I was saying, there are no reports of actual zombies roaming the streets, so I believe it would be prudent to focus on the information we have at this time.”

The general pointed a remote control at the humongous monitor that lined the wall and pushed a button. A paused video featuring the Heretic appeared.

“As we’re all aware,” Merrick said. “The Heretic released a video to the press demanding that the public implore world leaders to give in to the Day Zero cult’s demands.”

“Screw the Heretic,” Stugotz said. “Find him, lock him up, and attach a car battery to his nut sack for the rest of his life.”

Mildred clutched her pearls. “Let’s give him a break. He probably had a rough childhood.”

“Here now is the video that the Heretic sent to the leaders of every nation in the world,” Merrick said as he pushed play.

“Leaders of the world,” the Heretic said. “Your policies driven the masses to lives of crime, fighting over scraps while you all live high off the hog. You support factories that poison our water and pollute our air, all the while encouraging non-stop, reckless consumerism amongst the masses. Instead of talking your problems out, you build bombs capable of leveling entire cities to threaten one another with. Man was not supposed to live this way.”

The screen switched to footage of a cage, where a young, frightened man grabbed the bars and cried for help.

“Please!” the hostage said. “I don’t know who these people are! They just kidnapped me and dragged me here and…oh…oh God.”

A green gas filled the room. The man grabbed his throat and choked, hacked, and wheezed until he finally fell down.

“Sweet merciful crap,” Stugotz said as he watched.

Seconds later, the young man slowly stood up. His eyes were blank. He moved like a mindless automaton.

“As you can see,” the Heretic said in a voiceover, “I am, thanks to incompetent security at one of America’s many black sites, now in possession of the X48 virus, which means I now have the power to fill the world with as many zombies as I please. One whiff and a subject is zombified. Once infected, zombies are able to infect others by biting them so this is all about to get very interesting, isn’t it?”

The zombified man grabbed the bars and furiously bashed his head against them as he growled and snarled.

“Of course,” the Heretic said as his shadow returned to the screen. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Resign from office. Order your armies to stand down. Scuttle your weapons of mass destruction. Shutter all businesses and demolish all structures so that the trees and plants can heal the badly damaged ozone layer and humans are left to revert to the innocent creatures they were always intended to be. For at the end of the day, we all know the chief architects of division amongst the people are you, the leaders of the world who control their citizens as if they are puppets. This will be your only warning. Comply within twenty-four hours or enjoy the zombies.”

Merrick shut off the video.

“Holy shit,” a panicked Mildred said. “Give him whatever he wants!”

“What?” Stugotz said as he made the universally recognized ‘I’m jerking off because what you’re saying is boring me’ gesture. “General, find this guy and shoot him in the face with a nuclear warhead. Nuke him. Nuke his whole family. Nuke all his brothers and sisters and cousins. Nuke his third grade teacher. Nuke his Goddamn cat, dog, hamster, and goldfish. Nuke everyone who has ever spoken a single word to this asshole.”

“I’ve got Phalanx Company working on it as we speak,” Merrick said. “They are, without a doubt, the best of the best.”

“General,” Mildred said. “Is what he said, true? Are we responsible for making this virus?”

Merrick sighed. “I’m afraid so, Ma’am.”

The general punched a button on his remote and a virtual image of a perfectly chiseled muscle man appeared on screen.

“Ten years ago,” Merrick said. “Certain forces in our government saw the writing was on the wall, that Americans were tired of constant wars, and people weren’t as accepting of the idea of a military draft as they used to be. Thus, a desire to create a new army of indestructible, super soldiers was born.”

Merrick hit a button and an image of Professor Goldthwaite popped up. “Ten years ago, Professor Abner Goldthwaite, once a renowned lecturer in the field of neuroscience, became a laughingstock when he published a paper claiming that through a combination of the right chemicals, proteins, bacteria and assorted enzymes, he had created an indestructible rat.”

“I remember that guy on TV,” Mildred said.

“Yes,” Merrick said. “He followed up his paper with videos in which he set the rat on fire, pounded it with a hammer, and even ran over it with his car and yet in each instance, the rat kept on scurrying along. Critics just assumed Abner had used special effects to make the rat look like he wasn’t hurt and thus, Abner became a pariah amongst his fellow scientists, mocked for being a shameless attention seeker.”

“Ahh,” Stugotz said. “So let me guess. You idiots hired him.”

“His rat was the real deal,” Merrick said. “And we hoped Goldthwaite’s research would lead to civilian applications. After all, super soldiers would be great, but super people would be even better. End the ability to cause physical harm to someone and you’ve ended all crime and all wars. Allow humans to live forever and they end up with unlimited time to seek out their hopes and dreams.”

“Dreams, schmeams,” Stugotz said. “It all got cocked up, didn’t it?”

Merrick pushed a button and twenty minutes’ worth of footage of Abner gassing human test subjects only for them to become hideous zombies played.

“Since 2007, Goldthwaite has made forty-eight separate attempts to construct a chemical agent that could turn humans indestructible,” Merrick said. “Alas, what worked in a rat only turns humans into mindless brain chomping bastards.”

“Well good luck with the court martial, dip stick,” Stugotz said as he popped a mint into his mouth.

“Me?” Merrick said. “I was ordered to start this program by one president and instructed to keep it going by another president.”

“I’m the president now and I don’t know a damn thing about this,” Stugotz said. “Mildred, do you know anything about this?”

Mildred coughed. “Ahem. I can categorically state that I do not recall whether or not I may or possibly may not be aware about any information regarding American involvement with the production of a zombifying virus. Further, if I could recall, it would be likely that I could not affirmatively state whether or not I recall due to concerns of national security.”

“God damn, Mildred,” Stugotz said. “You straight up lawyered the ever loving shit out of that one. High five.”

President and Vice-President slapped their hands together. Merrick shook his head.

“Oh great,” Merrick said. “So now you two finally agree on something?”

“Yup,” Mildred said. “If this fiasco gets out of hand…”

“…then its your ass that’s going to be getting it with no vaseline a la Ice Cube’s greatest hits, my friend,” Stugotz said.

Merrick grunted disapprovingly. “Story of my life.”

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Sep 18 2016
1 Comment
Zomcation

Zomcation – Chapter 7

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Beep! Beep!

It was a little after dawn and Abby was in her best Chester Chimp t-shirt and sitting behind the wheel of a packed to the gills car, blaring on the horn to get her daughter’s attention. “Paige! Let’s go!”

Ignoring her mother, Paige parsed her lips into a duck-billed smooch and snapped a selfie.

“Come on, Paige,” Abby said. “We’re burning daylight.”

“Just a minute,” Paige said as she uploaded her selfie onto Lifebox. “Hashtag get this party started. Okay.”

Paige hopped into the passenger’s seat. “Can I drive?”

“Maybe when we get to Georgia,” Abby said. “They’ve got those nice roads that go in a straight line forever so it’ll be less likely that you’ll kill us all.”

“Hashtag I’ll never get my license,” Paige said.

“Hashtag its your own fault if you end up walking everywhere,” Abby said.

Dylan popped his ear buds out and poked his head up. “Is Uncle Mack really not coming?”

“Afraid not,” Abby said.

“Hashtag lame,” Paige said.

“Maybe you guys can each send him a nice post card when you get there,” Abby said.

“Can I try one more time?” Dylan asked.

Abby shrugged her shoulders. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.

Dylan jumped out of the car.

“Dill,” Abby said.

“Yeah?” her son replied.

“Don’t be a nudge,” Abby said. “If he says no then say goodbye and that’s the end of it.”

“Okay.”

Dylan walked into the house and found his uncle counting his sit-ups on the floor while watching the news on television.

“Nine hundred ninety eight, nine hundred ninety nine….one thousand.”

Mack wiped the sweat from his brow, guzzled a glass of water, then noticed his nephew.

“Hey,” Mack said. “You forget something?”

“No,” Dylan said. “What are you watching?”

“Ahh,” Mack said. “Just the news. Always some bad shit going down somewhere.”

The screen cut to an ample bosomed blonde reporter sitting behind an anchor’s desk.

“Good morning, Americans. I’m a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties reporting for Network News One. Our top story today, the anonymous underworld criminal known simply as, “The Heretic” has issued a new communique regarding the Day Zero Cult’s activities.

Next up on the screen was a shadowy figure of a man who spoke using an electronic voice changer. It made his voice sound deep, dark and sinister.

“People of the world,” the Heretic said. “Know that I have given your leaders an important ultimatum, one that they must obey if you are all to survive. I have no desire to start unnecessary panic, so I will not reveal the details of my demands to the public at this time. However, I implore all of you to urge your leaders to do my bidding or else my wrath will be swift and severe. Heretic, out.”

Back at the studio, a mustached man with graying hair joined the female reporter.

“Homeland Security officials refused to answer any questions on this matter,” the reporter said. “But here to shed some light on this story is Network News One Terrorism Analyst Carl Baxter. Carl.”

“Thank you for having me, Hot Ass Blonde Chick,” Carl said.

“No problem,” the reporter replied. “Carl, this is tougher talk than we’re used to hearing from the Heretic, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Carl said. “His typical modus operandi is to mobilize his Day Zero hackers to engage in some type of computerized malfeasance. You remember the time they shut down the stock market for three hours…”

“Or the time they turned off all the lights in Times Square,” the Hot Ass Blonde Chick said.

“Right,” Carl said. “Usually the Heretic will command his tech savvy minions to pull off some misdeed and only after does he release a video to the press taunting law enforcement. This current situation is very different.”

“How so?” the Hot Ass Blonde Chick asked.

“Here, he’s warning something bad is going to happen first,” Carl said. “And you can tell he’s trying to put pressure on the masses to lean on world leaders to do something. What it is, your guess is good as mine.”

“That’s not helpful at all, Carl,” the Hot Ass Blonde Chick said. “Keep talking to fill up this block, will you?”

“Sure,” Carl said. “Now the Day Zero cult, they’re anarchists. They do not believe in law and order. They do not believe in government of any kind. They don’t believe in capitalism or communism or any kind of economic system. The Heretic has been quite clear in his previous videos that he and his followers want the world to regress to the so-called days of Adam and Eve.”

“Adam and Eve?” the Hot Ass Blonde Chick asked.

“Right,” Carl said. “No buildings. No houses. No schools. No factories. No hospitals. No businesses. No order of any kind. They simply want the world to regress to its natural grassy state and for all of mankind to frolic naked amongst the trees as our ancient ancestors did.”

“Sounds fun,” the Hot Ass Blonde Chick said.

“In many ways it would be great,” Carl said. “No more nuclear weapons. No more war. Certainly no more lawyers.”

“I sense a catch,” the Hot Ass Blonde Chick said.

“No more art,” Carl said. “No more music.  No more books or movies. No more science or technology. No medicine.”

“We’ll end all threats to life but be left with no reason to live,” the Hot Ass Blonde Chick said.

“That’s a very profound observation, Hot Ass Blonde Chick,” Carl said.

“Should we be worried?” the Hot Ass Blonde Chick asked.

“All the law enforcement sources I’ve spoken to refer to these people as kooks,” Carl said. “Occasionally, they manage to cause the world some grief with their hacking skills, but they’ve yet to graduate to more sinister, physical forms of terrorism.”

“That’s a relief,” the reporter said before turning to the camera. “We’ll stay with this story as it develops. After this commercial break, our Hot Ass Asian Chick with Big Titties will be reporting live from Capitol Hill, where Congress is currently debating House Resolution Seventeen, a bill so complex and complicated no one can understand it, but it will most certainly lead to you contracting anal warts. And later, there’s one item in your refrigerator that can cause you to drop dead if you eat it. Stick with Network News One and we’ll tell you what it is at some point in the next three hours.”

The Network News One logo popped onto the screen, followed by a rugged, manly sounding announcer. “Network News One: The hottest chicks. The biggest titties. Oh yeah, and occasionally we report the news and shit.”

Mack grabbed the remote and shut the TV off, then looked to his nephew. “Shouldn’t you be going?”

Dylan looked down at his uncle and stretched out his hand. “Never leave a soldier behind.”

Mack wasn’t one to cry, but he felt a little choked up by the boy’s gesture. He nodded, then took Dylan’s hand and stood up.

“T-minus five minutes for me to pack my gear, soldier,” Mack said. “Report to the transport.”

Dylan nodded. “Sir, yes sir!”

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Sep 18 2016
1 Comment
Zomcation

Zomcation – Chapter 6

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Mack sat at the kitchen table watching as his nephew arrange his power action ninja soldiers all over the table in a harrowing battle.

“And this one is Doctor Laserface,” Dylan explained. “Because he…

“…shoots lasers out of his face,” Mack said. “Got it.”

“And this one is Wrecker,” Dylan said. “Because he wrecks things.”

“Naturally,” Mack said.

“Then you’ve got Spelunker, Freewave, Battlecaster, Corporal Slice,”

“And these guys are all ninjas?” Mack asked.

“And soldiers,” Dylan replied.

“Makes sense,” Mack said.

“What rank were you?” Dylan asked.

“Were.” That word hit Mack pretty hard.

“Lieutenant,” Mack said. “I was a lieutenant.”

“Cool,” Dylan said as he held up a rather brutish looking action figure that was sporting big muscles and a buzz cut. “Then you’d be this guy. Lieutenant Paine McDanger.”

“Awesome name,” Mack said as he picked up the figure. “And not a bad likeness.”

A flustered Abby buzzed into the kitchen carrying two suitcases. “Dylan, where are your swim trunks?”

“I don’t know,” Dylan said. “Do I need them?”

“Yes you need them,” Abby said.

“I hate swimming,” Dylan said.

“You love swimming,” Abby said. “I won’t be able to keep you from the pool once you get to the hotel.”

“I don’t know,” Dylan said. “The bottom of my closet maybe?”

“Can you just go look?” Abby asked. “The bottom of your closet is a crap covered hellhole I want no part of.”

“OK,” Dylan said as he delicately placed a small, plastic weapon into the hand of one of his figures. “In a minute.”

“Now, Dylan.”

“I said, ‘in a minute!’”

Mack winced at Dylan’s flagrant disregard for authority.

“Mom!” Paige bellowed as she bursted into the kitchen. “Where’s my tablet?”

“I don’t know, Paige,” Abby said. “I’m not the keeper of your electronic gadgets.”

“Well,” Paige set. “This is going to be hashtag the worst trip ever if I can’t live stream everything that happens on Lifebox!”

“All your Lifebox friends are losers,” Dylan said.

“No one asked you, doofus,” Paige said. “And aren’t you a little too old to be playing with baby toys?”

“These aren’t baby toys,” Dylan said as he put one of his ninja soldiers behind the wheel of a plastic truck. “They’re collector’s items.”

“Mom, this is the worst!” Paige complained.

“I don’t know, Paige,” Abby said. “Keep looking and if you can’t find it you can just live stream everything you do with your phone.”

“What?” Paige asked as she held up her phone. “You mean this pathetic little sixteen gig weakling? I need my tablet to tell everyone what I’m doing at all times or I’m going to end up hashtag so yesterday.”

Dylan made explosion sounds as he knocked his toy truck over.

“You know Paige,” Abby said. “When I was a kid people thought you were the worst if you made them look at your vacation pictures.”

“I don’t care what they did in Jurassic times, Mom,” Paige said. “Here in the now I need to make everyone believe that everything I do is awesome or else that see you next Tuesday Heather Haskell will be with Tommy forever.”

Abby scrunched up her face in confusion. “See you next what now?”

“Pew, pew!” Dylan shouted as he made laser noises and knocked his soldiers over one by one. “No one can defeat Doctor Laserface!”

The fighting. The shouting. The silly noises. It all became too much for Mack.

The giant stood up and from the bottom of his gut pushed out the loudest, most visceral, “Atten hut!” his family had ever heard.

All three of his family members stopped what they were doing.

“Not you, Abby,” Mack said as he stood up.

“Oh,” Abby said. “Right.”

Mack clutched his hands behind his back and took on the stance of a drill sergeant.

“Dylan!” Mack shouted. “You will stop playing with your baby toys and you will brave the depths of your crap hole closet and you will not come out until you have located your swim trunks, have I made myself clear?”

“Sir,” Dylan shouted. “Yes, sir!”

The boy instantly ran to his room.

“Paige!” Mack shouted.

“Sir?” Paige replied.

“You will think about where you last used your tablet and you will report to that location and you will no doubt discover it there when you do so,” Mack said.

“OMG,” Paige said as she gave herself a light bonk on the head. “I left it at Kelly’s house next door.”

Paige walked off, leaving Mack and Abby alone.

“You have got to teach me how to do that,” Abby said.

“It’s pretty simple,” Mack said. “Create an aura around yourself that indicates you’re not willing to take shit from anyone.”

Abby shook her head. “I’m not sure I have much to work with here.”

“You do,” Mack said as he sat back down. “You just don’t realize it.”

On the opposite side of the kitchen, there was a desk up against the wall. Abby took a seat and started going through her mail.

“The thing I’ve learned over the past year,” Abby said. “Is that when parents are separated, kids tend to rise to the level of the most carefree parent.”

“Meaning?” Mack asked.

“Meaning,” Abby said as she ripped an envelope open. “Scott picks them up every once in awhile and lets them do anything they want. Thus, when I try to instill some rules they look at me like I have two heads.”

“Not really my place,” Mack said. “But when are you going to get rid of that guy?”

“I don’t know,” Abby said as she crumpled up and tossed a piece of junk mail. “He said he needed some time to find himself. I thought that meant he’d go be by himself for two weeks, but that was a year ago.”

“I never liked him,” Mack said. “Mom and Dad, God rest their souls, never liked him.”

“I understood a little bit where he was coming from,” Abby said. “We were fresh out of high school when I got pregnant with Abby. We were trying to do the right thing by getting married but we were never right together.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Mack said. “Translation: he’s an ass whose lucky to have a wife and kids who love him and he’s too stupid to realize it. Time to find someone who will.”

“Son of a…”

“What?” Mack asked.

Abby sat down at the table and tossed Mack a bill that was replete with ominous red lettering.

“He took out a new credit card in my name!” Abby said.

Mack read the bill out loud. “Eight hundred and eleven dollars at the Gentleman’s Funbag Enthusiast Club…one thousand fifty nine dollars at the Meow Meow Kitty Kat Lounge…two thousand two hundred and four dollars at the Skank Factory?”

At that moment, Abby did something very un-Abby like. She huffed. She puffed. Then she lifted her head up into the air and screamed. “Arrrrrrrghhhhh I hate his stupid face!”

“Time to call a divorce lawyer,” Mack said.

Angry Abby left. Sad Abby took her place. She sobbed. She cried. She moved over and rested her head on her big brother’s shoulder.

“But I still love his stupid face,” Abby said.

“We can’t choose who we love,” Mack said. “Just what we let them to do us.”

“What do you know about it?” Abby asked.

“A thing or two,” Mack answered.

“Classified?” Abby asked.

“Yes,” Mack answered.

“Whatever,” Abby said as she lifted her head up and dried her eyes. “I really wanted us to work. I hoped if I just kept giving him his time and his space that he’d come around but all he ever does is keep asking for more time and more space and now this.”

“I don’t want to tell you what to do, Abby,” Mack said.

“No,” Abby said as she stood up. “I know what to do. I’m going to enjoy Wombat World and then Scott’s ass is gone for good as soon as I get back.”

“Bravo,” Mack said. “You need any help packing?”

“No,” Abby said as she opened up a cabinet above her sink and took out a small, plastic case.

“Dylan’s bee problem never got better?” Mack asked.

“Nope,” Abby said. “He has to carry a shot with him wherever he goes. This is his spare. Figured it’d be good to bring it just in case. Just one more addition to the Lane family’s lifetime bad luck-a-thon.”

“I don’t remember the Mackenzies having it that good either,” Mack said.

Abby hoisted a suitcase up onto the desk, unzipped it, placed Dylan’s shot into it, then zipped it back up. She then took a seat and stared up at a collage of old family photos on the wall.

“We had some good times,” Abby said as she pointed to a photo of her smiling parents.

“Yeah,” Mack said. “But call it God, call it cosmic forces or whatever, but them both coming down with cancer and dying within three years of each other…”

“Not fair,” Abby said.

“I’ve expected nothing to be fair ever since,” Mack said. “And life hasn’t disappointed.”

Abby smiled as she looked over the collage. Christmas photos of a little her and a little Mack opening up presents. Halloween photos with a little her dressed up as Princess Paulina and Mack dressed up as a soldier.

She stopped and tapped her finger on one photo in particular. In the background, there was the gigantic, magnificent Wombataorium, a marvel of modern architecture that was visible for miles, serving as the main attraction of Wombat World.

In the foreground, there was a ten year old Abby wearing a Wombat hat and a “I Love Willy Wombat” T-shirt with a look of sheer, unbridled joy on her face. She was standing next to her fourteen year old brother, Mack, who looked as though he would have rather been anywhere else.

Scrawled underneath the photo in black pen were the words, “Mackenzie trip to Wombat World, 1993.”

“Say, Mack?” Abby said.

“Yeah,” Mack said.

“You remember this?” Abby asked.

Mack stood up, walked over to the desk and looked over his sister’s shoulder at the photo.

He snickered. “Oh yeah.”

Abby dug into her suitcase and pulled out a plastic card with a picture of Ferdinand Ferret’s dopey face.

“I’ve got an extra all-access pass to Wombat World that Scott isn’t going to use,” Abby said.

Mack blinked, unsure of where his sister was going with this.

“And you happen to find yourself unemployed at the moment,” Abby said.

Mack scratched his head. “Oh, no…I don’t think…”

“Why not?” Abby asked.

“It wouldn’t be right,” Mack said.

“It wouldn’t be right to not use this,” Abby said. “It’s not like I can cash it in.”

“This is a place for children,” Mack said.

“They’ve built it up so much since we went there as kids,” Abby said. “They have stuff for adults to do too. They’ve got a Wombat Race Track, a Wombat Ball Park, Wombat Gourmet Restaurants, a Wombat Golf Course. Maybe they’ll let you play if you promise not to blow the course up.”

“Abby,” Mack said. “It’s just that…”

“It’ll be just like the time Dad drove us all down in the station wagon,” Abby said. “Only if you and I take turns we can get there faster.”

“Abby,” Mack repeated. “You don’t understand…”

Mack looked around and realized that the kids had been eavesdropping for awhile.

“Uncle Mack’s coming?” Dylan asked as he handed his mother his smelly swim trunks.

“Yeesh,” Abby said. “These need a wash.”

“Hooray,” Paige said as she hugged her uncle. “Uncle Mack is coming! Hashtag best vacation ever now!”

“Oh right,” Abby said. “Now you say it’s the hashtag best vacation ever now.”

Dylan joined in on the hugging.  Mack felt a need to shut it all down quick.

“Kids…kids…enough!”

The kids backed off.

“Thank you,” Mack said. “But I would not be any kind of a man if I went on this trip. I’m out of work and the first thing I need to do tomorrow is to pound the pavement and apply for jobs. No man worth a damn would go on a trip to a park dedicated to a cartoon wombat in my situation.”

“Please?” Dylan asked.

“Pretty please?” Paige asked.

“No,” Mack said. “That’s my final answer. You kids will understand when you’re older.”

“Boo,” Dylan said as he sat down at the table and returned to his power action ninja soldiers.

“Hashtag worst vacation ever again,” Paige said as she handed her tablet over to her mother for packing.

“You know your hashtags really hurt sometimes, Paige,” Abby said.

“Hashtag sorry not sorry,” Paige said as she left the room.

Abby continued packing for awhile. Dylan made more “pew, pew” sounds as he knocked down his soldiers.

“Ack!” Dylan shouted as he knocked his Spelunker figure down on the table. “Spelunker’s down! I gotta go on without him!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mack said.

Dylan stopped playing. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘go on without him?’”

“Spelunker got shot in the leg,” Dylan said. “He’s a goner. He’s just gonna weigh Freewave down.”

“Not on my watch,” Mack said as he picked up Spelunker and leaned him up against Freewave.

The giant then pointed a finger at his nephew. “Listen, kid. Whether its in a dumb game or in real life, you never leave a soldier behind, you got me?”

“I got you,” Dylan said.

“Good,” Mack said as he tussled his nephew’s hair. “Get to bed already. You got a big day tomorrow.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Dylan said as he collected his fingers and left the room.

Abby checked her suitcase one last time, then zipped it up and set it down by the front door.

“You sure I can’t talk you into this?”

“I’m sure,” Mack said.

“Because its not like you’ll be able to find a new job in one week,” Abby said.

“The sooner I get to work on it the sooner it happens,” Mack said.

Abby’s face turned grim. “It’s just that…”

Mack sighed. “I swear I won’t touch it.”

“Alright then,” Abby said.

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Sep 17 2016
1 Comment
Zomcation

Zomcation – Chapter 3

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At times like these, Abby needed princesses.

She opened her desk drawer and found her collection of animated princess films, all produced by Carruthers Brothers Amalgamated Studios, the parent company of Wombat World.

Abby thumbed through the plastic DVD cases. There was Princesses Forever, The Happy Princess, Princesses vs. Unicorns, Sally Sloane: Undercover Princess, Princess Force, Princess Power, The Puppy Princess, The Princess of Vamagaroon and Princess Party, just to name a few.

The Princess and the Witch was Abby’s personal favorite. She took the disc out of the case, popped it into her computer, and put on her headphones. The library was still using those big oversized ones from the 1980s.

An instrumental number played over the credits as an old fashioned 1930s era announcer read them allowed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, the Carruthers Brothers are proud to present, The Princess and the Witch, now in fabulous technicolor!”

The opening scene featured a bright eyed blonde princess in a pink dress brushing her hair in front of a mirror. She looked rather sullen and spoke in a Marilyn Monroe-esque baby doll voice.

“Oh, I’ve been ever so lonely ever since that nasty old witch locked me away in this tower! Perhaps if I sing loud enough my friends will come visit me.”

The princess stood up, walked over to a window and began to sing. “Tra la la la la, tra la la la la! Animals of the forest, how I miss you!”

With that, a flock of adorable chirping blue jays flew through the window, carrying Chester Chimp and Ferdinand Ferret with them.

Chester Chimp wore a yellow plaid coat and an orange bow tie, but no pants. Ferdinand wore a pair of trousers over the bottom half of his elongated body, but no shirt.

“Lord have mercy,” Chester Chimp said. “Princess Paulina, did that dirty old witch lock you up again?”

“She sure did Chester,” Paulina said. “What ever will I do now?”

“Probably just sit here until you rot,” Ferdinand said. “Everyone knows that dames are useless.”

Abby frowned but then she remembered this was a 1930s film and powered through it.

“Perhaps if you call upon your fairy wombat,” Chester said.

“My fairy wombat?” Princess Paulina asked. “What’s that?”

“He’s not a what,” Chester said. “He’s a ‘who.’ Everyone has one and yours will help you.”

“Well,” Princess Paulina said. “How do I call him?”

Chester pulled a violin out of his pocket, which made no sense, seeing as how his pockets weren’t big enough to hold a violin. He then broke out into a musical number.

“If you’re face has a frown, and you’re feeling down, call your fairy wombat…”

“My fairy wombat?” the princess sang in response.

“Oh if you’re locked up by a witch, who is a big stupid…meany…call your fairy wombat!”

Princess Paulina smiled. “My fairy wombat!”

Ferdinand pulled a flute out of nowhere, tooted it, then joined in. “If you’re down for the count, and your woes are starting to mount, call your fairy wombat!”

Chester brought the diddy home. “If you’re up against the wall, there’s no one better to call than your fairy wombat!”

Poof! A gust of smoke swirled around the center of the room then disappeared to reveal a rather goofy looking character – a chubby little googly eyed fur ball with a set of wings that had been stapled onto his back and a cone shaped hat on his head.

“Did somebody call for a fairy wombat?” the little guy asked.

“I did!” Princess Paulina said as she raised her hand.

“Glad to meet you, princess,” the wombat said. “Willy the Wombat’s my name. Getting folks out of a jam is my game. What can I do you for?”

“A mean old witch has locked me in this tower and I’ll never be able to get out on my own,” the princess said.

“Of course you won’t,” Willy said. “You’re a woman and as we all know, the only thing slower than a woman is a bag of molasses in January.”

Abby winced but kept watching.

“Sister, what you need is a man,” Willy said.

“A man?” Princess Paulina asked.

“A big strong handsome prince to do all the thinking for you on account of your feeble female brain.”

“Ugh,” Abby said.

“A handsome prince?” Princess Paulina asked. “Your really mean it?”

“I really do,” Willy said as he waved his magic wand. “Abracadabra, hocus pocus, hippitty dippitty do, a prince I present to you!”

Poof! Another smoke cloud. This time it disappeared to reveal a handsome prince with an impressive physique and a walnut cracking jaw.

“Did someone call for a prince?” the prince asked.

“Me!” the bubbly princess said. “I did!”

“Princess Paulina,” Willy said. “I present to you, Prince Handsome. He’s a super rich stud muffin who will do all your thinking for you from now on.”

“Oh thank goodness,” the princess said. “I so hate to think.”

“Princess,” Prince Handsome said. “You are by far the most beautiful princess in all the land but tell me, why are you so sad?”

“A witch has locked me in this tower and I can’t figure out how to escape,” Princess Paulina said.

The prince walked to the door, turned the knob, and sure enough, it opened.

“Now why didn’t I think to do that?” Princess Paulina asked.

“Because you’re a woman!” Chester declared.

All the characters grabbed their bellies and laughed and laughed and laughed.

“Hoo wee!” Willy said. “Broads sure are dumb.”

Abby turned the movie off, ejected the disc, and put it back in its case.

“They really need to update this.”

Abby’s cell phone buzzed. She looked at the screen. It simply read, “My Prince.” It was a pet name she’d listed husband down as in her phone contacts during happier days.

“Scott?”

“‘Sup babe.”

Abby felt her heart flutter. Scott had moved out a year ago. They kept in touch once in awhile over stuff involving the kids but Abby hadn’t heard from him in a month.

“Not much,” Abby said. “What uh…what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Scott said. “You good?”

“Me?” Abby asked. “Oh yeah. Real good.”

“Kids?” Scott asked.

“They’re good,” Abby said. “They’re looking forward to Wombat World.”

There was a long pause.

“Oh I forgot about that.”

“Yeah,” Abby said. “Umm…you know…”

“What?” Scott asked.

“I mean we planned this trip so long ago and your park pass is non-refundable so if you wanted…”

“Ahh no,” Scott said. “Can’t, babe.”

“OK,” Abby said.

“Still need my ‘me’ time, you know?” Scott said.

Abby sighed. “I know.”

“Cool,” Scott said. “What’s up with this orthodontist bill you sent me?”

“Oh,” Abby said. “You said you were going to help with the kids.”

“Five hundred bucks?” Scott said. “Shit, I could just go at Paige’s teeth with a pair of pliers and a wrench for free.”

“That’s….not really that funny,” Abby said.

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Well, I don’t know babe but I can’t help you with this. I’m broke.”

“You’re broke?” Abby asked.

“Yup,” Scott said.

“That’s funny because Dylan said when you picked him up and took him out for the day two months ago you were driving a fancy new sports car…”
Long pause.

“Abs, you’re really harshing my mellow…”

“I’m sorry,” Abby said, reflexively.

“Every time you get like this I feel like I need more ‘me’ time, you know?”

“I know.”

“You can’t really expect me to find myself while you’re always nagging me, can you?” Scott asked.

“I suppose not,” Abby said.

“Cool,” Scott said. “OK babe. I gotta run.”

“Scott,” Abby said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you’ll be finding yourself anytime soon?” Abby asked.

“I don’t know, babe,” Scott replied. “Its a whole process. Later.”

Click.

Abby went into her contacts and changed Scott’s pet name from “My Prince” to “Assface.”

“My prince my ass,” she said.

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Sep 17 2016
1 Comment
Zomcation

Zomcation – Chapter 2

shutterstock_225100087

The woman sitting behind the reference desk of the Parker Public Library was slightly plump, though nothing a few weeks at the gym wouldn’t have cured. She wore a purple button-down sweater over her ankle-length dress and her brown hair was pulled back neatly in a bun. Her face was pretty, though her large, tortoise shell glasses distracted from it.

At the front of her desk was a meticulously arranged line of plush toys, each one a different character in the Willy Wombatverse. There was a flute playing Ferdinand Ferret, a saxophone toting Chester Chimp, a ukulele plucking Willy Wombat and not to be outdone, Willy’s girlfriend Wanda appeared to belting out a song into a microphone. Willy and Wanda looked alike, except Wanda had a pink bow stuck to the top of her head fur.

In the middle of this makeshift band stood an engraved name plate that read, “Abby Lane, Reference Librarian.”

Abby was in the process of checking in a stack of returned books when she sniffed something foul. She looked up to find herself staring at an unkempt vagrant wearing tattered clothes that hadn’t been washed for months, if ever. The aroma he gave off was a mixture of gin and urine.

“Sign me up for a computer,” the rummy barked.

“Hello to you too, Burt,” Abby said as she scribbled the man’s name down on a clipboard. “I’ll put you down for number three.”

“Good,” Burt said.

“You’re not going to use it to look at porn again, are you?” Abby asked.

Burt was aghast. “What is this? Soviet Russia? I don’t have to answer that!”

The wino stormed off in the direction of the computer lab just as the phone rang.

Abby picked it up. “Parker Public Library?”

“Yes,” squawked the old man on the other side of the line. “Where do you people get off using my hard earned tax dollars to warehouse books so smarmy ass no-good hippies can build up their egg heads while our boys overseas don’t have enough napalm to drop on the gooks?”

Abby closed her eyes and sighed. “Hello Mr. Daniels. How are you?”

“Terrible!” Mr. Daniels replied. “What day is it?”

“It’s Friday, Mr. Daniels,” Abby said. “Have you been taking your medication?”

“And allow some incompetent doctor to tinker with my brain?” Mr. Daniels snapped. “No thank you.”

“I think you should hang up and call your son, Mr. Daniels,” Abby said.

“I have a son?” the old man asked.

“Yes,” Abby said. “Remember? That nice man who came and picked you up when you got lost and wandered into the library and started yelling at me for wasting your tax dollars with my existence?”

“Oh right,” Mr. Daniels said. “Because you are. Which government idiot had the bright idea to hire you when the money spent on your salary could be used to buy a rocket to launch up Ho Chi Minh’s ass?”

“Vietnam’s been over a long time, Mr. Daniels,” Abby said.

“Really?” Mr. Daniels asked. “Then I want to know why…”

Abby made a bunch of staticky sounds. “Gerrshhh kursssshhhh…. oh no, Mr. Daniels, you’re breaking up.”

“I’m not finished yet,” Mr. Daniels said. “I’ve got a lot of complaints about that useless library and you’re going to listen to every last one of them.”

“Brrzzt oh my God, Mr. Daniels,” Abby said. “We’re getting disconnected! Brrrzzt brrzzzt call me back never! OK bye!”

Wap! Just as Abby hanged up the phone, a tatted up college student with a diamond stud in her nose dropped an assignment from one of her classes down on Abby’s desk.

“Hey lady,” the student said. “Write this paper for me, ok?”

“Umm,” Abby said. “Not ok.”

“Excuse you?” the student said.

“I’d be happy to help you look for the information you need to write this paper,” Abby said. “But you have to write it yourself.”

“Ugh,” the student said as she snatched her assignment paper back and walked off in a huff. “Why the crap is this stupid place even here anyway? You can just order whatever book you want off the Internet and a drone will fly it to your house.”

“Not everyone can afford to buy every book they want!” Abby shouted. “And depending on drones to bring books to your house is how Skynet begins!”

Behind Abby’s desk, there was a door. Etched on the glass were the words, “Edna Cravenbush, Library Director.”

Abby knocked on it. The sound of a snoring old lady was the only response, so Abby knocked again.

“Huh?” the old lady asked.

“Edna?” Abby asked.

“Oh,” Edna said. “Come in, Abby.”

Abby turned the knob and the door squeaked as she pushed the door open.

Edna Cravenbush looked a lot like a mummy. She was in her seventies and her gray hair was pulled back in a bun, a pair of tortoise shell glasses covered most of her face, and like Abby, she also wore a button-down sweater over her ankle length dress, only hers was green.

“How goes the battle out there, dear?” Edna croaked in her froggy voice as she struck a match and sparked up a cigarette.

“Not bad,” Abby said as she took a seat in the visitor’s chair on the opposite side of Edna’s desk. “I only had to warn one person they were courting Skynet by becoming dependent on book delivering drone technology.”

“I literally have no idea what you just said, dear,” Edna said as she puffed away. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to remind you I’m only working until two, today,” Abby said.

“Oh?” Edna asked.

“Yes,” Abby replied. “I have to pick the kids up from school and get them packed for our trip.”

Edna grinned, revealing her yellow, tobacco stained teeth. “You’re going on a trip? How lovely! Where to?”

“Wombat World,” Abby said. “Remember? We talked about this awhile ago.”

Edna chuckled. “Honestly dear I’m at a point where if it didn’t happen five minutes ago I could give a shit.”

The old gal sucked in a big drag, then expelled a smokey cloud. “But you have a wonderful time. This uh, what is it?”

“Wombat World,” Abby said.

“Wombat World,” Edna said. “It sounds lovely.”

Abby stood up. “Thanks Edna”

“OK then dear,” Edna said as she plopped her white tennis shoe clad feet up on her desk and leaned back. “Have a wonderful time.”

“I will,” Abby said. She put her hand on the door and was about to push it open, then stopped.

“Edna?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Are you going to be ok?” Abby asked.

“Of course,” Edna said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just…”

Abby sat back down. “I know it’s not my place to tell you that you shouldn’t smoke in a public building but, I just worry about being away, because sometimes I catch you sleeping with your cigarette in your mouth still lit.”

“You do?” Edna asked.

“Yes,” Abby said. “I usually just take it out of your mouth and put it out without telling you.”

“Oh,” Edna said. “So you’re the one.”

“Yes,” Abby said.

“Stop doing that, dear,” Edna said.

Abby sat there silently, unsure of what to say next.

“My dear,” Edna said as she flicked some ash into a coffee mug, “My time has come and gone. I’m ready for it all to be over.”

“Over?” Abby asked.

“Precisely,” Edna said. “You see, when I first started out as a librarian so many years ago, sitting at the very desk that you sit at now, I felt like I’d chosen a profession that would give me an opportunity to help people, to really make a difference. Alas, all I ever got were people complaining that the library was a waste of their tax dollars and students demanding that I write their papers for them.”

Abby cleared her throat. “That’s um…more or less what I experience all day…plus vagrants who want to use the Internet for porn and people who mock me about how they can get whatever information they want on the Internet.

“Oh,” Edna said. “Don’t even get me started on that. Would that I could kick Al Gore in the crotch for dreaming up that nightmare. It’s all tits and ass and writers who act like geniuses even though their blogs are read by three point five readers, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” Abby said. “But aren’t you at least happier as the library director?”

“Oh not at all, dear,” Edna said. “It gets worse at this desk. Once a week I must go to battle with some government bureaucrat who wants to put the library out of business. In tough economic times, libraries are the first to go, you know.”

“I know,” Abby said.

“This week, the Mayor wants to shut the library and use the space for a methadone clinic,” Edna said. “Last week, the Department of Public Works wanted to gut the building and use it as a garage to park their dump trucks. There’s always some scheme afoot to shut down the library and use the building for something else.”

“But you always talk them out of it,” Abby said.

“For now,” Edna said. “Though the older I get and the less the public cares the harder it is for me to do so.”

“I’m sorry, Edna,” Abby said. “But even with all of your burdens I’m not sure an early exit is the way to go.”

“There’s nothing early about it,” Edna said. “I’m done and now I’m just waiting for God to take me. And I’m sorry to say my burdens will soon be yours.”

“They will?” Abby asked.

“Of course,” Edna said. “I’ve already recommended that you take over my position when I shuffle off this mortal coil. You’ll be back here talking the town fathers out of bulldozing the library so that the land can be sold to a strip mall developer and some younger lady will be at the reference desk, being scolded about how libraries are useless thanks to the Internet. It’s the circle of life.”

Abby looked the old gal over, then took stock of herself. The hair buns. The button down sweaters. The ankle length skirts. And yes, they were both even wearing white tennis shoes.

There were way too similarities.

“Surely, you’ve found some happiness in your life?” Abby asked.

“Oh for a time,” Edna said. “I had my husband and children…until my carousing husband left and my children grew up and found lives of their own. Once or twice a year they call out of guilt but they rush the conversation and get off the phone as soon as possible.”

Abby felt all the color rush out of her face. “OK then, Edna. I’ll see you in a week.”

Edna, not seeming to care, took a sip out of her ash laden coffee cup. “Very good dear, see you then.”

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Sep 14 2016
11 Comments
Uncategorized

There will be no post today, 3.5 readers

Instead, talk amongst yourselves about one of the following topics:

  • Bass guitarists
  • If you name a kid, “Zack” is the kid destined to be cool?  And if he isn’t, has the kid wasted a cool name?
  • Is there a Bizarro Earth where chickens eat human nuggets and dogs walk humans?
  • Why do nerds love Firefly? Honestly, I watched one episode and did not see the appeal.
  • Why are grilled cheeses called grilled cheeses when usually, people prepare them in a frying pan and ergo, they should be called fried cheeses or fried cheese sandwiches instead of grilled cheese sandwiches? Really, if you are an honest person, you should never call a sandwich a grilled cheese sandwich unless you prepared it on an actual grill. Stop being liars, people. You’re all better than this.
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Sep 11 2016
5 Comments
TV Reviews

TV Review – Pushing Daisies (2007-2009)

This is the best show that you probably never saw.

Dead revival powers + lighthearted mysteries + awkward (and dangerous) romance = Pushing Daisies.

BQB here with yet another TV review.

It often astounds me what the network suits decide should be cancelled and what should stay on.  It was truly a “grave” (ha, puns!) injustice that this show didn’t get more seasons.

How to explain it?

As a child, Ned learns he has a mysterious, supernatural power – he can bring the dead back to life with his touch.

Of course, nothing is that simple and there are some catches:

  • If he brings a dead someone or some thing back to life, a live someone or some thing in the surrounding area will die to balance things out.
  • If he touches the revived dead again, he/she/it will die again, this time permanently, and the touch will not work on that subject again.

As an adult, Ned (Lee Pace) has opened up his own pie show, “The Pie Hole” but it is failing financially.

So, he teams up with private investigator Emerson Cod (Chi McBride).  Ned touches murdered people, he and Emerson ask them how they died and (hopefully if they know, who killed them).  They only have sixty seconds to make their inquiries and then Ned must touch the person before someone else in the area dies in the revived dead person’s place.

Emerson then passes it all off as though he solved the crime through his masterful detective skills and splits any ensuing reward money with Ned.

The situation becomes complicated when his childhood friend Charlotte aka “Chuck” (Anna Friel) returns to her hometown, but not as Ned would have hoped.

Chuck has been murdered, but when her body is shipped home for burial, Ned brings her back to life.

Chuck is grateful and joins in Ned and Emerson’s crime solving routine.  Alas, Ned and Chuck must figure out a way to keep their romance alive despite Ned not being able to touch Chuck ever again because if he does…she’ll die.

Without giving too much away, it involves a lot of plastic wrap.

I’m not sure where you’ll be able to watch it, 3.5 readers. At the time of this writing, I wasn’t able to find it on Netflix.  I’m sure it must be around somewhere and I suppose if you have the dough and love the show enough you could buy it but if you know where it can be streamed let my 3.5 readers and I know.

STATUS: Shelf-worthy.

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