Tag Archives: horror

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 103

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Slade gripped Miles’ fur tightly. The young werewolf was running at a speed that was incomprehensible to the law man. Winds rushed all over them as Miles’ paws tromped across the prairie.

Soon, the Marvel of the Rails was within sight.

“Just get me on board then run,” Slade shouted into Miles’ ear. “I don’t need a dead kid on my conscience on top of everything else.”

Bringing up the Marvel’s rear was a henchwolf manning a gatling gun. He instantly spotted the duo and unleashed a hell storm of bullets upon them.

Miles zigged and zagged, dodging each shot effectively but just barely. It was all happening so fast Slade’s mind could barely keep up with it.

The lawman pointed his pistol at the henchwolf’s head and fanned the hammer, striking the back of his gun with the palm of his hand over and over until six silver-tipped bullets had tore through the henchwolf’s head. Blood splattered across the gatling gun as the henchwolf keeled over and fell onto the tracks.

Miles sped up until he was running just behind the train.

The human body comes with all manner of built in means of self-preservation. Slade had to fight ever reflex he had when he tentatively stood up on the young werewolf’s back. He knew he only had mere seconds before he’d stumble and fall, so he quickly pushed off and grabbed the railing that surrounded the gatling gun car.

Slade pulled himself on board. He took six bullets off of his bandolier and reloaded his gun as he watched Miles veer off to the left and out of sight.

The lawman climbed a rickety iron ladder until he reached the top of a box car.

The Marvel’s whistle blared. Its bell clanged. Slade struggled to maintain his balance as the train barreled down the tracks.

Far down the line, he could see smoke belching from the locomotive’s stack. That was where he needed to be.

The wind whipped up underneath the brim of his Stetson, threatening to blow it away until he pulled it down tight over his head.

Slade’s woman and his hat were both at stake, and he was determined to not lose either.

Slowly, he walked across the box car as the train rattled down the track.

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How the West Was Zombed – So Much Action

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And now the part all 3.5 of us have been waiting for – Slade’s big fight against Blythe on a fast moving train.

I’m not sure action translates well into books.

On a movie screen, you can see an explosion.

In a book, I’m not sure what an author can really do other than write, “There was an explosion.”

Oh well.  This next part is going to be action packed, so please advise me on how to make it better.

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A Blog for Zombie Western

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Hey 3.5 Readers.

I originally said I was going to try to write three books and then edit and publish them one right after the other. I realize now how long that will take. After 6 months, I have 80,000 words and I’m not done yet. If I wait, it’ll be years before I get anything published. I don’t want to rush anything but I now realize that I will have to think of the best ways to drop bread crumbs in this book for future books and then as I write the future books, I’ll have to just deal if it ends up there was something I wish I had added in Zombed.

To that end, I’ll need to do a rewrite.

As I rewrite, I’ll need to do a lot of things.  For example, I’ll need to create:

  • A list of characters so I don’t repeat any names.
  • I’ll need to come up with a master time line so I don’t have something happen that cuts off something else from happening.
  • Bios of some of the main characters.
  • Notes on why I made certain choices, went off on this path or that.

I don’t want to put a ton of time in it or have it distract from my main operations here at Bookshelf Battle, but I do think all of these things would be helpful to a rewrite and I don’t see why they couldn’t become content that the 3.5 people who buy the book might enjoy.

I could add the occasional interview with a zombie and/or a western author.

What ideas do you 3.5 readers have for such a blog?

And which WordPress theme would look good for a Western blog?

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How the West Was Zombed – Part 10 – Dying With Your Boots On

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Blythe has loaded his vile army of the undead aboard a train headed East, schemes to backstab his furry friends and enlists the aid of a strange vampire colleague for some sinister doings.

The vampire lawyer makes Slade an offer he can refuse, but in turn, the counselor refuses to take no for an answer.

Blythe separates Slade’s women.  Will our hero be able to save them both before it is too late?

Gunther wishes his boots were off.

Chapter 95       Chapter 96       Chapter 97

Chapter 98      Chapter 99       Chapter 100

Chapter 101     Chapter 102

 

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 96

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“Fuck those werewolves,” Blythe said. “Once we take D.C. I ought to have the whole lot of them shot.”

Blythe sat on a red velvet couch in a small, cozy cabin. Devoid of any windows, the only light came from a few lit candles sitting on a table.

Sounds of lip smacking filled the room.

“Without humans to contend with, those hairy bastards will no doubt start strutting about in their werewolf forms all day long,” Blythe said. “And before you know it, they’ll be challenging us.”

Blythe waited for a response.  Upon hearing none, he kept talking.

“I’ll be damned if everything I’ve worked for is going to be lost to a bunch of smelly dog men,” Blythe said.

The lip smacking continued.

“I say we as soon as we don’t need them anymore we line them up and shoot the whole lot of them in their ugly heads,” Blythe said. “Silver bullets all around.”

Blythe patiently waited for a response. Hearing none, he continued. “Oh, but I suppose the board will get their knickers in a twist over that idea too. They’ll tell me we need to make nicey-nice with our furry compatriots.”

The room grew quiet…and then…more lip smacking.

“Lamont?” Blythe asked. “Lamont, are you evening listening to me?”

From the other side of the couch, a response came in the form of a male with a cockney British accent.

“Sorry Guvnah,” the voice said. “A bit indisposed I is.”

The lifeless body of young woman dropped to the floor. Blythe took a candle and inspected her face. Pale. Drained of all color. Two holes in her neck.

Blythe looked to his right to see Lamar wiping his blood drenched lips on his shirt sleeve.

Lamont was big and brooding. Broad shouldered and muscular, with little more than black stubble covering his head.

“I didn’t offer you no gravy,” Lamar said as he retracted his fangs. “Was that wicked?”

“A trifle rude but I’m not hungry,” Blythe replied. “Did you hear a word I said?”
“Bob’s your Uncle, I did, I did,” Lamont replied. “Bit of a sticky wicket that business. A fluffy dog be a vamp’s best mate today but it could bite the hand wot feed it tomorrow, yeah? ‘Aint not use for a bollocks dodger but you might  bide your ticks till it do the biting err right’s on your side, wot wot?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying half the time, Lamont,” Blythe replied. “But no matter. I need you to do a job for me.”

“A bit o’ the cat o’ nine tails, is it?” Lamont asked. “Flog your gullivah? Get down to brass tacks and make some brown bread, ay? Butcher’s hook for the ducks and geese. Might make me a bit knackered I nose but who is I to Barnaby Rudge?”

Blythe’s eyes widened with confusion. “Will you just grab your tool kit already?”

“Right-o,” Lamont said as he opened a closet. He removed a large tin box, set it up on the table and opened it.

Knives of all different shapes and sizes. Corkscrews. Surgical tools.

“Blood bags it is?” Lamont inquired.

That question, Blythe understood. “Blood bags it is,” he replied.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 94.5 and 95.6

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Yup.  We’re in decimal points because I decided that more stuff needed to be added prior to Gunther’s untimely demise.

Channelling Boyz II Men – “It’s so harrrd, to say goodbyyyye….to Gunther.”

Namely, we needed a zombies being loaded into the train scene.  Can’t have a zombie train without zombies being loaded into it.

And if Blythe is taking one of Slade’s women on his train, another baddie will have to take custody of Slade’s other woman, right?

Mo women mo problems.

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100 Chapters of How the West Was Zombed

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100 Chapters, 3.5 readers. 100 Chapters.

Slade needs to catch a train, have a fight with a damn vampire, and then things get wrapped up and then the future is foreshadowed and then boom! Cut…print…await my fat ass check from Jeff Bezos.

OK maybe it won’t be that easy, but we’re getting there, 3.5 readers. We’re getting there.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 102

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The crowd’s mumblings eventually worked their way back to Doc and Annabelle.

Women and children only.

“Come on,” Annabelle said. “We’ll find another way.”

“No,” Doc replied. “My dear I can’t deny you safe passage across the Mississippi River on my account.”

“But we’re in this together,” Annabelle said.

“And we still will be, in a way,” Doc replied. He reached into his pocket, produced the two documents he’d been carrying and handed them to Annabelle.

Annabelle squinted at the words. She hadn’t been through much schooling.

“Last..will and…what?”

“My last will and testament,” Doc said. “My dear, when I got into the miracle cure-all business, my financial standing was transformed overnight. I went from pauper to prince in an instant but you see, I made so much in the way of cash that I didn’t feel comfortable carrying it all on my person.”

Annabelle listened. Fearful that untrustworthy characters were lurking in the crowd, Doc led Annabelle away from the rabble.

“At each major city I stopped, I enlisted the assistance of men from the revered Pinkerton Detective Agency to transport my money and deposit it in an account I set up in the First Bank of Chicago.”

“Darling,” Doc said. “In my will I have left the entire sum of my wealth to my beloved wife…”

The ditzy prostitute slapped Doc’s face before he could finish. “You’re married?! You never told me that you…”

Annabelle furrowed her brow at the small chunk of Doc’s flesh that had come off in her hand. She pressed it back into Doc’s cheek.

“Maybe I can just put it back,” she said.

“No just leave it,” Doc replied.

Annabelle let the piece of rotten flesh drop to the ground.

“Let’s be honest, my love,” Doc said. “My condition is worsening and even if I could cross that bridge at your side, I would eventually become a danger to you. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and you’d no longer have a life…for I will lose control of myself and devour your brains when you least expect it.”

“Then we’ll go out together,” Annabelle said. “My brains are your brains.”

“No,” Doc said. “For the world needs cocaine and gynecology and you must promise me that you’ll spread the news of the curative properties of both across the globe in my stead.”

Annabelle stammered. “But…”

Doc clutched Annabelle’s shoulders and looked Annabelle in the eyes. In the dim moonlight, Annabelle was able to see that Doc’s face had turned gray and the left side was drooping, practically sagging away.

“From the well-to-do royal circles of London to the lowliest village of the Congo, you must tell everyone that daily doses of cocaine are required for robust health and that women can stave off the mysterious horrors of their nether regions through regular examinations…you must promise me.”

“I promise,” Annabelle said.

“The money in my account will be more than enough to fund your world travels,” Doc said. “And should the bank manager protest you need only show him my will in which you are named my sole heir.”

Doc pointed to the second document.

“And should any scheming members of my family protest your claim, I have taken the liberty of preparing this certificate of marriage…”

“Marriage?” Annabelle asked.

“Indeed,” Doc answered. “This certificate states that you and I were joined in the bonds of holy matrimony two days ago. The Reverend was kind enough to falsely claim that he officiated the ceremony by affixing his signature. And Mr. Slade graciously signed as a witness.”

Doc pointed to an empty line. “That is for you, my dear. Sign it, if you’ll have me and in the eyes of the law, we shall be considered husband and wife. I know earlier this afternoon you said that premise did not appeal to you but…”

Annabelle cried and hugged the good doctor. “Oh Doc. You’re the best fake zombie husband a girl could ever ask for…”

“And you are the finest fraudulent wife a nearly undead man could ever dream of,” Doc replied.

Though she’d been gentle, one of Doc’s ribs cracked under the pressure of Annabelle’s hug.

“I’m sorry,” Annabelle said.

“Quite all right,” Doc replied. “I’m rotting from the inside out as it would seem.”

Unconcerned about the safety of his bones, Doc pulled Annabelle back to continue the embrace for awhile longer.

“Do be careful not to lose these documents, my dear,” Doc said. “For with them in hand, your claim to my fortune will be iron clad.”

“I don’t want your money, Doc,” Annabelle said. “I just want you.”

“And I, you my dear,” Doc replied. “But this is bigger than both of us now. The needs of two people hardly matter when compared to the world’s need for cocaine and vaginal inspections and I know you will do me proud in both endeavors.”

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 101

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Major Culpepper’s men stood on the Missouri side of the Sturtevant Bridge, rifles drawn and pointed at a large crowd of people who were undeterred.

The Major himself withdrew his saber and rattled it wildly in the air.

“Back, you rabble! Back, I say!”

An angry farmer wearing a straw hat let the Major have it. “You can’t send us back there! There’s nothing to go back to!”

An elderly woman with three teeth chimed in. “We’ll all be eaten alive by dead folk if you turn us away!”

“Can’t any of you filth read?” Culpepper asked as he pointed his saber to the lone piece of paper that Corporal Bartlett had tacked to a tree. “The president has declared that you are all to be presumed to be zombies and shot if you attempt to cross. My hands are tied. Disperse immediately.”

A weeping woman wrapped in a shawl held up a crying infant wrapped in a blanket.

“Please sir,” she begged. “At least take my baby so that he might have a chance.”

The major’s glare at the fussy baby was interrupted when the corporal tapped him on the shoulder.

“What is it, Corporal?” an annoyed Major asked.

“A word sir?”

The Major nodded and walked a few feet back onto the bridge with the Corporal, leaving his men to keep the crowd at bay.

“Sir,” the Corporal said. “Can’t we take the baby?”

“That was the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen, Bartlett,” the Major said. “For all I know it could be a zombie.”

“Clearly none of these people are zombies,” Bartlett said.

“Oh, and I suppose you’re an expert on the subject now?” the Major asked. “There’s nothing clear about it, Bartlett. We know very little about zombies. Any one of these people could be carriers of the dreaded zombie contagion. What am I supposed to say to the Eastern seaboard when it gets wiped out? ‘Oh sorry, Eastern seaboard, but Bartlett tripped over his vagina when it was time to secure the Sturtevant Bridge?’”
“But sir…”

“No buts about it, Corporal,” the Major said. “Our orders are to deny passage to anyone who attempts to cross this bridge and that’s all there is to it.”

“But sir surely you could exercise some discretion,” the Corporal said.

“What are you on about?”

“This is a confusing situation, isn’t it?” Bartlett asked. “No one’s keeping track of the time. We let the people cross. We blow up the bridge. Who’s to say they didn’t all cross before we even got here? I’ll swear on a stack of bibles I never saw them if we ever get court martialed.”

The Major looked at the woman holding the baby. He surveyed the crowd. So many young frightened faces. Children clutching their parents.

“Bah,” the Major said. “Blast you, Bartlett. I suppose no one could judge me too harshly if I save the women and children but I swear I’ll lop off your balls and stick them in a jar on my mantle if this ever comes back on me.”

“That’s fair, sir,” Bartlett replied.

“Robards!” the Major shouted.

The Major’s demolition expert was crouched over a bundle of dynamite, carefully tying it to a support beam.

A flick of ash fell on the bundle. Robards looked up to see a smoking private.

“Are you trying to make us all go kerblooey?” Robards asked as he stood up and smacked the smoke out of the private’s hands. “Get some sense, numb nuts!”

“Robards,” the Major repeated as he drew closer. “How long?”

“Depends,” Robards replied. “You want it done fast or you want it done right?”

“I want the whole damn thing blown to smithereens so I can get back to camp and take a shit,” the Major said.

Robards took off his hat and scratched his head. “Bout an hour.”

“Very well,” the Major said.

Culpepper and Bartlett walked back to the line of soldiers standing between the crowd and the bridge.

“Attention rabble,” the Major shouted. “In one hour’s time, all women and children will be allowed to cross. Men will be expected to return West to fight the zombie menace with honor and die with dignity. Say your goodbyes. There will be no further discussion of the subject.”

Various angry groans and complaints emanated from the crowd as the people talked amongst themselves.

Culpepper and Bartlett headed back onto the bridge.

“God help us if even one of these people is a zombie, Bartlett,” the Major said.

“Sir,” the Corporal replied. “I am absolutely positive that none of these people are zombies.”

The crowd stretched back for a quarter mile. Doc and Annabelle arrived on Hercules, unable to pass through the mob.

“Look at all these people,” Annabelle said.

“Yes,” Doc whispered. He pulled up his collar, turned down the brim of his hat, and pointed his head downward. “I do hope none of them suspect that I am a zombie.”

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BQB’s Bad Ass Guide to Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse – Chapter 1 – Section 3 – Packing a Bug-Out Bag

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When the zombies come for you, they’re not going to care if you aren’t ready for them. This isn’t the prom and these flesh chomping dirt bags aren’t going to park their butts on your sofa and make small talk with your mom while you put the finishing touches on your make-up in the bathroom.

They want your brains and they want them now.

Thus, in the event that it starts looking like your home is about to be overrun with more zombies than you can handle, then you need to be prepared to make a dash in a flash.

Or to put it more succinctly, you need to be ready to “bug out” of your pad and that’s where a bug-out bag comes in.

Only Pack the Essentials

Your baseball card collection. That trophy you got for coming in seventy-seventh place in a foot race with seventy six of your classmates. Your collection of potato chips that bear a striking resemblance to Phyllis Diller.

Be ready to leave all that and more behind, because if you aren’t ready to eat those Diller chips for sustenance, then they’re just bogging you down.

(Phyllis Diller, millenials? No? Crap. Who’s a crusty old funny broad today? I got it. Do you have a collection of potato chips that look like Lisa Lampanelli?  No? Too early 2000’s?  Ok.  Check it out. Do you have a collection of potato chips that look like Chelsea Handler? Yes. The millennials are nodding their heads. I can get out of this terrible joke and move on.)

The zombies are not going to give you a break because you need to grab a few things before you go. And they aren’t going to run slower to compensate for you carrying a bunch of crap that you don’t need.

Zombies are dumb animals who don’t understand concepts like fairness…or kindness…or hygiene.

So if you’re slowly struggling under the weight of bags filled with all the notebooks you used to write love letters to Harry Styles from One Direction, then I guarantee your brains are going to end up with zombie teethmarks in them.
Thus, you must fill your bag with a) life sustaining essentials and b) the sum total weight of which you can carry while you are running away from damn dirty zombies.
The great thing about diversity is that we all are, at the risk of sounding redundant, different. An item that can sustain my life may be of little to no use to you.

So only you know what you can or can’t get along with during the z-poc, but here are some suggestions:

Food and Water

We covered storing food and water a bit in the section on zombie proofing your home. Now we’re talking about packing it. You’ll definitely want a few store bought water bottles in your bag. Prepackaged foods will also be ideal. Granola bars. Some of that nutritional shake mix (something along the lines of Carnation Instant Breakfast, for example) might be good. Of course you’ll have to mix it with water. You won’t have any milk to mix in it unless you manage to kidnap a cow amidst the apocalyptic fallout, which if you do, go you. I applaud your resourcefulness.

Canned food will last awhile, not due to its nutritious value but because it is pumped full of more preservatives than the face of your favorite aging celebrity. Just remember too many cans and you’ll be weighed down. The slower your roll the more likely you’ll end up zombie poop (because a damn zombie will eat and digest you and yes, they do poop.)

Medicine

You’ll definitely want to bring your prescription drugs, though I can’t really recommend just leaving them in a random bag in your house. Drugs can be dangerous so you want to keep all that shit locked up in a safe location, far away from dumb little kids who explore the world by putting as much of it in their mouths as possible. (You parents who are constantly prying random, tiny pieces of floor junk out of your kids’ pie holes know what I’m talking about.)

Plus you want to keep your drugs out of the hands of untrustworthy adults, like your coke head brother-in-law, or your self-medicating hypochondriac buddy who jumps onto various health websites and diagnoses himself with a strange new tropical disease every time he sneezes.

In other words, your pharmaceuticals are for you, period. A medical doctor prescribed them to you based on his assessment of your condition and his judgment based on years of medical training.

So no, don’t leave drugs lying around your house in an unsecured bag. Keep drugs somewhere safe, secure, away from others but remember where you left them in case you need to grab them in a hurry when the zombies come.

As for over the counter stuff, these drugs can also be dangerous if you leave them just lying around in a bag.

Instead, maybe keep a mental list of what you’ll want to grab quickly when the zombies come a calling.

Do you want to bring your Nyquil in case you get a stuffy nose and/or a sore throat that keeps you from sleeping? Be my guest. However, keep in mind that the sleep you get from it will leave you less alert and more likely to become zombie chow.

Money

It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to leave a little bit of cash in your bug-out bag. During the first few weeks of the zombie apocalypse, people will retain their faith in the government’s ability to restore order. Thus, they’ll be willing to trade goods and services for cash, completely unaware that the president has already left us all for dead and is partying hearty in his underground bunker with a champaign flute in one hand and a buxom supermodel’s honkers in the other.

(Not gonna lie, world leaders will really be the only ones who totally make out like bandits during the zombie apocalypse, which is totally unfair, for as we will discuss later, if anyone is going to cause a zompoc, it’s going to be those asshats.)

How much money? The short answer is whatever you can afford to lose, because you’ll be keeping it in a random bag in your house and you just know that when the end times come and you need a hundred bucks to bribe a guard to let you through a gate that leads to safety, you’re going to reach into your bag and discover that one of your sticky fingered relatives already found it, swiped it and spent it on something stupid (candy, comic books, ticket to a Justin Bieber concert, take your pick.)
Lighter and/or Matches

From time to time, you’ll need to start a fire when you’re living in the wilderness. Maybe you’ll need to cook a squirrel you caught and never would have even eaten before but after months without fast food that furry little bastard is looking mighty good to you (and ironically, it will probably taste much like your favorite fast food chain’s burger.)

Some experts might tell you it is possible to make a fire using a flint stone, rubbing two sticks together, or by harnessing the power of the sun through a magnifying glass, but I’m not an expert on anything. I’m just a jackass with a magic bookshelf pulling random thoughts out of my butt.

At any rate, it probably isn’t very safe to leave flammable materials lying around in a bag in your house either, so…ok. Scratch this idea too.

First Aid Kit

This is a must have. Some bandages. Some gauze. Maybe educate yourself on how to treat a wound. I have no idea how to do that shit either so let me know if you do.

Weaponry

Ah, finally. The gun control debate that’s tearing our country apart finds its way into a Bookshelf Q. Battler book.

Folks, here in America, we have the right to bear arms. This right has been written into our constitution due to a rather abusive relationship we had with our pre-democracy ruler, the King of England.

I’m sorry but someone has to say it. King George was an epic douche. Always bossing us around and telling us what to do. Forcing us to house his damn redcoats. Taxing the shit out of our tea.

We don’t drink as much tea as we used to and today we have  taxed ourselves at rates that would make the Founding Fathers spin in their graves, but still. It’s the principal of the thing.

If we’re going to be required to take a portion of our hard earned moolah and feed it to the bureaucratic beast known as government, then we at least want a say in choosing via elections which public officials will fleece us and which song and dance routines we want to see as these officials promise they’ll do one thing with our money and then once elected, do something completely different with it. Pick the song and dance routine that complies with whichever preconceived notions you have about the world that will never occur because political types just do what they want in the end anyway.

Like an empowered woman who has escaped an abusive relationship but remains fearful her nasty ex might break down the door at any time, we Americans still sleep with one eye open, frightened that the King of England will either come back for us, or a new, scary form of government will rear its ugly head and make us yearn for the good old days with the King.

Thus, Americans are understandably hanging onto this right. And aside from concerns about hypothetical tyranny, there’s always people who are rightfully afraid of crime, street gangs, terrorists, and assorted perverts.

Personally, I don’t own a gun. I could tell you that it is because I am trained in a variety of martial arts, from Kung-Fu and Krav Maga to Nerd-Fu and Obla Dee Ma Da.

But frankly, the real reason I don’t own a gun is because I did a mental calculation of the pros and cons of gun ownership versus potential risks posed to me and determined that due to my general incompetence and stupidity, the likelihood of me accidentally shooting myself or someone I care about was high whereas the likelihood of me needing to protect myself or someone I care about from a mob of violent weirdoes was low.

I’m in a weird place on gun control. I don’t want a gun. I don’t want to blow a deer’s brains out or anything. But I don’t necessarily want to see the right to own a firearm go away. After all, every time we surrender a right, the government grows that much stronger, and though the government we have today seems reasonable, who knows what it might morph into tomorrow.

On the other hand, we do have a problem with mass shootings and other gun related crimes. I don’t have the statistics but generally speaking, I don’t recall there ever being as many instances of mass shootings when I was a young lad in the 1990’s as there are today.

We were better at handling our depression in the 1990s. We’d pop on some alternative rock. A moody as hell bearded dude dressed up like a lumberjack in his best flannel would sing a depressing song. All of us young folk would sort of half-dance by swaying a few inches to the left then a few inches to the right with our heads down. We essentially handled our depression by going out of our way to let everyone know that we were depressed all the time.

Today’s kids are different. Parents and teachers and shrinks and everyone pumps kids full of so much happy good time, sparkly sunshine, special snowflake, get a participation ribbon just for showing up bullshit that when they become adults and meet up with someone telling them no for the first time, they grab a heater and go berserk.

And yes, I do realize its not only the millenials losing their shit. Old people have engaged in mass shootings. Middle-aged people have as well.

So I do understand why many people today are throwing their hands up, declaring society as a whole can’t be trusted with individual gun ownership, and demanding that the right to bear arms be thrown in the trash.

I’ll have to paraphrase the late great Ronald Reagan here. He once said that “the closest thing to eternal life on Earth is a government program.”

I’d go a step further and say that the closest thing to eternal life is a right. Once the government says you can do something, it becomes difficult and practically impossible for that right to be taken away.

I don’t know what the answer to the gun debate is. A long held government right vs. too many people getting blown away by wackos. I’m just a mild mannered humorist so I can’t tell you how to resolve this debate, but I hope the various and sundry folks at the helm of our national ship figure out a way.

Did I have a point with all this? Oh right. So honestly, I am not going to tell you to go out and get a gun or a knife or some other kind of weapon to prepare for an apocalypse of any kind, be it a zombie apocalypse or an apocalypse generated by some other type of disaster.

The odds that you’ll shoot or stab yourself, or someone else, maybe even someone you love are high whereas the likelihood of you needing a gun or a knife or another weapon to fight zombies are 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 to 1. Shit, that’s a lot of zeroes, but that’s also how unlikely zombies will ever become anything more than make-believe.

Should you feel dumb for buying this book then? Probably, but it’s too late. I have already spent the money you shelled out for it on a delicious wings and skins sampler.

Burp. Excuse me.

If you are already a gun and/or knife or other type of weapon owner, I hope you’re exercising your right to bear arms cautiously. If you are, then surely you know it is a dumb idea to keep guns, knives and other weapons lying around in a bag in your house. You must, must, must keep all weapons locked up in a safe, secure location, and there is plenty of information out there on how to do that.

Bottomline

Hmmm. So I have determined it is a bad idea to leave weapons, fire starting implements, and medicine in a bag that’s just lying around your house. Perhaps this section was a waste of time.

Or maybe it wasn’t. You can still pack a bag filled with bottles of water, nonperishable packaged food, and as much cash as you can afford to lose. In the unlikely event that the zombies come, you can at least grab your food/water/money bag and run like hell.

During the first few weeks of post-apocalyptic survival, you’ll be able to survive off of the food and water you bring, and you perhaps could even trade some of your food and water with other survivors for goods and services.

Your money won’t be there because you always knew your buddy Doug was a dirty, dirty thief.

Up your nose with a rubber hose, Doug. You know you spent my zombie apocalypse money on hookers and blow. #WorstBuddyEver

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