Tag Archives: zombie apocalypse

BQB’s Walking Dead Recap – Episode 706 – “Swear”


Hello 3.5 zombie apocalypse survivors.

Your old pal BQB here.

Boy howdy am I behind on The Walking Dead.

I blame the Yeti.  That furry douche never lets me do anything.

If you’ve seen beyond this episode, I’d appreciate it if you don’t spoil anything.  If you haven’t seen up to this episode, look away as things will be spoiled for you.

So this was an episode for Tara’s character to really shine.  That’s done from time to time, where a bit player is given their own episode and we learn more about him/her.

Here, we learn that Tara relies on a good sense of humor.

She’s taken captive by a group of females.  I was hoping there would be an awesome backstory to this.  Maybe they’re a bunch of man hating Amazon lesbian warriors who take advantage of the zompoc to create their own lesbian warrior enclave but alas, no, that’s not the case at all.

What was here friend’s name?  The guy with the dreads?  P?  Pete?  I don’t know.  Notice that zombie we are led to think might be him was wearing a dress though and there are some tracks next to his broken glasses.

So either What’s-his-name was zombified and then someone came along and put a dress on his zombified body or more likely, a woman who looks like him was zombified and he was able to escape.

We’ll find out.

There’s a part where Tara could be all about herself but she thinks of the greater good and of those who helped her so…that’s nice.  Moments like that don’t happen often.

The goofy sunglasses said it all really.

I have two more episodes to catch up on!


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Would a Zombie Apocalypse Really Be That Bad?


Hey 3.5 readers.

Blasphemy for a zombie nerd to say this, but sometimes I wonder if a zombie apocalypse would be as bad as they are portrayed on television.

Don’t get me wrong.  A zompoc would be awful.  However, I feel like the government has all kinds of contingency plans on what to do if America is invaded and what with police and army and everything I feel like the zombies could be fended off.

Sure, it would be a disaster.  Many would die, have their brains eaten and end up undead.  I’m just not convinced that people would instantly drop everything when the first zombie wave hits.

Yes, our public officials, politicians and so on make us worry sometimes but I think they would stick around to coordinate things and I don’t think the army, police, first responders etc would give up without a fight.

Then again. I could be wrong.  Everyone might see a zombie and crap themselves.

Even if the world were to descend into an apocalyptic state, I feel like there is a lot of knowledge in people’s brains, such that rebuilding might not be as difficult as imagined.  Surely there would be more to life than just wandering from town to town to see which abandoned stores still have old boxes of candy and twinkles to feast on.

Hell, the Ancient Romans built some impressive buildings and did great things with very little compared to what we have today.  You, the average reader, could take the knowledge in your modern brain and go back to ancient times and live like a King.

Or could you?  I suppose you’d have to have the skills needed to take the knowledge in your brain and make it happen in real life.

I don’t know.  I could be wrong.  Maybe without the whole system in place now we’d all just end up acting like a bunch of dummies and be screwed.

Maybe I have too much faith in people.  Then again.  Maybe I don’t.  I hope we never find out what a zombie apocalypse would be like in real life as there would be way too many zombies.

FYI the Yeti just reminded me that I did live through a zombie apocalypse that was better known at the time as the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse, the terrible ordeal in which #31ZombieAuthors assisted me and gave me the advice I needed to pull myself out of a jam.

I’m sorry.  I’m very forgetful when I’m under Yeti control.  So yes, to answer my question, people are stupid and a zombie apocalypse would be awful as the zombies would eat everyone and then everyone not eaten would do stupid things.

Ergo, this post was pointless.  My bad.

But tell me what you think anyway, 3.5

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 111


Mayhew responded to Doc’s request with a deafening roar.

“A fair point,” Doc replied. “But consider this. My legacy as a world class thinker is at stake. No matter how wise I am, no matter how many suffering I have saved with the curative properties of cocaine, no matter how many women’s lives I have saved through gynecological examinations, I shall forever be remembered as the imbecile who caused a zombie apocalypse to grip the burgeoning Western region of the United States of America.”

The henchwolves roared.

“Ergo,” Doc said. “You are dealing with a man with nothing to lose. Relinquish the box.”

It was a three way standoff and no one was budging.

“Very well,” Doc said. He blasted both henchwolves dead then trained his guns on Mayhew.

Before Doc could get off a shot, his left leg was severed clean off by Mayhew’s claws.

The good doctor fell to the ground. Mayhew ran.

“Thought you’d get away that easily, did you?” Doc asked as he fired three silver bullets into the fleeing werewolf’s back.

Mayhew whelped. He too, was on the ground.

Doc used his hands to drag himself down the bridge. Blood poured from the werewolf’s wounds, but that didn’t stop him from getting up and slowly walking away with the box in hand.

Though Doc was falling apart, his mouth was still operational as usual.

“One can only presume that there is very little difference between human and werewolf anatomy,” the good doctor surmised. “Therefore…”

Doc took a shot and sent a silver-tipped bullet through Mayhew’s left ankle. The beast was immediately grounded.

“Would that you would have only turned over the device and vacated the area,” Doc said as he pulled himself over to the werewolf. “But like so many in this world, you too underestimate my resolve.”

The werewolf rolled over on his back and breathed heavily.

“Rest now, my good man,” Doc said as he put a silver-tipped bullet through Mayhew’s skull.

The train whistle blared.

Doc looked down the track. The Marvel was on the bridge now, about twenty feet away but gaining speed.

He picked up the detonation box and wrapped his hand around the plunger.

“And so ends the journey of Doctor Elias T. Farraday,” Doc said. “A misunderstood genius, reviled by the dimwitted masses of the time he had the misfortune of being born in, but once the dust settles and the history books are written, the open minded masses of the future will no doubt look upon him with great reverence as the man who destroyed the Sturtevant Bridge, keeping the zombie hordes away from the East and…”

The train whistle blared again.

“Oh for the love of God,” Doc complained. “A man can’t even finish a monolog around here.”

The good doctor closed his eyes, gripped the plunger tightly, then pushed.

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


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.)


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.


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.


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.


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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An Ode to a Hot Zombie Chick

A Collaborative Effort Between Bookshelf Q. Battler and Search Engine Optimized Poet

Dedicated to anyone who has ever been through the sad experience of seeing their bae turned into a damn zombie.  One day we’ll find that zombie-ism cure.


Hot Zombie Chick

Hot zombie chick!  Whoa, hot zombie chick!

How I once wished you’d love me for my brain.

Oh, but not like this, dear hot zombie chick.

How can I even explain?

Hot zombie chick! Whoa, hot zombie chick!

Please oh won’t you please go away?

You never wanted to date me when you were alive.

Why should I let you eat me now that you are in a state of decay?

Hot zombie chick. Whoa, hot zombie chick!

Please wont’t you please stop nibbling my ear!

Hot zombie chick. Whoa, hot zombie chick!

Please. You fill me with fear!

Hot zombie chick, come on, I’m no longer feeling’ ya.

Besides if we did it, I’m sure it would be necrophilia.

How Zombie chick!  Whoa, hot zombie chick!

Former blonde goddess who laughed in my general direction.

Once the cause of so many erections,

Now you want to leave me dead for the medical examiner’s inspection but…

No!  No hot zombie chick!  You can’t have my heart and eat it too.

My spleen is mine and I’m keeping my kidneys, so shoo!

Did your parts just fall off?  What the heck are these?

Hot zombie chick, please, I don’t want to shoot you.

And yes, it will be so hard for me to boot you,

In the opposite direction but please, I say this with a frown,

For where you need to go, is to the next town.

We need to see other people, it is so sad for me to explain,

That the mature thing for you to do here would be to eat another man’s brains.

Go, hot zombie chick, go and I beg you, please never look back.

I don’t want you to see me cry, as I so envy the next man you will attack.


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Top Ten Places to Ride Out a Zombie Apocalypse



Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.  As a noted zombiologist/survivor of the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse, I’ve learned a thing or two about the undead.

To help you, the general public (or at least 3.5 of you), here is a list of places I’d advise you to get your butts to in the event of a zombie apocalypse.

Tell me if I’m right or wrong and also if there are places I forgot about that you feel would offer decent sanctuary from the zombie hordes.

10.  Supermarket or Combination Supermarket/All-Purpose Store i.e. Wal-Mart-esque Type Stores

Lots of food.  Lots of tools and equipment.  Eat the perishables first.  Packaged and canned food will last a lot longer.

My group and I were pretty cozy in the East Randomtown Price Town.  Alas, we had to leave to save my pain in the butt ex-girlfriend, Blandie, but hey, as a stand-up guy, sometimes you’ve gotta do what you gotta do.

9.  Hospital

Medical equipment, which unless you are a doctor or nurse, you won’t know how to use any of it.  But, there will be medical supplies that you could at least attempt to you.  If you have to fumble your way through helping a survivor using what little medical knowledge you have, you’ll obviously do better with supplies than without them.

Plus, let’s hope some doctors and/or nurses stayed in the hospital and they can help you and your buddies when you are injured in anti-zombie combat.

Of course, there’s no curing a zombie bite.  That’s just science. As the evil Dr. Hugo tells us, you can’t argue with science.

I’m still not talking to that evil mad scientist douche.

8.  Beach

Put the ocean or a large lake at your back and you only have to worry about zombies attacking your front.

Unless the zombies learn how to swim…muah ha ha….

7.  Playboy Mansion

If we’re all doomed anyway, might as well go out in style whilst oggling scantily clad supermodels.

Plus, in the midst of a zombie apocalypse with chances of being eaten are high, those babes might loosen their standards.

Suddenly nerds like us start to look pretty good.

3.5 lady readers, we’ll invite some hunky dudes for you…but they have to stay on the other end of the mansion.  We can’t let the supermodel babes think they have options.

By the way, did you know the Playboy Mansion is for sale?

I feel like my 3.5 readers have been in remiss for not starting a Kickstarter to raise the funds I need to make the Playboy Mansion my new BQB HQ.

Although if the bunnies aren’t included then all you get is a giant house filled with Hef’s old man stink.  Thanks but no thanks.

6.  Convenience Store

Same reason as why I would want to stay in a big store but there is an argument that the convenience store, being smaller, makes it less likely a zombie could sneak up on you.  If you can see it all by just looking around and you keep your back against one of the walls, that should help you in a zombie attack.

Then again, they usually have glass windows and are easily viewed from the street so you might end up being a sitting duck for a hungry zombie.

5.  The Morgue and/or Funeral Parlor

Hear me out on this one.

If there are already a few dead bodies lying around, just hang out near them and the zombies will sniff the long dead flesh, decide there’s nothing else in there but more dumb zombies, and shuffle on.

Then again they are zombies and they like to eat flesh…would they care that it is dead?

I don’t think I want to find out.

4.  Gun Store

For obvious reasons.  The Founding Fathers have bestowed upon us a constitutional right to pull off as many sweet zombie head shots as possible.

3.  Boat

Look, don’t let that family on Fear the Walking Dead fool you.  Those people are some dumb dummies.

Maintain radio silence or if you have to communicate, do so without sharing details of where you are.  Duh.

Get out to sea.  Keep moving.  Keep an eye on that radar for visitors.  Catch some fish.

2.  Train

Like Snowpiercer, but the train just keeps looping around a big track at a fast pace so damn zombies can’t catch it.

Holy shit.  That is a badass novel idea.  Now I need to drop what I am doing and write Zombie Piercer.

  1.  Your Own Home

Screw those zombies.  This is America.  Aint no undead bastard gonna run me off my own property.

Just be sure to board the place up, reinforce the doors, stockpile food, equipment, supplies, ammo and what the heck, you’ll be comfier in your own crib anway.

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How the West Was Zombed – Book #1 of the Zombie Western Series



Highwater, Missouri. 1880. The Old West was a time of expansion and opportunity for some, oppression and violence for others. Dangerous desperadoes ran wild leaving lawmen struggling to maintain order.

U.S. Marshall Rainier Slade is a genuine stoic, a quiet man with a raspy voice, a permanent scowl on his face, and a disdain for humanity that leaves him using the bare minimum amount of words necessary to get his point across. His deputy, the elderly, pragmatic yet loyal Gunther Beauregard does most of the talking.

Together, they work to enforce the law in a town filled with drunkeness, debauchery, and mayhem. Meanwhile, there’s a tentative peace between the townsfolk and a nearby Native American tribe, made possible only by the good rapport between Slade and Chief Standing Eagle.

The world Slade knows crashes down around him when the dead start refusing to die, thanks to the evil endeavors of Henry Alan Blythe, Attorney-at-Law for the Legion Corporation, and his newly recruited flunkies, the Buchanan Boys.

Zombies aren’t the creatures our heroes will have to worry about. Vampires and werewolves are on the prowl too.

Will Slade save the day? Will the West be lost to the zombie hordes? And when the dust settles and the last undead brain gets a bullet through it, will our hero choose the scandalously alluring brothel owner Miss Bonnie, or the prim and proper bible thumping Widow Farquhar?

PART 1 – The Stand 

U.S. Marshall Rainier Slade and his trusty deputy Gunther Beauregard are joined by traveling snake oil salesman Doctor Elias T. “Doc” Faraday in a stand against the nefarious Buchanan Boys.

PART 2 – Werewolves and Women

Smelly Jack and the Buchanan Boys have been captured and now our hero, US Marshal Rainier Slade, has to wait a week until the arrival of Judge Sampson.

In the meantime, a love triangle blooms. Scandalous brothel madame Miss Bonnie is the only woman Slade can be himself around but…the bible thumping Widow Farquhar is there.

Never underestimate the power a woman who is there has on a lonely man.

Plus, there are some damn werewolves.

PART 3 – The Trial

A day of reckoning comes for the Buchanan Boys. Judge Sampson comes to town and is hankering to pass out some hangings.

But “simple country lawyer” Henry Allan Blythe and his werewolf lackeys have other plans in mind.

PART 4 – History Repeats Itself

Joe Freeman’s past haunts him again and again and his longstanding feud with Blythe is about to come to a head.

Blythe, a villainous vampire/counsel for the Legion Corporation’s board of vampire directors, has dreamed up a scheme to conquer the United States with a zombie army that responds to his will.

But the board’s bureaucratic maneuvering threatens to throw his plan off the rails. His bosses want him to toy with Slade and Freeman, rather than kill them outright.

PART 5 – Wedding Crashers 

Though his heart belongs to fiery redhead Miss Bonnie, Slade just can’t bring himself to say no to his fiance, Sarah “the Widow” Farquhar. Slade and Sarah head to Highwater to plan a wedding for the evening. Actually, Sarah does most of the planning. Slade acts like a depressed hostage.

Meanwhile, a heavily armed and armored train arrives in town. Despite an argument filled with chest puffery, Slade is unable to get any information out of villainous lawyer Blythe.

Smelly Jack crashes Slade and Sarah’s wedding in a big way, though as it turns out, in a much bigger way than expected…

PART 6 – Miles Freeman, Amateur Werewolf

When Blythe’s evil werewolves attack the Bonnie Lass Saloon, Highwater finds itself in the grip of a terrifying zombie outbreak.

But for young Miles Freeman, there’s no time to feel sorry for himself when he loses his father.

Miss Bonnie needs his help…and Blythe’s wolves are on the hunt.

Somehow, Miles will have to figure out how to use his werewolf powers to save the day.

It won’t be easy for him. After all, he might be a werewolf…but he isn’t a very good one.

PART 7 – Doc’s Secret Shame

After Miles gives the survivors a crash course regarding the Legion Corporation’s evil plans, Doc must acknowledge his tarnished past in order to come to grips with a terrible mistake he’s made in the present.

PART 8 – Plans

Plans. Everyone has them.

Slade’s isn’t much of one. He intends to send his bride away in the care of Miss Bonnie, the woman he loves the most. After that, he and Gunther will take Blythe head on, hopefully with Standing Eagle’s help.

Meanwhile, Lady Blackwood beseeches the Chairman to set aside the board’s plans in favor of her own.

And Doc? He’s planning to do something with two mysterious documents.

Part 9 – The Not So Great Escape

Tribal shaman Wandering Snake guilts Standing Eagle into coming to Highwater’s aid.

Slade gets his crew to the livery stable, with a plan to send Miss Bonnie, the Widow Farquhar and Miles south to seek refuge with Eagle’s allies.

Meanwhile, Doc and Annabelle plan to head East to pursue their dreams of becoming international cocaine peddling gynecologists. (Yes, it makes more sense if you read it.)

But with an army of obedient zombies under his control, Blythe interferes with these plans.

The Reverend’s attempt to find some good in Blythe backfires in a big way.

Miles will need to figure out how to be a werewolf before its too late.

Part 10 – Dying with Your Boots On

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.

Part 11 – Catching a Train

It’s do or die time for Slade.

A train full of zombies is barreling East. If it crosses the Mississippi River, the United States is surely doomed.

Will our hero save the day?

And while he’s at it, will he save the woman he loves?

Will he even get to save the woman he likes?

Part 12 – One Week Later

The West has been zombed.  Cut off from the rest of the country, our heroes contemplate their next moves.

Part 13 – One Year Later 

A year has passed since the West has been zombed.

Miles makes a deal with a suspicious new acquaintance.

Annabelle takes up Doc’s cause.

Slade and Miss Bonnie head to Arizona and get a visit from Wyatt Earp.

And finally…a master outdoorsman is put on the path to the presidency.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 70


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

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

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

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

“Who?”  Miss Bonnie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gunther looked at the spilled elixir coating the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

Gunther, Slade and Miss Bonnie exchanged confused looks.

“Translation?” Gunther asked.

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

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

Annabelle pouted.  Doc looked away from her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My dear…”

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

Doc’s eyes pointed downward.

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

“In theory,” Doc said.

“I’ll take it,” Annabelle replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anabelle wept.  “Doc…no.”

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

“It is my good man.”

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

“Please…” she begged.

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

Anabelle gave her man one final kiss then backed away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gunther, Slade and Anabelle all crouched around him.

“What the hell was that?” Gunther asked.

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

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

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

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Tonight’s Walking Dead

Wow.  What an episode.


Dr. Denise.  Gone.  Arrow through the eye.  So sad.  We were just getting to know her.

Whenever the viewer gets to learn a bit more about a character, that character is probably going to buy the farm.  That’s the writers way of making you miss the character.

Eugene bit a dick.  Out of self defense of course but still.  I’d of just let myself get killed but that’s me.

Carol flew the coop.  Seems out of character.  She never runs from anything.

That chick that plays Rosita is on Talking Dead and has ginormous cannons.  Not that I noticed.

There’s an English Teacher on Talking Dead who won a spot on the couch as part of some kind of a contest.  Good for him that’s awesome.

What say you, 3.5 readers?




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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 20


Midnight.  The criminals snored and shifted in their seats.  Smelly Jack was having a difficult time drifting off seeing as how he was chained to two of his brother-cousins.  Slade and Gunther were outside on the porch.  The oldest Knox was fast asleep.  The two younger Knoxes were locked in a heated debate about whether or not Jesse James was an outlaw or a hero.

Joe walked to the pulpit, which Miles was using as a desk to draw his latest masterpiece.

“Are we leaving?” the boy asked.

Joe answered his son’s question with a question. “I’m that obvious?”

“I can smell your fear,” Miles replied without looking up.  This time he was working on a pirate ship, complete with sails, masts, cannons, and little pirates on deck.

“You don’t smell so brave either,” Joe said.  “I don’t know anyone who could at a time like this.”

“Should we go now or in the morning?” Miles asked.

“Neither,” Joe answered.  “I gave my word I’d help watch these men until their trial and a man’s only as good as his word.  As soon as that’s over, we’ll be moving on.”

“That’s too bad,” Miles said. “The people are nice.”

“I reckon,” Joe said.

“Mr. Beauregard’s funny,” Miles said. “The Marshal doesn’t talk much. Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” Joe said. “Maybe his mother taught him that if he can’t think of something nice to say about someone then he shouldn’t say anything at all.  He probably met too many people who fit the bill.”

“Where will we go?” Miles asked.

“Thought about down Mehico way but I hate the heat.  Canada will suit us fine.”

Miles looked up from his artwork.  “Pa, shouldn’t we just outright tell them?”

Joe chuckled. “Son, people talk a good game about ghosts and goblins and things that go bump in the night but seeing is believing.  Unfortunately for most folk, by the time they see it and believe it, it’s already too late.”

“What do you think the Legion is up to?” Miles asked.

“No good.”

“Duh,” Miles said. “But what?”

“No clue.  But it’s big.  Bigger than anything they’ve ever tried before.”

“Shouldn’t we help?” Miles asked.

“No,” Joe said. “We’ve done our part.  And we’ve already lost too much.”



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