I'm sad to inform you all that the zombie apocalypse started today in Miami, Florida, my hometown. While totally naked, Zombie Joe, the apocalypse's answer to Typhoid Mary, attacked and ate the face of another man, who is in critical condition at a Miami hospital. Police had to shoot the nude Zombie Joe half a dozen times to finally kill him as he continued to eat the victim.
I have to say, I feel fairly safe here in Montana, because if the trend is going to be naked zombies, they are going to freeze in the snow that we had last night or at least be slowed enough that head shots will be simpler.
Nevertheless, the time is now, dear readers, to ready your plans. It is clear that Joe's victim will have been infected and is going to start with the chompy-chompy sometime soon.
Will you stock up supplies?
Will you fortify your homes?
Or will you join me under the bathroom sink where we will be very very still and very very quiet?
Also, I am very sorry to the victim and the families of the people in this news article, I am very insensitive, but seriously, you have to be a little aware that if your injured loved one tries to bite you, he's totally a zombie and you should kill him, immediately.
I couldn't be bothered to put on pants today to leave the house.
I don't mean I went out buck-assed naked on the bottom half, I just couldn't be bothered to put on ACTUAL pants to leave the house today. Nor a bra.
I was just going to pick my nephew up from school and knew I was not getting out of my car (unless it somehow exploded into flames or something), so I think I am still safe. When I start walking around in public wearing pajama pants and an old shirt with no bra, it is probably time for medication.
Although, one time, when I was in college, I decided that I would wear my flannel pajama top with a pair of jeans because it was cold out and I thought the top was cute. I ended up at the health clinic and a lovely, but very concerned doctor tried to diagnose me with depression. I assured him I had a raging case of weirdness, but that I had not giving up on life because I made ill-advised fashion choices.
It's the bra, really. As long as someone who needs it is wearing a bra or some sort of chestal support with non-sexy clothing , I am willing to believe that they still have some sort of hold on their sanity. As long as the bra is worn as prescribed, of course. It doesn't count if it is on the outside of their clothes, or on their head. And even that can be argued for the sake of fashion, I suppose. I really don't know how to gauge it for people who don't need bras. Not brushing their hair? Wearing sweatpants to work when their job does not involve working out in cold climates? Am I just describing hipsters now?
When carrying a large stack of packages through doors, especially the narrow, uneven doors of an old house, avoid crushing your own larynx with said packages by hitting the stack into the door jamb and ramming the uppermost boxes into your throat.
You wouldn't think it, but it is exceptionally unpleasant and can scare the other people in the house when you stagger around frantically with a large stack of packages making weird honking choking noises.
