Once upon a time....

I read about this lady who lives in a shoe. She had so many kids she didn't know what to do. Why the hell is she living in a shoe? What kind of a shoe is it? A boot? Slipper? Football cleat? Pump w/spiked heel? Does she live in a snow boot in the winter, but have a sandal as her summer home? For birthday parties does she drag out a pair of Crocs for the kids to jump on?

It just doesn't make any sense.
 

You know, maybe she shouldn't have had so many goddamn kids if now she has to live in a friggin' shoe.

From what I heard, she's going to have to sell them off for child slave labor in China....ironically enough...to make shoes. The boss man at the shoe factory was quite impressed with their in-depth knowledge of shoes.

Personally, I blame the schools.

The power went out briefly today, but now it’s back on. I sat in the dark and wondered if I would ever see my wife and family or friends again. The news has been slow coming, but I finally have pieced together what happened. Apparently, this out-break is limited to the Western suburbs of Minneapolis. A biotech company had a mishap and some kind of toxin spewed into the air. Those who were outside were dead in minutes. Those who were inside were safe from the toxin, but they soon died from the walking dead who attacked them. From what I can gather, those things out there were turned into zombies by this chemical, but not by a virus. And they are not flesh-eating zombies. They are however incredibly violent and insane. So, I think I really am safe from being infected by the one that attacked me. According to the news, the military is on the scene and wiping out the zombies. I guess I’ll stay barricaded in here until it’s safe to go outside. I found some weapons on the work bench—a short crowbar, a hatchet…I also found an old Louisville Slugger. I wonder though, when will it be safe for me to leave? When will I know? I think of that song by The Clash—Should I Stay or Should I Go Now? Oddly enough, it’s pretty appropriate, because if I stay there might be trouble but if I go there could be trouble. For all I know, the military is going to charge through here and bomb the shit out of everything. But if I leave now, those things are out there…or just as bad, I might be shot mistakenly by some over-anxious cop or solider or something. If I stay, there will be trouble…but if I go...

When I woke up, I wondered if I was alive or undead. My stomach ached from hunger and my head felt groggy. I had to think, "what I was hungry for? Normal food...or brains?" The power had not gone out yet, but I still figured I should open the fridge and eat what was in there first, then move on to the canned food. I found some leftover pasta and ate it quickly, quietly. The last thing I wanted to do was draw attention. As I ate, I thought about the dream. I was looking down at me and my wife in the bed...only...my hand was in her chest. I pulled out her heart and gorged myself on the bloody organ. I then proceeded to dig into her body cavity and feast on her. I finish the pasta, put the dish aside. It must be a good sign that I hunger for normal food. I feel the bite on my shoulder and neck. Maybe the zombie didn't get in far enough? Maybe he tore at the flesh and didn't really infect me? It felt like the wound was healing...forming a scab. Maybe I was in the clear. Maybe I was safe...and then what? I can't live barricaded in this storage room forever. I mean, there's a lot of bottled water and canned food...maybe enough for about a month. After that, I'll need to venture out. I don't know what I'll find out there. I don't hear any noises outside the door...I assume the zombies haven't broken in to the main house because it looks abandoned. No humans to eat, why bother breaking in. I need to remain quiet...not draw any attention to myself. As long as the power is available and the service is up, then I should be able to keep using my laptop to send these blogs...in the hope that someone out there will read them. Maybe send me a message to let me know...is this the end of human civilization? I feel my strength returning...the food must have helped. I drink some of juice from the fridge. I will eventually need to leave this safe place. I look at the workbench and various tools hanging from the peg board. I have a month to devise weapons, shield...something to give me a fighting chance. I'm going to go through the work bench...see what I can find...it's likely my only hope for survival. I push aside a bag of used mystery novels intended for donating to the library. Now I wish I had grabbed my copy of The Zombie Survival Guide from our storage unit. I've read it...and have a pretty good understanding of what I need to do...but still...it would be one of the few books I would actually want right now.

I hope I wasn't infected...I hope...I don't know...I don't know what to hope for anymore...

I've barricaded myself in the storage/utility room, which is downstairs in the finished basement. I left a note for my wife and her mom in case they make it home. They had gone shopping before the outbreak. I hope to god that they are still alive. There's lots of canned food to survive on in here. And a fridge with water and some other stuff. So at least I have food. But what's the point? I've been bitten. My neck has stopped bleeding, but I feel so weak. Goddammit. In all the zombie movies I've seen, I never pictured myself playing the role of the "infected guy." I always pictured myself the survivor, with his girl by his side, escaping the zombies to start a new life together. I start to get the feeling that I've barricaded myself in this room not so much to keep zombies out, but to keep me in, away from hurting anyone. I never wanted to be the infected guy...fuck. I found a partially full bottle of Smirnoff vodka in the freezer. I used some of it to clean my wound, then I took a few pulls. Luckily the power has not gone out...yet. The wireless is still working. I'm glad I grabbed my laptop, so I can continue to communicate with the outside world. I'll try...but my mind doesn't feel so right. I got to rest. Maybe...what if...the zombie didn't infect me? Maybe...by some chance? Please...I'm just going to sleep for a littlewhile.....................

I am writing this to tell anyone who will listen that...something horrifying has happened...just a moment ago I was attacked by the guy next door...only he...seemed dead...he just grabbed me and bit my neck. I pushed him off of me and then...that's when I noticed all of the neighbors looked just as crazed...walking around dumbly...like zombies...coming toward me...I turned and ran back into the house and locked the doors. I've barricaded myself in my room. I'm bleeding pretty bad...but I still have strength to write this blog to anyone who will read it. I think I've been bitten by a zombie. I'll keep you posted as my condition changes...soon however...I may not be capable of blogging...well...maybe not...but still...I...must...not...become...undead...

*FARTS*

Yeah, that's right, I farted...Jealous?

I think terrorist cells in the USA love to go out for frosty chocolate milkshakes.

I heard a fly buzz when I died.

I really should have called the Orkin guy

before i died.

There's people on the street

getting diseases from monkeys

Yeah that's what I said

they're getting diseases from monkeys

Now there's junkies with monkeys' disease

Who's touching these monkeys please?

Leave these poor sick monkeys alone

they've got problems enough as it is

 The Copier and the Technician

by Bryan

Once upon a Monday morning, a photocopying machine broke down. The department secretary—who often abused the poor little machine—called a technician to make repairs. When he arrived, the technician was shown to the machine and left to work his magic. He cleaned the glass with a special cleaner. With blasts of compressed air, he blew away the clumps of paper dust that had accumulated around the copier’s moving parts. Fresh toner was added to the machine. The automatic stapler was refilled with a new clip of staples, and the technician restocked paper tray “A” with three reams of 20lb copier paper. As he finished, he copied a test page of blank paper to check for spots or smears or lines. The machine hummed as it rolled the test page into its sort tray. The technician was amazed when he found that the page had writing on it. It read:
Thank you, kind sir, for cleaning and replenishing me. For your acts of kindness, I shall grant you three wishes.
  The technician thought about the copier’s peculiar offer, I am very hungry and have been working late tonight. I will test this machine’s offer of three wishes.
“Copier, I would like to have a platter of the finest meats and cheeses and breads to feast on for supper. Please grant me this wish now.”
  He stepped back as the machine hummed, florescent red light glowing from under the hood. To his astonishment, a platter loaded with sliced meats and cheeses and breads rolled forth from the copier and into the sort tray. The feast was sorted by ham, turkey, roast beef, jack cheese, cheddar, swiss, sliced whole wheat bread, and sliced sourdough bread.
“What? No mustard?” He exclaimed.
The copier coughed up packets of Grey Poupon
The technician quickly made a sandwich. The meat and cheese and bread tasted splendid. Amazed with his extraordinary discovery, the technician set aside the food and devised a plan. I’ll tell everyone that the copier is broken beyond repair, then I’ll bring it home. I’ll clean it everyday and have fine meats and cheeses to feast on for a lifetime! He left the copier to go outside to his truck and retrieve his dolly.
Seeing the technician leave the building, the department secretary—who took great pleasure in abusing the machine—figured she was free to use the copier. The copier quickly jammed on her, tearing her original document apart. “Damn this copier!” She kicked the paper tray, cracking it in half. She slammed the hood of the copier, shattering the glass beneath. She pounded the controls until they blinked and beeped chaotically.
She turned to go back to her desk, however the technician stood in her way with his dolly in tow. Seeing how she had damaged the magical copier, he howled, pounding the walls with his meaty fists. “You fool! What you have done to my precious copier!”
The secretary snarled, curling her hot-pink, lipstick-coated lips over her perfect, pearly teeth. “That copier was a pitiful pile of junk. I put it out of its misery.”
  Gripping her shoulders, the technician threw her on top of the copier. Shocked, the secretary flailed, wedging her bottom into the document tray.
    “I’m calling human resources on you!” She struggled to dislodge her ample bottom.
The technician hollered, “You! I’ll show you misery. I wish you were a copier so that you would know how it feels to always be abused and never praised!”
Suddenly, the copier glowed to life. Florescent red light glowed from between the many cracks, fusing them back together. The machine sucked the secretary, bottom first, through its rollers. She squealed, disappearing into the machine. Moments later, hundreds of pieces of paper shot from the sort tray, swirling in an electrified whirlwind. The paper tornado hovered in the corner of the copy room. As it slowed and disappeared, it revealed a new copier, plugged into the surge protector and ready to use. Across its side, written in hot pink script, was the name: The Secretary Series.
As the technician loaded his magic copier onto the dolly, an employee asked if she could use the new copier. “She’s all yours.” Leaving the copy room, he could hear the lady kicking it, slamming the hood, pounding the paper tray, and shouting insults. And the miserable, mean secretary lived out the rest of her life as an abused photocopier.

Hello--

Liquid Salad has posted a new song, Foods I Like. It's a silly little tune, so as in all things in life and Liquid Salad, don't take it too seriously. It's probably the most "popish" song I've ever recorded. Have a beer, relax and enjoy the tune.

Foods I Like

One day I was ridin’ my bike
Started thinking of the foods that I like

There's a book I recently checked out that's a compilation of six-word memoirs written by various writers, known and unknown, as well as just everyday people. Some are funny, others fairly poignant.  It's a fun writing exercise. Anyway, here's my six-word memoir. What would be yours?

Took leap of faith...and slipped.