Slow Blog Day, or What Would YOU Do in the Event of a Zombie Apocalypse?

Deny it all you'd like, but I guarantee you that at some point in your life, aware of it or not, you've contemplated just what you would do in the event of a catastrophic zombie/robot/alien apocalypse. We've all got our different ideas; I'm partial to a more laid-back approach, holing up on the roof with a small cistern, plenty of honey, a carbine named Vera, and a sledgehammer (the latter in the event that the defecation hits the fan).

But I've always had my irritation with the logistics of a zombie apocalypse. Assuming we're contending with your run-of-the-mill, T-Virus esque infection, that's still a whole lot of bodies--the meat, so to speak, of any good zombie incursion--stuck some 6 feet under a huge hunk of dirt, rocks, and stones that isn't going anywhere. Factoring in the hyperactive ferocity of the creatures, if 28 Days Later or the like is to be believed, it all adds up to little more than a good amount of vibrating cemeteries.

That said, it leaves a good number of morgues, mausoleums, and basement corners unaccounted for, but fear not! The judicious application of landmines solves this problem. In fact, the judicious application of landmines solves most problems, but I digress.

As you can see, I'm running low on creativity at the moment, and like any good writer, I've established a complex web of other people, ideas, and things on which to blame this. The bottom line is that Daylight Savings Time has robbed me of an hour, and I take that as a personal insult. All I've seen is daylight killed, for the walk to the bus stop has once again become an apprehensive, nervous gait towards the shimmering light of the street lamp, hoping that whatever is growling in the bushes stays damn well put. I feel this would certainly qualify carrying a taser, at least to the bus.

So there, your belated serving of fish entrails. Enjoy the hell out of it, and I'll be back when something strange happens.