They're all about love.

WIFEZILLA: All right, we're gonna get out of your hair.

GIRLZOOKIE: He doesn't have hair!

The Zombie Apocalypse is Now

You heard me right. It's all over. We're fucked. I was there.

The dead walk the earth.

Fortunately, I had my camera on me and managed to snap off a few photos as I was fleeing for my very life. I have attempted to document the beginning of the end for any who find this. Perhaps the warning herein will allow you to survive. A little longer, anyway.



Observe this poor fellow, who rode his bike right into the midst of a huge mob of the undead before he realized his mistake. Note how he's strategically placed his bike between him and the ravening hordes. A good thought, but ultimately, fruitless. They tore the poor bastard limb from limb. The screaming was ghastly.





Note the empty bicycle in this photo. The rider is nowhere to be seen. Also note the woman in the foreground, snapping off pictures rather than fleeing for her life, even though she's just witnessed the horrific birth of yet another zombie. This kind of cavalier attitude toward the thronging mob of bloodthirsty zombies will get you killed! You must take this threat seriously! (Yes, I realize I was also taking pictures, but you'll note that I had placed myself behind the other photographer, giving me additional time to make my escape. One of us lived to write about the experience.)



Here we see the zombie mass breaking past the photographer, who is by now probably being devoured in the huddle in the background. The bicycle is still in place, untouched. Zombies do not ride bicycles! Remember that! It could save your life.

The zombie in the foreground almost looks sad. You can nearly hear it thinking, "Being a zombie sucks. I'm really sorry about that whole destroying humanity thing." Do not be fooled! They will kill you and everything you love, and then snack on the brains!



The image of this little old zombified lady, dragging her poor dead dog behind her on a leash, nearly broke my heart.










A close call! This enterprising zombie nearly got me as I bemoaned the little old lady's fate. I might not be here now to break the most important news story of our species' history if not for that lucky trash can. Thank God zombies lack the reasoning capacity to step around things!

Observe the woman behind him. Note her euphoric grin. The poor thing has been broken psychologically by this disaster, and now believes herself to be a zombie, too. Tragic. She'll be right, soon.




So many things worth noting in this one. The zombie unhindered by the broken foot (zombies can't feel pain!)... the zombie still trying to operate the cell phone as he once did in life... but of all the things I witnessed tonight, the zombie pimp with the teddy bear may have been the most pants-shitteningly frightening thing I've ever seen.





Several of these zombies appear to be fresh. The outbreak is in full swing now. The one in the foreground is carrying a shopping bag. One could almost weep for the sad commentary on thoughtless American consumerism if he weren't fighting survival in a hellish undead apocalypse.

I'd also like to thank the zombies for only tearing the outer shirt of the undead lady behind him. We're trying to run a family-friendly armageddon here.



This zombie attempted to mimic my photography of the event. Do not be fooled by such displays! They cannot think. Within hours of death, their brains deteriorate beyond even such simple human capacities, leaving them only with an unquenchable lust to munch upon your brainmeats.





These zombies appear to be hulking out. I cannot even begin to describe how much this concept terrifies me.









Another near miss! I must apologize for the quality of this photo, but it's hard to snap pictures while ducking and weaving. Fortunately, I was saved...







...by this valiant man. Although I certainly do appreciate his rescuing me, I must advise against this sort of up-close-and-personal vigilantism. Ultimately, one cannot survive long in the midst of a full-on zombie uprising. Now there's a zombie out there with a fucking chainsaw. God damn it, anyway.








Here, in one of the more disturbing scenes I encountered during my ordeal, we see a young zombie family. Their undead child struggles to free itself. Thank God they're born without teeth. So many questions arise. Is today the child's deathday? How do zombies celebrate a child's deathday? Do they stick candles in a human's head? Are you still pro-choice?




Raptor Jesus walks among them. We are well and truly fucked.












There you have it, folks. By now, Raleigh is fallen. Other cities are sure to follow. It's the end of days. Loot some canned goods, destroy your staircase, hole up in the attic, and hope for the best.

I guess my misanthropy shows.

Enzo: I think I'm becoming like you, my friends lately have been getting on my nerves, I'm becoming antisocial haha. Their jokes are no longer funny, I'm getting tired of hearing the same old jokes over and over and over, it's always the same thing.

Taco: Welcome to our club.
Taco: We don't meet on Tuesdays.
Taco: Because we hate each other.

Doctor Doctor, give me the news...

How exactly does one wind up being a pharmacist when you've got this last name?

Ten years at it.

I just noticed that a week ago marks ten years of me writing software for money. Wild. Like I needed something else to make me feel old.

A Little Friendly Advice

If you're feeling... (let's see... what's the polite term here?)... gastrically explosive... during your mad rush to the bathroom, please remove your company access badge from your belt and tuck it in your pocket. When you drop trou, the badge attached to your belt has a fair shot at landing outside the stall and displaying your picture and name to the rest of the bathroom during your... err... exertions.

And I really don't want to know who you are right then.

Time is a Harsh Mistress

I was just thinking about my first job programming, so I googled for them. Nothing. Not even when I told Google to include their omitted results.

The guy that ran the place was pretty ancient, and that was ten years ago. I guess this means he's probably passed on. I got the feeling the software thing was a personal project of his to keep busy in his retirement, so his wife probably let it die with him.

Why's this depress me so much? I only ever collected one check from him. (I was too slack to bill him for the other work I did.)

The animation I did for his software was kinda badass.

Oh well.

I can't remember the guy's name now. Does that make me a bad person?