Yadidabooboo

Awwww, screw Saturday. My blog posts have to follow those of MC Sticky, hipster bloggerino extraordinaire. Not fair. I'm new to the blogosphere, ain't got a handle on none of this nonsense yet. Whatever -- watch out, internet, I'm about to smash this shit up.

A few days ago, I sprained my left index finger. At first, it was only a minor nuisance. Then I realized that in event of a zombie apocalypse, it would be my trigger finger. Immediately this injury went from being a minor nuisance to a MAJOR CONCERN.

If a zombie comes for me in the night, hungering for human brains, I WON'T BE ABLE TO DUAL-WIELD .45 MAGNUMS!


HOW THE HELL WILL I SURVIVE?!

You never realize how essential one little finger can be until a zombification-inducing viral outbreak spreads to your town from a small primate hantavirus testing facility in Alabama. And everyone you have ever known or loved morphs into a leprous, mindless brain-craver, "OM NOM NOM"ing on human flesh like a chubby asian eight year-old on chicken-flavor Top Ramen noodles.

I suppose I could find an axe or cricket bat somewhere, but that's a cop-out. I've always wanted to be a gunslinger from a spaghetti Western, pumping lead from my trusty sidearms into evildoers and banditos.

...except I want the banditos to be zombies.

That would be badass.
-- Nollsch out.