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The Borges. By writing myself into a verbose labyrinth, my fictional doppelgänger will be able to escape the horrible fate I myself am doomed to suffer. But what is a human being if not a collection of stories and words? It is only a matter of time before my literary double rewrites my original existence sans zombie apocalypse, saving me from a certain fate as brainfoods.
It is 3 AM. You wake from a confusing dream in which you were stalked through cyclopean ruins by colossal, malevolent slabs of ham. You are hungry and confused and you have to pee. The hall lick flickers out, briefly, almost.... too briefly...
Wait. There is a man in your bathroom. Instinctively, you apologize and begin backing out before fully waking to the reeling horror that there is a man in your bathroom. White hot anger courses through your veins and you shout at the poor bugger, shambling up and over the shower curtain, stumbling along the seashell patterned tile, scaling and descending the matted, shaggy bath rug until you realize something is amiss. This man has no right arm. His skin is green. He moans and sniffles and shambles and cries out for brains, brains, more brains. Dear god... They all laughed at you. Mark in accounting, Penelope from the bakery, Jaime, Chip, Doc, Stinky, the little Norwegian, the other one, they all laughed at you. And who's laughing now? Who's laughing now as we teeter upon the dark precipice of the....
ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE!!!!!
There are three items within your grasp:
1. A jar of peanut butter (creamy, delicious choking hazard)
2. A fresh roll of bubble wrap (*pop*...*pop* *pop*...*pop*..)
3. A photograph of Flava Flav arm wrestling a panda (perplexingly hypnotic)
Think fast! Shambles McDonnerbrains is only three painfully slow, awkward steps away!
Also, it is raining. |
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