the undead

When "To Have and To Hold" Isn't Enough

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JF3z12-HZyM&w=420&h=315]You've thought about it, right? You know, IT. The zombpoc. You've started preparing, planning escape routes, gathering supplies, reading up on homemade early warning systems and HAM radio operation, boosting your cardio. All those things that mean when the zombies start munching their way down your block with the same zeal an overweight WASP on holiday munches his way down a Golden Corral All-You-Can-Eat buffet, you'll be relaxing in your Hesco-basket fortified compound, sipping a Perrier and enjoying a technicolor view of exactly what an automated 50 cal on a tripod does to a hapless, lumbering meatsack. In a surprising number of ways, we must admit, the aftershock of the zombpoc will be a lot easier than the day-to-day pressure of work, family, domestic duties, repeat. At least you know you don't have to worry about impressing your boss or getting swindled by that damn mechanic at Les Schwabs again.But let's face it. Things might get a little lonely if you're the only one who's been readying for this event. You may have a significant other, but what if they don't make it? Or maybe there's a special someone that you've always pined for but never pursued. Maybe that pining has even been mutual; you've both just been too shy or inhibited to make the requisite first move.When the dead start to walk, one lesson we survivors will learn right away: ain't no time to waste.So have you thought about that other important thing? Who you'd like to spend the rest of the apocalypse with? This is going to be one of your biggest considerations, right after weapons, ammo, and water. Take a moment to figure it out. And remember, you're going to be going through literal hell with this person; you're going to be gore-spattered, exhausted, frightened, disheveled, and often in a very big hurry, with them. Your zombpoc lover needs to be someone fast on their feet, comfortable around explosives, versed in strategic tactics, loyal, and willing to make tough decisions. And, while we're listing desirable traits, let's not forget that they really should be hot because a face full of recently shed zombie blood will appear a lot less ghastly if the person who got splattered is attractive to begin with. Don't feel guilty if this person isn't your current spouse. Because, let's face it, that person may not be up to the task of fighting off hordes of zeds, and you may not be up to the task of being responsible for them. Nobody is perfect, after all.Okay, you've decided who your fantasy zombageddon sweetheart would be. Here comes the easy part. My zombpocalypse co-writer Mark C. and I have drafted an abbreviated wedding ceremony and vows that will help you cement that union when the shit hits the fan. It's easy, quick, convenient, and most importantly of all (I think you'll agree), rife with heart-thumping romance...As much as is possible when thirty of your once-neighbors-now-intestinal-contents-drenched-brains-in-the-teeth-walking-locusts are beating against your door. Don't worry, you won't need any witnesses for this ceremony (but guards are a bonus), and a pastor is likewise optional. Just gather your AK and your best bottle of bourbon, hacksaw a ring-shaped end from an appropriately sized pipe (titanium, if you can find it; copper is too soft and could end up getting squished onto your beloved's finger and forcing an amputation, which makes wielding a knife or machete a bit difficult.), stare into your lover's eyes, and say:Darling,I want you by my side, and none other. To that effect, Imake the following vows to you:I will always have your six.I will always save the last magazine for you.I will always give you first dibs on any canned fruit or veggies.I will always take the first watch so you can watch the sun rise.I will always enter the building first.I will always be the bait, distraction or decoy.I will always make sure your blades are sharp.I will never burn a book, no matter how badly we need fuel.And if you are bit by a zed, I will always put you down before you turn.(If your zombpoc spouse has their own set of vows, terrific, but if not, hand these over.)Dearest,I willingly and happily choose to walk by your side throughout the end days. I vow to:Always have your six as well.Always keep a spare mag at the ready when you need one.Make a point to figure out how to cook something edible from things in cans mixed with rat meat.Give you first watch so your sleep is never interrupted.Clean your rifles after a hard day of zed killing if I stayed behind to guard camp.Siphon fuel from tanks to spare you from the horrible taste of gasoline.Track down and hoard batteries and solar battery chargers so we can keep our iPods functioning and never go without music.Practice my aim daily so you don't have to worry.Work out my throwing arm to ensure maximum effectiveness with grenades.And, like you, if you are bit by a zed, I will always put you down before you’re turned.You may kiss your zombpoc spouse. But just as a precaution, wipe the blood off first.

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All content copyright unless otherwise specified © 2008-2013 by Tammy Salyer, writer. All rights reserved. Permission is granted to use short quotes provided proper attribution is given.

How Feminists Will Save the Human Race From the Zombocalypse

I strongly suspect that when the zombie apocalypse strikes, the only group of survivors who will be capable of saving the human race from complete obliteration will be feminists. Here's why.1. Feminists are always prepared. When the gore-bespeckled monstrosities come knocking at our doors, most people simply won't believe they could be brain-sucking pariahs and will do what comes naturally to most people—either try and talk some reason into the munching marauders, or run away. Not so feminists. When strange, craven-looking men come knocking at our doors, we barely have to bookmark our place in the latest copy of Ms. Magazine before dealing with the issue at hand. It's a simple matter of choosing which of the variety of blunt instruments we keep ready near every access point to our cat-infested abodes at all times with which to turn those gaping maws and grasping claws into so much pulped tar-tar for Muffin and Tiger to enjoy at their leisure.2. Feminists know where to get weapons. Let's face it, no one knows their way around a home improvement store better than a feminist (who not only will fix that leaky faucet herself, but will search every fuggen aisle of the store for that oh-so-elusive gate diverter before asking some condescending dudebag for help), and there is no place more stocked with zombie-defense paraphernalia than a Home Depot or Lowe's. Once the reality of the zombocalypse has sunk in and we've beaten the maniacal meatsacks from our doorsteps, that's the first place we'll go. And, being naturally inclined towards cultivating consciousness-raising sewing circle enlistees, we'll bring as many women as we meet along the way with us.3. Logic rules the day. When it comes to fighting hordes of hungry horror-show extras, what you need is a cohesive unit. Next to a military platoon, no one has more skill at circling the wagons than feminists. With perceptions sharpened by consistently having to weed friend from foe, feminists can quickly and mechanically size up any group, figure out who's strengths are where, and deploy everyone to immediate and effective action. Fighting through rioting mobs of misogynists is just a warm up for galvanizing an angry, machete-and-clawhammer wielding bitch brigade. With the right feminist leadership, any enclave, no matter how overrun, can be protected.4. Feminist is only a few letters removed from Opportunist. The only thing we're more afraid of than having our faces eaten from our still-screaming skulls is being subjected to another few centuries of subjugation by a bunch of conservative, vag-hatin' cretins. Basically, feminists would be more than happy to turn Mr. Right Wing Fascist into Mr. White Meat Entrée for our new favorite pets, the undead, if given half a chance. And once we've eradicated the problem (and cleaned up the bodies), the rest of the human race will finally be free to take deep sighs of relief and get on with creating social order that favors such audacious "feminist" ideals as rights-of-personhood and justice over slavery and imperialism.Maybe the zompocalypse wouldn't be such a bad thing. Besides, I've always wanted a dog named Mr. Chompers, but a zombie would be an okay stand in.RIP Mia.[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6mQdnr6dm4&w=480&h=360]

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All content copyright unless otherwise specified © 2008-2013 by Tammy Salyer, writer. All rights reserved. Permission is granted to use short quotes provided proper attribution is given.

The First Step is Admitting You Have a Problem

Hi. My name is Tammy and I love guns. (Crowd says in unison, "Hi Tammy.")I've loved guns for around twenty years, and it is getting close to being a perversity. (Crowd nods understandingly.)*Sigh*  It all began innocently enough when I was twelve and my uncle took me out into the middle of the Sonoran desert to hunt rattle snakes with a Colt .45. Oh my, yes, that was fun! And they tasted just like really garlicky and buttery chicken. Then the next year it was a trip to Alaska where we spent more time with the .45, and a .22 rifle, a crossbow, a compound bow (they like their weapons in Palinvillia) and then, the grand finale that ruined me from ever being a passive, peace-loving hippie--three sticks of dynamite in an abandoned quarry. Later the neighbors (that lived three miles away) complained we had caused their dishes to fall out of cupboards. Oops! But the real thrill of that day was crouching behind a berm to hide from flying projectiles and watching as a hubcap or some kind of scrap metal screamed over our heads at such a high velocity it was more something felt than seen. I knew in a primal lizard-brain way that if I'd stood up a second before, I would have been decapitated, which was oddly thrilling and terrifying at the same time. It was pure power. (Some of the crowds' eyes begin to gleam in repressed longing.)And things just got worse. It was an obsession that I couldn't shake. From there it was taking classes in criminal justice in college just so I could go to the range (the crowd nods sympathetically). And then, the ultimate sacrifice in a soul-crushing need to feed a jonz, the army. All those huge, darkly gleaming bits of black metal just waiting to be…um, shot off (tittering fills the back of the room).Anyway, in all seriousness, an M16 is alright, for a get-the-job-done-with-no-flourish device. But the need was strong and I had to get my hands on something, well, bigger. The M249 squad automatic rifle was the perfect hunk of joy in a manageable package with a fire rate of 800-1000 rounds per minute (gasps of excitement). And an M60, well, it left nothing to be desired (other than a reduction in weight). I started seeking ways to get the range more often, offering to clean others' weapons, carry their ammo, whatever it took. Then I met the Mark 19 and a few claymore mines and I thought I'd gone to heaven. Using either of those was like being inside a dragon's heart--dark, thunderous, massive, monstrous. There's nothing quite like holding a human-manufactured object that has the force and power to blow the shit out of any living thing with something as easy and as effortless as a trigger pull. It's a magic that should not be accessible to human hands, but somehow it has become exactly that, and has changed the world in ways our ancestors could never have comprehended. The fascinating and frightening thing about a gun is how freaking easy it is to use. A curse, really.But finally, an intervention happened. I woke up with yet another lingering hangover from too much gunpowder and realized the army was just a terrible enabler. I had to get out, put it all behind me, and start a new, non-weaponized life. It was hard (but not that hard, let's be honest, the military exists to suck your soul down a giant ethics-compromising sewer), but I did it. There were a few years in there where I never touched anything more dangerous than a boomerang.But sometimes these little peccadilloes can be enjoyed in moderation. One must simply set limits. So I took the liberty of visiting a very old friend of mine last weekend who shares the same fetish. Between guns and Scotch, we are quite the aficionados. This friend of mine kills bad guys for a living--oh, don't worry, the government pays him to do it and even tells him who they are, so it's alright--which gives him a special appreciation for the finer details necessary in a firearm that's guaranteed to stop something that requires stopping. Fortunately, all we had to worry about were zombies. The slow-- make that, totally immobile--kind. Sadly, I have to admit, my aim has fallen way behind the power curve. But I can still hit 'em where it counts.

The Buffet

 Mr. Kalashnikov

Sadly, this one suffered a terminal jam on the second cartridge so had to sit the day out.

Targets Acquired

Al and Little Walter

Say Hello to My Little Friend, The M1A

Al Makes Swiss Cheese

If you miss when kneeling, try standing.

Zombie Kill of the Week - You Be the Judge

The M1 and my girly shoulder had a difference of opinion.

Dinner and dessert after a hard day of killing the undead...um...

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All content copyright unless otherwise specified © 2008-2013 by Tammy Salyer, writer. All rights reserved. Permission is granted to use short quotes provided proper attribution is given.

Movie Review: I Sell The Dead

Have you wondered, like I have, what Dominic Monaghan and Billy Boyd have been  up to since Lord of the Rings? OK, I did hear that Dom was in a TV show called Lost, but I'm illiterate when it comes to TV, so it doesn't really count in my personal reality.Last night I watched I Sell The Dead, a snarky flick about two graverobbers in the 19th Century who find unexpected success in traffiking in the undead. It was an absolutely delightful film! Unexpectedly, so. Normally, you rent this kind of thing expecting to be able to see the wires and zippers holding the monsters together, with the dialogue and plot of a badly written children's book. And yeah, it had a little of that, but it was quite a funny and well-told story nonetheless. Really, can anything with Ron Perlman in it be all that bad? Don't answer that.I recommend it. If you're looking for something humorous, moderately gory, and fresh (in the sense of being a unique story, not in the olfactory sense), it'll certainly fulfill your Halloween expectations.