call 1-800-ZOMB for all your undead extermination needs
Jan 2, 2023 18:08:52 GMT -5
Post by calla on Jan 2, 2023 18:08:52 GMT -5
☣️ B A Z ☣️
It's hard work being the exterminators these days, but somebody's gotta do it.
This is what happens when the world goes to shit - one day you're living your life, going about your day, assassinating local politicians in return for a half-off coffee coupon, and everything is swell.
Then the next thing you know somebody redeems a half-off coupon on the whole entire human race and you actually have to look both ways before crossing the street now. Not because there's traffic, that ship sailed three months ago when the fuel imports stopped and everyone ditched their vehicles and their last bunch of rational thoughts, but because now there might be the corpse of your dead uncle meandering its way down the street hungry for your brains.
Last time I saw that asshole he was on unconscious and on his way to the intensive care unit because he'd caught the Rose Plague from one of his business partners and was too stubborn to tell anyone about it while he was still coherent. Imagine my surprise when his ugly decaying body showed up and decided to chase me across four whole blocks screaming nothing but guttural consonants.
But now that's where we come in. Slayers extraordinaire. Jeff and Steve: Remastered. Bashing brains in for a buck.
There's a bright green sticky note on the counter from Saint with a voicemail message on it. Looks like Mrs. McKay is having trouble with the neighbours again. I pick it up and flash it at Hector, but I'm already locked and loaded and walking out the door.
"Zoomer down at McKay's!" We commandeered a beat up old truck a while ago, but Hector's absolute ass at driving, so I call the wheel. "Hope she made cookies again."
This is what happens when the world goes to shit - one day you're living your life, going about your day, assassinating local politicians in return for a half-off coffee coupon, and everything is swell.
Then the next thing you know somebody redeems a half-off coupon on the whole entire human race and you actually have to look both ways before crossing the street now. Not because there's traffic, that ship sailed three months ago when the fuel imports stopped and everyone ditched their vehicles and their last bunch of rational thoughts, but because now there might be the corpse of your dead uncle meandering its way down the street hungry for your brains.
Last time I saw that asshole he was on unconscious and on his way to the intensive care unit because he'd caught the Rose Plague from one of his business partners and was too stubborn to tell anyone about it while he was still coherent. Imagine my surprise when his ugly decaying body showed up and decided to chase me across four whole blocks screaming nothing but guttural consonants.
But now that's where we come in. Slayers extraordinaire. Jeff and Steve: Remastered. Bashing brains in for a buck.
There's a bright green sticky note on the counter from Saint with a voicemail message on it. Looks like Mrs. McKay is having trouble with the neighbours again. I pick it up and flash it at Hector, but I'm already locked and loaded and walking out the door.
"Zoomer down at McKay's!" We commandeered a beat up old truck a while ago, but Hector's absolute ass at driving, so I call the wheel. "Hope she made cookies again."
