Blog of the Dead: Second Act
[See previous post for cast of characters.]
“Gizzard,” says me, “Hand me the shotgun.”
“No way, Falkor. You lost your shotgun privileges,” says Gizzard.
“Last time I got it back from you it smelled like lilacs and all it did was shoot rainbows.”
“I was just tryin ta spruce it up an make it more homey,” says me, “Look. One a the zombies got a arm through the window an I’m gonna catch my death a cold if I don’t get it boarded back up!”
“You have no idea how hard it is to emasculate Nice Guy in front of his pretty girlfriend with a lilac scented rainbow shooter,” says Gizzard, “I’m all like, ‘Get over there and be quiet!’ and they’re like, ‘Hey what’s that that smells so nice?’ and then I’m all, ‘You’re pathetic. I’m all you got right now. You don’t have the grit or the fortitude or moxie or pluck needed to survive in these dark and dangerous times without me. It’s eat or be eaten and you can’t cook.’ But they’re like, ‘HA HA! Your gun smells like lilacs!’ and then they’re all laughin about it. So I took and fired up in the air but a dumb rainbow comes out, and they’re like, ‘Ooooooh, rainbow! Aaah, prehhhtty!’ And that’s why I think we should feed them to the zombies.”
“We can’t feed Nice Guy an his pretty girlfriend to the zombies, Gizzard,” says me, “besides, we gotta save the actual ammo for the zombie war in the third act.”
“We need the killin kind for both! Nice Guy and his pretty girlfriend are the anchor sinking our mighty hot-air Mars balloon! No more them; no more limits!” says Gizzard.
“I’m not sure the Mars balloon is such a great idea, Gizzard. An there’s so many zombies now; we gotta do something,” says me. “If I can’t have the shotgun, at least hand me the pencil so I can add an entry to the Zombie Education and Remediation Enchiridion.”
“No way, Falkor. You lost your pencil privileges,” says Gizzard.
“What? I hope you’re keepin up with the ZERE, at least?”
“Oh yeah, of course. Except now it’s the ‘double super secret Zombie Education and Remediation Enchiridion’,” says Gizzard. “Besides, I’m starting to like having the zombies around. That just don’t mean I want them poking around reading my every enchiridion.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Gizzard,” says me, “why’d we wanna keep so many gluttonous, brains-eatin, scruffy-lookin automatons around, anyways?”
“Hey! At least they didn’t get all mad at me when I ate that little snack the other day!” says Gizzard.
“Gizzard, you ate a whole weeks worth a the food we rationed out for everybody!” says me.
“And they didn’t gang up and blame me when we ran out of drinking water!”
“You used sixty gallons a Aquafina for a bath!”
“See what I mean, Falkor?” says Gizzard, “Even Nice Guy and his pretty girlfriend give me less grief than you do. Heeeey, you sure one of them zombies didn’t scratch you? … Yeah, you’re eyes are starting to look kind of dead and gray to me.”
“What’re you tryin to say, Gizzard?” Says me, “Hey, what’re you doin?— Point that thing away— Wait, it’s me, you’re ol pal! Falkor!— Wait!—“
The events and characters depicted in this bloggoplay are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living, dead or bloginary, is purely coincidental… Or is it intentional? I always forget how that goes.