I hate zombies…

…but love my friends…

Me: Hey! Us victims provide a good deal of distraction for you folks who actually have a chance to survive, dammit!
Though I choose to believe I’m the victim who ALMOST makes it and then in the end realizes it’s not going to happen and goes out in a blaze of glory.
Zen: That I can actually see.
Me: I would take out as many zombies as possible…possibly with some sort of explosion.

Zen: Oddly enough that’s what I was imagining.—You sitting there with a bottle of vodka and a cigarette. Slowly puffing away, laughing at the people that always said smoking kills. A swig of vodka before dousing a rag and making a molotov cocktail. Watching the flame dance on the cloth for a few moments before tossing it into the crowd of zombies below you. Watching them stumble around in flame near the puddle of fuel. Waiting for the gas pumps to catch.

Boom, everything goes up.—

It’s a very dramatic and kick-ass death, if it means anything.

Hey, I live in Pittsburgh. Zombie survival capital of the world. If you live in this city and don’t live every day expecting a zombie outbreak, you’re gonna get caught with your pants down. And you can’t run away from zombies with your pants down!

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