A Shank for the Shaw

Today began well enough.  The sun rose and I woke up.  Sort of.  Today I stepped on a thumbtack immediately after stepping out of bed.  Touche Monday, you have sent your evil henchman Thurday to do your dirtywork, and succeeded.  But I shall return the slap in the face or in this case, a tack in the foot. 

I do not believe in Mondays any longer.

Randomness erupts into chaos as the day moves on, the search for entertainment culminating an hour ago at the arrival of the Zombies.  Grabbing my trusty Zombie-Cull Shotgun, I jumped from the tower I hunt Zombies from and began laying waste to the endless hordes of undead that creeped ever closer to world conquest.  After emptying the Shotgun into the heads of the drooling, moaning, masses I did my best to survive by ripping the arm of the nearest Zombie off and going Samson on their undead philistine asses.  (Minus the Jawbone of course)

Suddenly I was grabbed from behind and bitten.  I exploded it’s head with a thought and, cursing the entire way, returned to my tower to die a horrible and terribly slow death at the hands of the virus now in my system.

So…  Sitting here, typing out my last words, I have but one thing to ask.

Will someone come and keep me company?  I promise I won’t bite.




~ by binarycheshire on February 21, 2008.

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