When The Zombies Attack, We're All Going to Die. Unless You Make Friends With a Navy SEAL.

Every zombie book ever written is in my house.  I'm like 42% sure of it.  There are also zombie movies, zombie tv shows, and of course more zombie books.  I usually prefer Stephen King, but hey, those zombies are damn good writers!
I would expect zombie books to be all "UUUUUUGGGGHHHH" and "AAAAARRRRGGGH" with an occasional "BRAINS!" thrown in.  But zombies are very articulate!  They even wrote a Zombie Survival Guide!  They are much better writers than I ever thought about being.  And they have very active lifestyles, which is more than I can say for myself.  Zombies are out chasing the "normies" all day and night, gettin' their undead heart rates up, blastin' their undead glutes, shaming even the most proficient cardio enthusiast, while we're just sitting at our desks/beds/tables/counters/toilets/prisons/wherever you read the internet getting more and more lethargic.  But the zombies are motherfuckin' beasts!  BEASTS!  Now I know most of you have never met a zombie.  And that's ok.  Eventually, we'll all meet them.  But right now, they mostly want to stay underground (i.e., dead), writing books, and occasionally coming up for bit parts in the next "virus of the year" movie or "Walking Dead" episode.
Now, what the fuck does this have to do with me owning every zombie book, movie, and tv show?  Because I'm PREPARED, bitches.  My house is a zombie proof FORTRESS.  And by zombie proof, I mean that we have a couple of locks on our doors, and by fortress, I mean that we lock them.  Take THAT zombie fuckers!  I'll lock you out!  I have an arsenal too!  It mostly consists of a squirt gun and an ice pick, but I look scary holding them!  RAWR!

Yeah, that's right, I'm motherfucking SCARY!  But you see, we all have these visions of us being bad asses in our heads.  Thanks to Hollywood, we all think that we will magically turn into Rambo and slaughter some fucking zombies and save the world and be great big fucking heroes.  Women and men will swoon at the sight of us, fall to the ground and beg us to make sweet, sweet hero love to them.  Babies will be named after us.  Towns will build statues in our honor!  It won't be the United States of America anymore; It will be the United States of Motherfucking Larry/Bob/Joe/Sally/Frank/Mary Sue/whoever! World Leaders will hand control of all the countries on the planet over to us and make us SUPREME RULER OF THE WORLD!  Everyone is certain that THEY possess the foolproof plan that will save the planet from the zombies so that this dream will happen just for them. But guys, sit down, because I have some very bad news for you.

THE FOLLOWING IMAGE WILL NEVER HAPPEN:

In reality we're all going to piss our pants when those fuckers do rise up and start to take over.  Because while we think we're all fucking Navy SEALS in our heads (thanks, Hollywood), we are in fact, NOT Navy SEALS. We are all regular worthless peons that might be able to survive for a few weeks if we can find a Wal-Mart. Unless, of course, you actually ARE a Navy SEAL, then by all means, you're already a bad motherfucker and that awesome decapitated zombie slayer image up there is entirely accurate.  You will be a fucking survivor, and we worthless peons will grovel at your feet begging for you to protect us.  The secondary image may also be a prophetic vision and you may become our zombie slaying king and we will gladly make you ruler of the world and give you the deed to the planet!  In fact, you've probably already killed a few zombies and your mattress is made out of their corpses and your pillows are made from their heads.  Because you're a bad ass like that, and we...we are nothing.  We will be shamed by you.  We will not be worthy of your protection.  But we will still beg for it.  Because zombies are motherfucking scary...just like you.  You are the essence of all of our zombie slaying fantasies.  Mr. Navy SEAL, that may be a picture of MY zombie killing fantasy up there, but that is going to be YOUR zombie killing reality.

THIS, however, is going to be my (and the rest of you regular fucks) sad zombie killing reality:

Yeah...Guys, that right there is the COLD HARD TRUTH for all of us.

No one likes to see themselves as the actual nerd losers that they really are.

We are all royally fucked unless we all make friends with some bad ass Navy SEALS.  And there's not many of them.  You have to already be a bad ass motherfucker to even make it through SEAL training.  They don't allow pussies to survive SEAL training.  Many try to become SEALS...and many, many, many EPICALLY FAIL at it.  Remember G.I. Jane?  Yeah, you gotta be a bad motherfucker to be a SEAL.

And if you encounter a Navy SEAL zombie...Just lay down and accept your fate...I'm sure he will make it quick.

So in essence, when the zombies finally do come:  WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE BITCHES! RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIVES! THE ZOMBIES ARE GOING TO EAT US! WE ARE NOT BAD ASSES! WE ARE JUST A LIVING BUFFET! WE'RE ALL FOOD! IF WE RUN, WE'RE JUST GOING TO DIE TIRED!  WE'RE ALL FUCKED! FUCKED I TELL YOU! THE ZOMBIES WILL WIN!

I Met the Coolest Old Dude Today, So I'm Dedicating This Post Entirely to Him.

I was at Java Jacks today actually trying to be productive.  Now, I am actually going to do my best not to swear in this post.  Don't ask me why, because it just seems like it would be disrespectful to the Awesome Old Dude.  His name is Mr. Burns, and he's a lawyer (and he was a drill Sergeant in the Air Force and he was in the Naval Reserves, so instant respect from me right there).  So, I was sitting there, drinking my awesome crackhead coffee (that is another post) when somehow I ended up having a conversation with this nice old gentleman.  Guys, this is the most AWESOME guy ever.  He has some great stories...He has lived an amazing life and met and worked for and with some insanely famous and infamous people.  And he has the pictures and proof to back it up!  I wanted to actually interview him, take his picture and put it here, but he declined, saying that he's 82 years old and just wishes to have a quiet life with his coffee and his mystery books and his law practice (wills, probate, etc.  Nothing wild and exciting and court related anymore).  But I have to say that I was actually proud to say that I had met this gentleman.  He knew Charlie Wilson (Yes, THAT Charlie Wilson), personally, was an assistant to a president (I want to say it was President Johnson, but I could be wrong.  He knew SO MANY POLITICIANS!), grew up pretty much next door to Reagan (Yes, again, THAT Reagan) in Illinois, and if there is a philanthropy plaque somewhere, Mr. Burns' name is probably on it.  He doesn't have a Wikipedia page (I checked. I was a bit sad about it), but guys, I spent a few hours talking to this man and I have to say that at the end of it all, I was amazed.  He reminded of my Grandpa (The awesome one. My dad's dad.).  So, I didn't get any of the work done that I had gone to Java Jacks to do in the first place, but you know what?  I don't care.  I had half of a drawing done on my laptop on the next table over, while I was comfortably curled up in a chair with my crackhead coffee chatting away with Mr. Burns, listening to his poetry that he had written for his late wife over the course of their 60 year marriage, laughing with him at his awesome stories, and making a new friend.  So, no, there is no funny drawing to accompany this post, or weird story about me being insane or my Speshul dog (though I have a great post coming later about that. It may be posted tonight, but not in this particular post).  No, this post is dedicated entirely to Mr. Ken Burns, the most Awesome Old Dude I've ever met, and I hope that he's there the next time I go to Java Jacks to drink insane crackhead coffee.
Mr. Burns, thanks for making my day really freakin' awesome.  You totally rock.