DON'T WANT TO READ THIS WHOLE THING? WATCH THE MOVIE!
11/21/2k6 WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE LATENESS OF THIS DOCUMENT
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News transcript courtesy of News Channel WGBH Boston, a subsidiary of OmniCorp. Recorded on September 25, 2006. Emergency press conference held by Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney.
(Crowd noises.)
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Good morning. On Tuesday, September 25, 2006, the commonwealth of Massachusetts had an encounter with the forces of beyond. If initial reports are to be believed, then, as incredible as it sounds, our city is under attack. Ladies and gentlemen, the situation is grim. Massachusetts Secretary of Science Herman Neuberg has informed me that the state is under attack by zombie dinosaurs and a swarm of reanimated corpses. The lives of countless citizens are at stake. These killers are not terrorists or criminals. They do not attack out of any ideological reasons. They kill for food. Massachusetts police officers and National Guard soldiers are currently overseeing a mass evacuation of the city of Boston. I ask that the people of Boston leave the city immediately. This morning, my staff and I spoke with representatives from the Pentagon. Under the advisement of scientific and tactical professionals, I have called for a controlled nuclear streak on Boston. The city must be destroyed so that the state can survive. I will take your questions now.
(Crowd uproar. Much bruhaha)
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Please! One at a time! Please!
DAVID CLARKE-HAZLETT, NEW YORK TIMES: How can you possibly justify a nuclear attack on our own soil? This is the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard! You cannot be serious–
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: I have reviewed all options! Diplomacy is impossible in this situation! You can’t bargain with these things! I –I…they do not feel pity or remorse! They drain the life from all they meet! As you walk around the bend, you’ll be dead right there where you stand! They will murder and devour everyone in the Bay State communities unless they are stopped now! This is no time for diplomacy!
JOHNATHAN CONNOR, MSNBC: But surely, a nuclear strike? I mean…c’mon!
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Listen to me, all of you! We're in a position where unless we take immediate thermonuclear action, we'll end up being the France of the 21st century! A lot of talk, but not a lot of strength behind it in terms of economic capability! I ask the assembled press: could you live with that?
DAVID CLARKE-HAZLETT, NEW YORK TIMES: How do you expect to successfully evacuate the huge amounts of people? What you’re proposing is absolutely insane!
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Alright! You keep pushing Clarke! Keep pushing! I’ve got major pressure, here!
DAVID CLARKE-HAZLETT, NEW YORK TIMES: The people of Massachusetts and this nation demand an answer!
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Look Clarke!… (long pause). Here’s your answer. I subscribe in some respects to what Abraham Lincoln said in – well, it goes to the Lyceum Address when, at age 28, he said, you know what, in America there is something called the political religion. It’s our adherence to the laws of the land, to our oath of office. It’s the political religion god dammit!
(Crowd noises. Much hubbub)
DAVID CLARKE-HAZLETT, NEW YORK TIMES: When are you going to stop dancing around the questions Governor Romney? –
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Next question!
DAVID CLARKE-HAZLETT, NEW YORK TIMES: You cannot do this –
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: I said next question Clarke! Get out of here!
JACINDA KLEIN, LOS ANGELES TIMES: Does this recent zombie dinosaur attack confirm the earlier reports of a resurrected Tyrannosaurus-Rex, previously denied by your administration.
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: I have no comment to make. Next question!
KEN YANCY, BOSTON GLOBE: Governor Romney, how do you respond to the recent carnage at the Massachusetts state Boy Scout meeting, wherein over one hundred scouts were killed?
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: I have let my views be known on several occasions. I have been to one board meeting now with the Boy Scouts of America Committee. I believe that the Boy Scouts of America does a wonderful service for this country. It is important that our children are taught how to hate. I support the right of the Boy Scouts of America to decide what it wants to do on that issue.
MARCUS BLACKBURN, ABC: How will this outbreak of zombies and the nuclear devastation of Boston affect the Massachusetts economy?
GOVERNNOR MITT ROMNEY: Well obviously, we have some tough times ahead of us. I think that the people of Massachusetts understand that. But, as governor of this state, I refuse to let these zombies stand in our way! The Massachusetts economy is strong! We’re not going to fall! Oh no! Not on my watch!
MARCUS BLACKBURN, ABC: To follow up on that, many economists are pointing to the rising economic strength of China as a potential threat to the United State’s economic influence of the world. Do you believe China to pose a threat to Massachusetts, perhaps more than the zombies?
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Listen, China has a huge population, and is nearing a point where they’ll be at the leading edge of technology. They’ve got the Red Book, the new look. They have the answers to all the questions. All the people living in China…there's no reason why they can't emerge as an economic and military superpower in 100 years. Zombies, well I hear that they eat brains. I think we all know who the greater threat is. No way am I letting China take out Massachusetts! No way. I’m not letting them threaten traditional Christian marriage!
MARCUS BLACKBURN, ABC: Sir?
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Next question, slime!
HARRY MYERS, WASHINGTON POST: Governor Romney, you’ve made it clear in the past that you’ve heavily agreed with President Bush’s homeland security policies. Do you see this…apocalyptic zombie invasion as a failing of those policies?
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: No. No, I don’t.
HARRY MYERS, WASHINGTON POST: There have been those who have asserted that the zombie dinosaurs in Boston are a clear indication that better preparedness is needed to effectively protect the city’s population.
GOVENOR MITT ROMNEY: Well my response to that would be that a key part of our homeland security efforts rests on the state’s ability to collect and analyze information on potential threats. Now, who among us could have seen this coming?
HARRY MYERS, WASHINGTON POST: What of the previous attacks on Boston by zombie dinosaurs?
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Look what is it with you people?
MARTHA QUAID, SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER: Governor Romney, how do you feel about the massive amount of private property that will be destroyed in this nuclear attack, and the irradiation of many thousands of square miles of real estate? Isn’t this a great infringement upon people’s civil liberties?
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Well, of course, we have to respect the Constitutional guarantees of freedom, but we ought to recognize that the most important civil right we have is the right to life! We need to make sure that our citizens are protected and don‘t lose their lives by virtue of not having done an effective job to obliterate those who would attack us. The most important thing that we have to do is to protect our citizens, and we can do it within a constitutional framework that we‘ve come to know and love. It doesn’t say anything about not using nuclear weapons in the Constitution! We go nuclear. Next question.
SARA RAO, CBS: Governor Romney, a lot of people are asking why the Massachusetts state government hasn’t pursued the option of hiring a zombie extermination business. In the past, Boston’s more minor zombie problems have been dealt with by a company called Jim Rage’s Elite Zombie Hunting Squad. Did you ever make any such considerations?
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Hah! Very clever! But not clever enough Ms. Rao! The corporate headquarters of Jim Rage’s Elite Zombie Hunting Squad was found destroyed and deserted several months ago. They’ve abandoned us. They’ve left us! We must resort to our own means to deal with this crisis.
SARA RAO, CBS: But where are they Governor? Where is Jim Rage’s Elite Zombie Hunting Squad?
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: Who the hell knows? Next.
TECUMSEH O’BRIEN, VALLEY NEWS: Governor what are your views on America’s foreign oil dependency?
GOVERNOR MIT ROMNEY: Well I…I think we ought to have more oil. We ought to develop more sources of oil so that we can increase our supply. But the last thing I want to do is suck it all dry as quickly as we can. That’s the last thing I want, trust me. I want to use less of it.
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY: And now ladies and gentlemen. I would like to finish this press conference by saying that Ronald Reagan is my hero and a friend of all of ours…I believe that our party’s ascendancy began with Ronald Reagan’s brand of visionary and courageous leadership. Thank 
you and good morning.
(Screams. Zombie dinosaur roaring. Shuffling.)
GOVERNOR MITT ROMNEY:…sweet mother….
End of recording. End of transcript.
THANOSAURUS II:
INSCURRECTION
PART 4 OF THE ZOMBIEAPOCALYPSE
Recap time!
Panic in the streets! Those that they kill get up and kill! An orgy of brain-eating madness! Millions flee! Menace spreads! This was the scene in Boston, Massachusetts. With the Governor and several reporters consumed by a fire-breathing zombie brontosaurus, the state was without a leader and without people to ask the leader questions on television. Anarchy reigned supreme over the cold and ruthless streets of the Bay State. This is how it came about:
The carnage was all the work of the nefarious Church of Death, a vast cult of ne’er-do-wells who worship death and employ arcane methods to raise and control the living dead. First, they killed cheerful Elite Zombie Hunter Rye Crofter with a curse after he discovered them in France. Then, heralded by an evil message of green flame upon Jim Rage’s Elite Zombie Hunting Lawn, the Church launched their plans to bring about the ZOMBIEAPOCALYPSE, the end of all civilization foretold in the ancient passages within JREZHS Official Zombie Hunting Handbook.
Employing an agent by the name of Simon Nazi, the Church destroyed the JREZHS Command Center, murdering all two hundred sixteen of our Toad-Eating Yes Men (soon to graduate to Indestructible Infantry), incinerating the horses, and annihilating KISS (perhaps the greatest rock band in the entire universe). With their Fearless Leader Jim Rage missing in action (as well as the Fearless Second-In-Command-Guy Frank Gritt) JREZHS was left severely weakened. To make matters infinitely worse, the Guestbook was down due to spam bombardment, crippling inter-employee communication.
Where were the Elite Zombie Hunters in this time of great need? They were scattered and separated. Packing his bags with extra socks in case the pair he was wearing got wet with the blood of the undead horde, Drew “the Tough Noun” Peberdy marched off into the wilderness to find Carvin’ Zachariah Kervin, having a close encounter with the Archbishop of Death in the process. The Mad Hatter in turn departed to Sunny Boston, where he met with Jesus McMahon (the oldest man in the world) and gathered recruits from the JREZHS Safe-House in the quaint, picturesque village of Malden. As with the Tough Noun, the Mad Hatter encountered the Church of Death and had a real donnybrook with Los Lagartos: a savage team of zombified football players from the depths of Hell itself! Fortunately fate intervened, along with Shery Anderson THE BEST GODDAMNED HELICOPTER PILOT THIS SCHOOL EVER HAD! (Who was not dead after all as everyone had thought)
Meanwhile back at Blue Springs, Ben “Bloodscorn” Peberdy got arrested, watched some TV, complained, had a creemee at the Whippi-Dip, and annihilated all of the zombies in the town. Upon standing victorious amongst the piles of still-squirming zombie parts, Ben heard a familiar voice in his head demanding that he travel to Boston. The voice was that of the recently departed Rye Crofter!
Later under the wise albeit senile leadership of Jesus McMahon, the assembled Savage Crew of zombie hunters and assorted minions rendezvoused at the Mad Hatter’s swank bachelor pad to draw up strategies of revenge against the vile Church of Death, and enjoy several pizzas purchased at Vinnie’s Pizza (the best pizza in Malden). The gregarious gathering was interrupted by the sudden appearance of everyone’s favorite mohawked psychopath Johnny Wanderer. Hurling his vintage 1985 transistor radio upon the kitchen table, the room was aghast to hear that the Church of Death was still once step ahead of them! Using the mighty forces the Hellfire, the Church of Death summoned back to earth the Doomsday Comet, a hunk of radioactive rock with a penchant for reanimating well-preserved dinosaur carcasses. Sure enough, before too long three lumbering undead behemoth arose from their graves, which had been exposed earlier by Big Dig activities.
And now the epic all-caps saga of the ZOMBIEAPOCALYPSE continues in a story several months in the making that we just had to call…
Let’s Get Organized!
With a nuclear strike about to occur within eighteen hours, Jesus McMahon knew that they’d need to really hustle if they wanted to save Boston and prevent the ZOMBIEAPOCALYPSE.
“The Church of Death has a big lead over us,” said the Mad Hatter grimly. “They’ve harnessed the power of dinosaurs!”
“Yeah, the major problem is the dinosaurs,” said the Ancient One, placing his red piece into the slot and connecting four, defeating Brock Ironside for the third time. “One zombie dinosaur was trouble enough, but now we have three of them.”
“And one of them breathes fire!” Said Ben in a voice that was not his own. Upon hearing the words escape his mouth Ben punched himself in the head and started to mutter angrily under his breath about paddle-ball. It was sad to watch. Jesus McMahon scratched his head and connected four again, to which Brock Ironside growled in the agony of defeat.
“Well, I suppose we should try to lure them and the zombie horde someplace and then kill them all there rather than following them all around the city.” Everyone nodded their heads in agreement, while Ben startled himself by discovering that he could suddenly juggle.
“What we need…” said McMahon, “Is a lot of meat.”
Man on the street interview: “The Public’s Reaction to the Zombie Dinosaur Crisis” Number One. Interview courtesy of the Boston Globe.
Eric Todd, senior city news correspondent: Excuse me sir? Could I ask your name?
Man on the street: Anh…no, I must be going.
Eric Todd: Could I just ask you a few questions about the recent zombie dinosaur crisis?
Man on the street: Well okay.
Eric Todd: What do you think about all of this sir?
Man on the street: Well, years ago they’d always tell us “You’re gonna grow up to be a crook or a cop.” But, y’know, when your looking down the barrel of the loaded gun, what’s the difference?
Eric Todd: I…
End of interview.
The Call of the West
Luring the zombie dinosaurs meant meat. Lots of meat. Meat in vast quantities. Fortunately Justin Famous, a member of the American Federation of Animal Flesh Processors, had the right connections and soon the plan was made. Borrowing the Peberdy’s newly repaired green Subaru Outback Legacy (AKA the War Wagon), Johnny Wanderer, Carvin’ Zachariah Kervin, and Mary the Mistress of Madness were to ram through zombie packs, run over rogue stragglers, and pick-up washer fluid. Sherry Anderson volunteered to visit the Pentagon to call off the missile attack, mentioning that she “had an old score to settle.” Brock Ironside and his motorcycle would go with her, to help out and look cool.
Simultaneously, the Infamous Peberdy (blood) Brothers would join forces with The Mad Hatter and Justin Famous and head down to the Torquemada Butcher-Shop to buy several thousand pounds of meat to lure the zombies to Death-Trap (otherwise known as Allen’s Affordable Autos and Junkyard). From their intelligence reports (the eyes and ears of Jim Rage’s Elite Zombie Hunting Squad are everywhere people… everywhere), the Mad Hatter had discovered that former JREZHS intern Jason Cage worked there, and he was pretty sure that he’d cut us some slack on the price, especially as it was for such a good cause.
Jesus McMahon was given the collective cash of the assembled hunters (all sixty-four dollars and seventy five cents of it), and would buy as much napalm as he could. The napalm would then be used to burn those zombie dinosaurs into so much charred gristle.
There was also some guy named Eli, but he headed out to buy rice and nobody saw him after that.
Arriving swiftly at the Torquemada Butcher-Shop after an unpleasant train ride during which a man listening to Purple Rain on his radio refused to turn down the volume, the Fearsome Foursome approached the great oak door and knocked five times. The slat opened to reveal eyes full of hostility and petty greed.
“Say the password.” muttered the voice behind the door. The odor of his Turkish cigarette began to waft through the opened slat. Justin Famous recited the secret Butcher’s Code and they heard the sounds of several Die-Bold brand locks being undone.
While they waited for the proprietor for the butcher-shop to let them in, Ben underwent a brief period of existential doubt.
“I’m so full of doubt guys. My psyche is a battlefield! Rye is struggling to take-over, but he’s being so nice about it! Every time he takes control he apologizes for the inconvenience and comments about how I’ve got such a nice cortex and how I know so much useful information. I want Rye alive just as much as the next guy, but we have to get him out of mind as soon as possible, or I’m going to have a breakdown or something.” said Ben.
“Keep fighting him!” said Drew. “We’ll sort that mess out later once we’ve saved the world.”
“I’m not sure that there’s anything left of me! Don’t let these shakes go on! It’s time we had a break from it.” said Ben.
“Are you quoting something?” asked the Mad Hatter.
It was at that very instant that the door opened and our super-radical heroes were able to step inside. Justin Famous was immediately taken aback.
“Oh wow, somebody can’t slice worth a damn around here. Look at that ham! It’s all ripped up! People want smooth cuts! Smooth!” Famous grabbed a sizable knife and began twirling it around rhythmically in his hands. “You see, taste isn’t the only issue here, there’s also a matter of texture which is just as, if not more so, important.” Famous then proceed to demonstrate exactly why he was famous, and unleashed his butcher’s wrath upon a large Genoa salami. Within seconds, the salami had been reduced to thin slices, perfect for sandwiches. Everyone was really impressed.
Cage was easy to find, sweeping up entrails behind the deli counter. He was not pleased to see the zombie hunters, and whined incessantly about various minor slights and insults he had experienced while working at JREZHS. He became quite hostile after the Mad Hatter pointed out section twenty-five in his contract (a copy of which Ben had had the foresight to bring along) that clearly stated that once employed by JREZHS, no one could deny fellow co-workers favors. Cage’s mood mostly changed after a highly succinct proposal made by Justin Famous and Justin Famous’ large knife. Cage agreed to give the hunters the meat they needed, free of charge. However their troubles were not finished. Cage utterly refused to help them out when it came to transporting the meat.
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Taken from the personal Sony tape recorder of Benjamin Peberdy
THE MAD HATTER: We need your help.
JASON CAGE: I told you guys that I don’t work for JREZHS anymore! I quit last year.
THE MAD HATTER: Sweet Christmas, Cage! I don’t have time for your irrationality! You have to let us use the van!
DREW “THE TOUGH NOUN” PEBERDY: Hey are you recording this Ben?
BEN “BLOOD-SCORN” PEBERDY: Well yeah.
DREW “THE TOUGH NOUN” PEBERDY: Aw cut that out. That creeps the hell out of me!
JASON CAGE: We’re being recorded?
THE MAD HATTER: Jason, just let us use the van now. Now!
DREW “THE TOUGH NOUN” PEBERDY: That’s so annoying. Turn it off!
JASON CAGE: Is that a tape-recorder?
THE MAD HATTER: Jason, give us the van. Give it to us. Give us the van.
BEN “BLOOD-SCORN” PEBERDY: How else I am gonna’ remember everything?
DREW “THE TOUGH NOUN” PEBERDY: Let me have it.
BEN “BLOOD-SCORN” PEBERDY: No!
JASON CAGE: Hey that’s a cool coat Ben.
JUSTIN FAMOUS: Does the owner of this Diet Coke mind if I have a sip?
DREW “THE TOUGH NOUN” PEBERDY: Ben this isn’t funny. Stop recording!
BEN “PAUL” PEBERDY: Hey! Hey! Stop that!
THE MAD HATTER: Okay dig this Jason…your truck. Can we borrow your truck? We’ll take really, really good care of it.
JASON CAGE: I don’t know Chico, I just got the brakes fixed…
DREW “THE TOUGH NOUN” PEBERDY: Gimme the tape-recorder!
BEN “LORD OF THE OCEAN” PEBERDY: For ‘chrissake Drew!
JASON CAGE: Guys, I’m really going to have to –
End of recording.
It seemed all their efforts had come to naught. Cage only became more and more frustrated and finally tore off his paper hat.
“Well as you crawl the sewer pipes, you can remember me and how you guys were mean all the time. You oughta’ think long and hard about that, and maybe next time you need help from somebody they’ll give it to you!” Cage finished with a self-righteous smile, which proceeded to annoy everyone
“Please Jason,” said Ben. “We’re really sorry.”
“Look,” said Cage, “nothing doing guys. Imminent nuclear doom or not, I’ve got a job to do. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Cage turned away from Our Awesome Heroes, and nonchalantly grabbed his can of Diet Coke.
“Jason,” said Drew, grabbing Cage by the shirt-collars and shoving him against the wall. “This is no time be drinking diet Coca-Cola! Boston is about to be a radioactive crater in a matter of hours and everybody will die in the ensuing atomic holocaust, assuming they haven’t already had their brains eaten by zombie dinosaurs!”
Suddenly the Star-Spangled Banner started to play in the distance.
“I mean, sure, Boston’s got its crummy parts. But every city does! I mean, that’s unavoidable. Sure, the drivers are homicidal and the roads have the same layout as a rat-maze. Sure, there’s crime and chaos, and blood on the sidewalks, but you know something? Boston Cream Pie was invented here. And… that… that’s just so damn tasty. They’ve got Kaiju Big Battel here, which most probably earns the coveted title of Best Thing Ever. Hell, the Constitution was practically invented in Boston! I mean, the Constitution’s way sweet!” The Star-Spangled Banner reached its crescendo. The Mad Hatter removed his top hat and began humming along with Ben. Justin Famous began beating his kettle drum rhythmically.
“Let’s face it, Boston is pretty neat place. I’m not going to sit back and let those zombies take it. The zombies… they attack, and we retreat… they take our lives and our land, and we pull back! Well no more! The line is drawn now! That line is here! I refuse to let this place get destroyed! Maybe we denigrated you a lot back then. Maybe we never promoted you and maybe we put stupid signs on your back and laughed at how you could never pronounce the word “burglary” or “binoculars.” But we need you Jason! We need you! ARE YOU WITH ME JASON?!”
Suddenly the air was filled with the odor of warm American Apple pie, and a baseball game could be heard in the distance, accompanied with the reassuring voice of Harry Truman.
A single tear dribbled down the face of Jason Cage
“Okay…” he said. “I’ll help you guys. Meet me around back. Let’s load up the van and kill some zombies!”
“JASON LIVES!” Shouted Drew.
“Mmm-hmm!” said the Mad Hatter, nodding emphatically.
“Oh boy! Way to go Jason! We knew we could count on you!” said Ben, who subsequently gagged, choked himself with his own tie, for a split second looked a lot like Joe Justice (hero of Bradford Vermont), and went off to get a glass of water. Moments later Cage cleared his throat, and Drew realized that he was still holding him up by his shirt-collars and released him. Cage drove the van around back and the group hurriedly began to fill it with hunks of dead animals, chopped into manageable pieces by Justin Famous, who was having a great time.
“Wait,” said Cage abruptly, a whole turkey impaled upon his pitchfork. “You said that H.Q. was destroyed?”
“Right,” said the Mad Hatter, using a shovel to load brisket into the van.
“So everything was burned up in the explosion?” asked Cage apprehensively.
“Unfortunately yes. Basically everything.” replied the Mad Hatter.
An alarmed look erupted across Cage’s face.
“You didn’t happen to find a Barry Manilow album did you?” he asked, sweat beading up upon his brow. There ensued an awkward silence. Ben vaguely remembered tossing it to the dogs.
“Ah…no. No we didn’t. Sorry.” said Ben quickly. It was best not to dwell upon the past. Days later Ben would wonder where Justin got a kettle drum, but would never remember to ask him about it.
Ms. Anderson and Mr. Ironside Go to Washington
Meanwhile a very long away in our great nation’s capitol, Sherry Anderson (the best goddamned helicopter pilot this school ever had) had used her security clearance to schedule an emergency meeting with General Buchanan “Barnstormer” Doyle at the Pentagon. While Brock Ironside waited outside in the Pentagon parking lot to lean against his motorcycle and pick his fingernails with a bowie knife, Sherry entered Doyle’s office. There, she was surprised to discover an old enemy.
“Killstryke.” said Sherry flatly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Alive and well Ms. Anderson, alive and well!” exclaimed Killstryke happily. General Doyle cleared his throat and felt the fabric of his chair. He loved the fabric of his chair.
“John Killstryke is my special advisor Ms. Anderson.” said Doyle.
“So…” said Sherry “We meet again Colonel Killstryke. How’s things?” The Colonel gave a menacing smile.
“Oh not bad at all Ms. Anderson. Not bad at all,” said the Colonel, chuckling softly. “When exactly was it when we last met? Y’know after our many encounters I can scarcely remember…”
“Tangiers.” said Sherry. “Remember the girl from Tangiers? Do you remember her, you lousy murdering scum?” The Colonel started to laugh in her face outright. Sherry growled and leaped at the Colonel only to be trapped in a Super-Secret-Shaolin-Hold known only to select higher ups in the U.S. Army.
“Still too fast for you Ms. Anderson!” said Killstryke victoriously. Sherry rose from the floor and seated herself in the nearest chair.
“Now what’s all this about, son?” asked General Doyle.
“Sir I demand that you stop the countdown for the Boston warhead!” said Sherry, pounding her fist upon the table. “If it’s launched countless will die, including several off-and-on-again-co-workers!” The General nodded silently and sighed. Colonel Killstryke sneered. The General looked unimpressed.
“See here boy, I spoke with Governor Mitt Romney not all too long ago and he assured me that a nuclear strike was paramount. We have to destroy Boston in order to save it!”
“Mitt Romney is dead sir! The city is in chaos! The evacuation hasn’t worked!” shouted Sherry. The General shook his head sadly.
“Romney’s dead, ‘eh? A shame. He was a good soldier. Still, my decision rests. In under two hours, Boston will be no more.” Sherry was speechless.
“Sir I’m pleading with you. An atomic explosion is never the answer! At least check in with the EPA to make sure it isn’t just plain illegal!”
“I already have. The EPA agent assured me that radiation is the only way to properly destroy zombies. Now, that will be all Mr. Anderson.” Sherry stared.
“Radiation…of course! Sir, that was no EPA agent! You spoke with a member of the Fifth Column, no doubt in league with Killstryke here!” The General yawned and started walking out the door.
“Yes…very good. Killstryke, would you see to our guest?”
“With pleasure sir!” said the Colonel.
Sherry bristled as the Colonel walked her out into the office. She stopped abruptly as she felt the point of a knife in her back.
“You know far too much. My Fifth Column masters are currently monitoring the Church of Death’s activities in Boston and are finding it far too interesting to allow you to muddle things up. The nuclear strike will only make things more thought provoking, don’t you agree?”
“You swine.” uttered Sherry. Leaping into the attack, Sherry knocked the knife out the Killstryke’s hand and broke his nose with her first punch. With her second punch, she had smashed him into the drink dispenser, and with her third she had cracked four ribs. Furious with the malice and cruelty of her hated foe, Sherry pulled out her Beretta. She lifted the bloodied Killstryke against the wall, and held the handgun to his head.
“Think about it Ms. Anderson! You kill me and you’re no better than I am! Just another killer in a world drowning with blood!” Sherry frowned and clicked off the safety.
“Anderson!” screamed the Colonel. “Let’s make a deal!”
“No more deals Killstryke. The war ends now.” Sherry threw the Colonel to the floor, and turned to walk away.
“I…I knew you wouldn’t kill me!” screamed the Colonel. “You’re not strong enough Anderson! You’re not strong enough!” Sherry whirled around at lightning speed and hurled her machete into the Colonel’s sternum
“Yeah...” said Sherry “I’m just not strong enough…”
Sherry’s most righteous defeat of the nefarious villain was interrupted by the skull-splitting noise of the nuclear readiness siren. Sherry’s blood ran cold. The missile was about to be launched!
Racing through the hallways of the Pentagon and jumping through the entrance doors, Sherry ran to the parking lot where she could just see the rooftop of the Pentagon sliding back and a gigantic warhead rising up. She sprinted through the maze of parked cars searching someone who could somehow help. Finally she saw Brock.
“Brock!” screamed Sherry. “Do something!” Brock looked up and saw the great Harbinger of Atomic Death.
Enraged, Brock Ironside wasted no time in whipping out a can of gasoline and promptly lit his motorcycle on fire. Mounting the flaming Harley, Ironside narrowed his eyes behind his aviator sunglasses and studied the screaming thermonuclear warhead as it blazed into the sky. Taking aim and with a blood-curdling death-cry, Ironside used a car as a jump, which promptly exploded, hurling Brock and the motorcycle at the missile. His plan worked flawlessly, knocking the missile off course and causing it to land and detonate harmlessly many thousands of miles away in Burlington VT. Brock fell from the great height and landed on a pile of pillows and broken glass. Brock Ironside issued a satisfied grunt, and turned to light a cigarette as he began the long walk with Sherry back to the helicopter.
Really Bad Things Happen
Back in Boston, Justin Famous gripped the steering wheel of Jason Cage’s 1982 GMC customized van and negotiated the final tight corner to Allen’s Affordable Autos and Junkyard, the spot pre-selected by Jesus McMahon where the zombies would be slain en masse. It had been a thrilling car chase, with the Mad Hatter throwing meat out of the speeding automobile to the howling horde of zombies. Eventually they discovered the trio of grotesque reanimated saurian corpses, just finished destroying Emmanuel College, although they did spot one lone survivor who they swore was one of their old friends from highschool named Jesse Maneago who was defending himself with a fire hose. Soon the thunder lizards were also racing behind the van. Ben carried a large chainsaw and dealt with those that got uncomfortably close. Jason Cage had his eyes closed and wouldn’t stop complaining. Drew rode shotgun because The Mad Hatter called it, but forgot to say the all important “no blitz”.
Allen (owner and founder of Allen’s Affordable Autos and Junkyard) was inside his log cabin eating peaches from a can with his Swiss Army knife and ordering a used Mazda online to use for parts. Hearing the blaring horn of a frantic Justin Famous, Allen opened the gates by pushing the red button and the hunters raced in. Within moments another car arrived, a distinct green Subaru Outback Legacy, and screamed into the junkyard.
“How much time do we have to prepare for the coming onslaught?” asked Johnny Wanderer, opening the Subaru’s hatch to pull out his Coffin O’ Weapons.
“I’d say ten minutes,” said the Mad Hatter. “Incidentally Allen, thanks a bunch for letting us use your junkyard like this.” Allen shrugged and took a sip of the peach syrup.
And so they waited.
Minutes later, they were still waiting.
“Boy…where’s the Jesus?” asked Ben.
“He oughta’ be here any second.” said Drew.
And so they waited for a few more moments.
“Well,” said Allen. “I gotta’ get back to the office to practice trombone. Recital tonight.”
“Sure,” said the Mad Hatter. “Thanks again.”
More minutes were slain. It was quiet.
Too quiet.
The silence was torn to ribbons by a cheery little ditty emanating from one of the Mad Hatter’s several pockets.
“Hey it’s my hip cell! I wonder who could be calling me?” said the Hatter. Raising the phone his ear, the Mad Hatter’s face (normally full of zest and sunshine) darkened.
The Mad Hatter sat down dejectedly, slipping the cell-phone back into its protective sock.
“So who called?” asked Drew.
“That was Jesus. He said that he was feeling kind’ve worn out after all the walking he did today and decided to go to sleep rather than pick up the napalm.”
“That’s very unkeen.” said Ben, kicking a rock.
“Yeah. I have no idea what we’re going to do now.”
“Oh well. He is the world’s oldest man. I mean, he’s liable to get tired sometimes at his age.” said Ben, demeanor rapidly changing as Rye defeated him in an internal arm-wrestling match. Carvin’ Kervin stroked his chin methodically lit his corn-cob pipe.
“Do not despair friends. I alone dispatched the original Thanosaur after only a few days of extremely graphic violence. Perhaps things aren’t as bad as they seem.”
Kervin’s optimism was interrupted by the moaning of the demonic dead. The group looked over to the gates in dismay as the three hulking zombie dinosaurs lumbered towards them, flanked on either side by countless demonic zombies.
“Hell and damnation!” said the Mad Hatter, hurling his famed top hat to the ground in frustration. “Dinosaurs are supposed to be slow! They’re cold blooded!”
“I thought they were warm-blooded.” said Drew, raising his finger to emphasize the point.
“No, all reptiles are cold-blooded.” responded Johnny Wanderer, staring at the oncoming mass of zombified flesh.
“Yeah but these are dinosaurs.” countered Drew.
“So?” asked the Mad Hatter. “They’re reptiles.”
“Well yes they are, but dinosaurs are warm blooded reptiles.” replied Drew.
The Mad Hatter scoffed and picked up his hat.
“Maybe in Jurassic Park, but not in real life.” he asserted.
“Drew’s right.” interjected Carvin’ Kervin. “I remember this. Dinosaurs were warm-blooded.”
“Aha!” exclaimed Drew triumphantly.
“Why do you have to side with him?!” demanded the Mad Hatter. Meanwhile Ben’s eyes twitched spastically.
“Well I don’t know about that,” said Ben. “I think Chico might be right. They’re zombies after all. Aren’t all undead cold-blooded in a way?” Ben started to shake.
“No. That’s just wrong.” Said Ben, frowning. “They’re warm-blooded creatures that have died and now have a low body temperature. Death doesn’t make you cold-blooded.” Ben started to claw at his own face.
“SHUT UP, SHUT UP! GET OUT OF MY HEAD RYE! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”
Everyone looked at their feet. Nobody said anything for a while, as the zombies drew every closer. Drew was the first speak up.
“Listen everyone: it’s time to be an android,” he said through gritted teeth, “Not a man.”
“That’s a peculiar expression, Drew.” said Ben, trying not to think of adorable kittens and gem-sweaters.
“It’s an old Apache saying.” said Drew, while cocking his shotgun. No one was sure why he did this, because he didn’t need to reload and the shells just fell out onto the ground. But it looked really badass.
“It means: ‘let’s kill many zombies in a violent fashion.’”
The zombie brontosaurus belched flame from its maggot-ridden jaws and blew up a the GMC van.
This would be tough.
Over One Billion Served
“Can I go back to the butcher shop now?”
“No way,” said Justin Famous, sternly reprimanding the wimp. “You remember your deal.”
“This deal gets worse all the time.” muttered Jason.
The zombie dinosaurs drew ever closer. The Mad Hatter heaved the Kill Hammer into a battle stance and readied himself for the coming onslaught. The situation looked bad.
His eyes shifting from side to side, Ben knew that now was the time to think very quickly. Ben scanned his surroundings, desperately searching for some weapon of vast destructive potential that they could use. Suddenly he spied some rusting de-commissioned construction vehicles. There, rusted and yet still mighty, was a large crane and wrecking ball and a bulldozer. A spark of inspiration ignited inside the fifty-five gallon drum of crude oil that was his brain. He had a keen idea.
A broad smile spread across Ben’s face, and he clicked his fingers together, ostensibly to signify that he had had a realization.
“I’ve got it!’ said Ben, racing over to the construction vehicles. “We’ve metal on our side!”
Everyone looked at him bewildered.
“Don’t you see? We can bring the steel to life!” exclaimed Ben, who was already donning a pair of tinted welding goggles and igniting his acetylene torch.
“He’s right!” echoed Drew, attaching the arc clamps to the bulldozer and grabbing a dirty cardboard box marked Giant Spikes. “It’s a given! You always have triumphant victory when you bring the steel to life! It’s scientifically proven!”
“Be swift!” hollered the Mad Hatter. “We have barely any time before they’re right on top of us!”
Using their welding skills acquired during the long hours of high-school shop class, they proceeded to swiftly customize the vehicles with large sharp metal pieces and spikes. Meanwhile, the clock was ticking.
“Ben. Finish. Now.” said the Mad Hatter
“I can’t!” yelled Ben. “It isn’t keen enough yet! There aren’t enough strange in-jokes and references!”
“What are you talking about?!” yelled the Hatter. “I hate that so much!”
Allen, in his curiosity piqued after viewing the scene from his cabin window, came outside from his trombone practice to offer a few pointers. Finally, they were ready.
“So how much’re you guys getting paid for all o’ this?” asked Allen, setting aside his trombone to watch the ensuing bloodbath of zombie dinosaur butchery.
“Nothing. This is revenge,” said the Mad Hatter, a crazed glimmer in his eyes. “Their death is our reward.”
Man on the street interview: “The Public’s Reaction to the Zombie Dinosaur Crisis” Number Two. Interview courtesy of the Boston Globe.
Eric Todd, senior city news correspondent: Excuse me sir? Eric Todd, Boston Globe, do you have any comments about the recent zombie dinosaur attack?
Man on the street: Howard?
Eric Todd: I’m sorry?
Man on the street: C’mere.
Eric Todd: I’m sorry. I don’t follow you.
Man on the street: When I tell you to hide a body in the mash, you hide the goddamn body in the mash! Clear?
Eric: Sir?
Man on the street: You want some coke?
Eric: Ted let’s get out of here.
End of interview.
Flash of Iron! Leather! Spikes! And Swords!
After a lightening-fast round of rock, paper, and scissors, it was determined that the Mad Hatter would pilot the wrecking ball and Ben was the man for the bulldozer. As a zombie triceratops bellowed and flung a large Dodge Dart into the air with its savage horns, two keys simultaneously entered their respective ignitions and the engines of destruction roared to life.
“From Hell’s heart I stabeth thee!” yelled the Mad Hatter, having seated himself in the crane.
“Kill the tyrants!” screamed Drew through the smog of diesel fumes, apparently quite pumped about the whole event.
“Lightning strikes in the dark!” howled Ben, for no discernable reason.
“It’s okay for a man to cry!” shouted Johnny Wanderer from the side-lines, revving his chainsaw.
And so the battle began. It sounded kind of like this.
The wrecking ball swung and threw a cluster of zombies into the air. When they landed back in the dusty junkyard, Justin Famous and Mary the Mistress of Madness were quick to dismember them. Fifty-nine zombies ran towards the crane, hungry for the Hatter’s flesh, but were obliterated underneath its enormous tread.
Putting his Oxford GBX sneakers to the floor, Ben sped the bulldozer towards the triceratops with reckless abandon. He had not counted upon that the ancient zombie dinosaur was still incredibly strong. The beast lowered its head and blocked the crash with its skull crest. Digging its foul feet into the dirt, the monstrosity pushed back with devastating force. The treads squealed and spewed turf into the air. Ben bit his lower lip, as he is apt to do in uncomfortable situations and tried to break the deadlock.
And it was at that moment, many miles away in Lebanon, New Hampshire, that Peter Fury wondered whether he ought to rent the Enter the Dragon again. He had seen it before, but he had been thinking about the final fight scene and was wondering how they did it without the camera showing up in any of those mirrors.
At precisely the same time, Drew had found somewhere a cash of Operation: Desert Storm-era weapons, and hoisted a large automatic assault rifle to his shoulder, snarling while he sprayed bullets. Normally at JREZHS we frown upon the use of guns, but we made exceptions when it’s really cool. Tearing out the pin with his teeth, he tossed a grenade into the oncoming horde and leapt behind a large Toyota to avoid being showered in body-parts. Mary the Mistress of Madness was using her crazy cyborg-powers to render the zombies unto spam. Justin Famous, Johnny Wanderer, and Carvin’ Zachariah Kervin had let their powers combine and held off the undead fiends at bay with chainsaw, cleavers, and buzzsaw-blades. Ever Jason Cage fought pretty well, using his Ivy league intellect to confuse and belittle the enemy. Allen had gone inside to get his cowboy hat, knowing full well that the experience could not be properly enjoyed without his cowboy hat.
The battle waged on. The Mad Hatter had wrapped the brontosaurus’s neck in the chain, and (yanking back the lever) swung the dinosaur into a pile of compacted Audis. Ben tried to maneuver himself out of the deadlock with the frenzied triceratops, but found it was impossible. Suddenly: disaster! Drew was stuck down by the spiked tail of the ghoulish stegosaurus. With no one able to reach him in time, all seemed lost for the Tough Noun. This would have been really tragic!
The earth began to rumble and the ground shook. A filthy, unusual looking vehicle emerged from the sandy soil. Behind the driver’s seat was Baxter Black, spitting out sod from his mouth and laughing like crazed maniac.
“Baxter Black says GO TO HELL!” exclaimed Baxter Black. A colossal chain-saw like blade emerged from the vehicle and cut deep into the stegosaur, with vile black blood spurting everywhere. The kinetic (or perhaps potential) energy behind the collision flipped the vehicle, but only after the stegosaurus had received it’s deathblow.
“It’s a ditch-witch! I found it in the sewers! I figured it’d come in handy” said Baxter Black. Clearly he was thrilled to have driven what was essentially a giant chainsaw on wheels and apparently unaware that he'd been missing for months.
Only a few hundred feet away, Ben’s eyebrows twitched in terror. The stalemate was breaking, only the triceratops had the advantage. The beast’s awesome power proved more potent than the engine of the bulldozer, and the great steel plow-blade was slowly being bent. Ben thought of the rolling Green Mountains. He thought of Stop Making Sense and what a good album that was. In an instant, he knew that he had to take decisive action.
Shoving a lever up, the plow-blade lifted. Caroteneous-spikes grinded against steel, as the triceratops (unable to understand Ben’s simple yet effective plan with its puny dinosaur brain), continued to press forward. Sweat dribbled down Ben’s brow. He had to time this just right. The bulldozer shook violently as the once-deceased dinosaur rammed the construction vehicle again and again. Ben waited a millisecond longer and then snapped the lever back down. The plow-blade fell heavily upon the dinosaur’s neck, roughly slicing into it’s head. The fierce red glow vacated the creature’s eyes and black slime poured from its gaping beak-like mouth. Ben scratched his head and flipped a pencil around in his hand. He had won. But then faster then Ben could have imagined a long dead giant reptile could the triceratops rose again and charged the side of Ben’s Bulldozer. But then faster the the long dead giant reptile could have imagined Ben pulled out a handgun and shot the creature in the eye.
“Has anybody tried just shooting them?” Exclaimed Ben, slightly disappointed. “That’s seems to pretty much do the trick.”
With the zombies almost entirely devastated, everyone’s attention was turned to the brontosaurus. With its flame breath, it had fused the wrecking ball and chain to the crane’s tower, rendering it worthless. With the Mad Hatter’s swift maneuvering however, he had impaled the monster upon the tower, but this would not stop it. Justin Famous hacked with his cleavers at the tree-trunk size legs, but it was to avail. The hunters re-doubled their efforts and fought back. Ruling the night! Winning the Fight! TAKING IT ALL RIGHT TO THE EDGE! The Mad Hatter grabbed hold of its rough scaly hide and jumped from the cockpit of the crane. He scaled the dinosaur’s body as it ran about trying to roast valiant zombie hunters with its flame breath. Finally reaching its head, the Mad Hatter raised the Kill Hammer. It took him a long time because the Kill Hammer is really really heavy.
“And so I cast forth my spear thy damned dino!” yelled the Hatter in a melodious, baritone voice unheard of since the days of Tom Lehrer. The Kill Hammer fell and struck right through the enormous skull of the brontosaurus. The Hatter gasped as he was struck by blobs of brain. The brontosaurs let loose a final fire-laced roar and fell like a stone to the ground. The Mad Hatter slid off the thing and winked to the rest of the hunters.
“Clcik, that’s great!” said Ben. “We won!”
“Brutal!” said Baxter Black. “We saved Boston!”
“If not the whole East Coast.” pointed out Drew.
“Those cold-blooded corpses are history yet again!” said the Hatter, producing a cloth to wipe the Kill Hammer off.
“Warm-blooded.” Said Drew.
The sound of metal scraping against metal was heard. With a sickening thud, a large Chevrolet van fell to the ground as the brontosaurus rose up. Things were not yet over.
The Eternal Triangle
“Holy cats! How could I be such a fool?” said the Hatter. “The brontosaurus had a large nerve cluster towards the base of the spine that served as a secondary brain! It still lives!”
“You’re right!” said Ben. “I remember that from PBS!”
“I ask that I be allowed to finish this.” said Kervin, studying the hideous creature as it rose to its feet. Plumes of flame burst from its nostrils.
“But Kervin, its suicide!” said Ben. “There’s no chance of stopping that thing! Only a fool or a hero would even attempt it!”
“Yes, but I have a good feeling about it.” said Kervin.
Carvin’ Kervin focused his chi and transformed his hand into a thing of iron. Leaping upon Johnny Wanderer’s six-foot-ten shoulders, the duo pulled their infamous “Fast-Ball-Special,” and Kervin was hurled towards the creature. Striking with incredible speed at the beast’s sternum, the millennia-old ribcage shattered with the impact. His arm plunged deep within the creature’s putrid chest cavity, Kervin showed no mercy and tore the black heart from its place amongst the vile lungs. The creature let loose a monstrous roar and belched an enormous fireball. Kervin seized an abandoned crow-bar and flipped into the air. The cadaverous brontosaurus reared up for a second time, but Kervin had prepared himself. Kervin plunged head-first in the beast’s gaping chest wound (remembering to keep his mouth tightly closed) and struck fast and hard, emerging through the back and severing the spinal cord and disabling the secondary brain. The monster’s eyes were lax and it crumpled to the ground, its pseudo-life finally fading. An astonished Allen handed Kervin a towel to clean up with.
The distant sound of a face-melting guitar solo could be heard softly in the distance. The battle was over and the hunters had won. Boston was saved. The Mad Hatter started laughing hysterically and executed an outstanding high-five with Baxter Black. It was like a sports movie, only with more blood and guts.
“Woohoo! We’re so hip!” said Jason Cage, who was starting to feel really accepted, like, y’know…he had made this connection with people. A helicopter landed nearby and a happy German Shepard jumped out to greet the triumphant hunters.
“Hey look everybody its Sport!” said the Mad Hatter. “Awww…c’mere buddy!”
And before you could say “most excellent celebration,” a most excellent celebration was had.
Man on the street interview: “The Public’s Reaction to the Zombie Dinosaur Crisis” Number Three. Interview courtesy of the Boston Globe.
Eric Todd, senior city news correspondent: Pardon me, madam, but I’m with the Boston Globe and I was wondering if you had any comments about the recent zombie outbreak?
Woman on the street: Take one last step before you die!
(scuffling noises)
Eric Todd: Help me out Ted! We’ve got a mad one!
End of interview.
As jubilation and merriment rang out across the blood-stained grounds of Allen’s Affordable Autos and Junkyard, the party-animal zombie hunters failed to notice the gathering storm clouds above them. Just as Drew had finished getting his commemorative “Kill Kill Kill” arm tattoo from Johnny Wanderer, a bolt of emerald lightening blasted down from the angry heavens, striking the hunters. When the smoke cleared, every one of the zombie hunters had vanished.
“Good grief!” said Jason Cage. “Where’d everyone go?”
“I don’t know,” answered Allen, shaking his head sadly. “But I pray I never find out.”
A very far way away, the swell employees of JREZHS were amazed to suddenly find themselves in Death Valley, the base of operation for the Church of Death.
“Foolish mortals! You may have destroyed our undead legion and bested the great lizard, but it is of no importance. Nothing can stop our endless conquest!” boomed the cloaked Cardinal of Death. “All-powerful death will reign supreme! Even your sun shall be extinguished!”
“Then we will rage in the shade!” shouted back Baxter Black, shaking his manly fist in the air defiantly. Everyone agreed that it was a pretty awesome spontaneous comeback.
“Brave words, worm-called-Baxter! But let us test your mettle! Behold!”
Verdant fire issued forth from the Cardinal’s skeletal fingertips and there appeared an entire foot-ball team clad in ragged uniforms. One held a severed head puffing on a foul cigar.
“Zounds! It’s Los Lagartos!” shouted the Hatter. “They have returned to wreak havoc!”
“That is correct maggot-called-Chico! It shall be most amusing to see you fall before their brutal blitz!”
“You ready for football?” boomed the hovering horror. Los Lagartos started sprinting towards them. Everyone stood agape.
And all the way in Blue Springs, Maximmortal decided that the Mad Hatter was not going to show up any time soon and resolved to visit Malibu to finally try out that new surfboard.
All supporting documents assembled by Ken Burns. If you’re interested in learning more about Thanosaurus II: Insurrection, Part 4 of the ZOMBIEAPOCALYPSE, please visit PBS.org, where you can purchase Ken Burn’s newest documentary film American Experience: Zombie Dinosaurs on DVD and VHS for $19.99. You may also be interested in The Kings of Swing: Your Favorite Swing Artists Reunite For One Great Show for $14.95. Ben is not to blame. Not at all. Anyone who says that is a liar.
The
Gameplan
The small group of zombie exterminators were not ready for some or any amount of football. With only ten possible players Jim Rage’s Elite Zombie Hunting Football Team would be unable to enter, no matter how many motivational speeches were made because rules are not meant to be broken (not even by the spawns of Satan himself).
“We don’t have enough players, I guess we’ll just have to forfeit. Sorry.” Announced Mary The Mistress Of Madness to the Cardinal of Death.
“What! Do you know how hard it is to assemble a quality undead football team? We’ve literally gone through hell to get this whole thing together for you guys, but I mean if you can’t appreciate that then that’s fine.” Complained the Cardinal of Death who really did seem to have a pretty good case.
The now mostly brain-dead Ben tried to comfort the foul beast. “Well if it’s any conciliation that green lightning thing you do is pretty neat… We are really sorry.”
“Oh no it’s not like we’ve had this idea for a few years now and finally we pull it out, and nobody really values it. Have you even noticed that they’ve got the decapitated head of their former coach as a football?” Responded the Cardinal.
“I noticed that their name is Los Largartos and that means the lizards in Spanish.” Interjected The Mad Hatter.
“Where are the rest of your hunters anyways? I thought you guys were supposed to be organized.” Snapped The Cardinal.
“They’re probably in New England. If you get us back to New England maybe we could round some up for a football game?” Drew proclaimed.
“But this is Death Valley. Death Valley, you get it?”
“This is stupid.” Gripped Johnny Wanderer. “Remember that time we had to fight the love zombies that could only be killed if we hugged them and gave them affection? This is right up there with that.”
Brock Ironsides added his two cents with his New York style New Hampshire accent. “So how about you make with the Star Trek and beam us back to Malden. There’s a football field there.”
The Cardinal of Death was a bit put off, but eventually agreed. After a somewhat nauseating trip back to the east coast through a portal of pulsating energy, the whole mob sat and waited on the high school football field in Malden, while passersby’s yelled obscenities at them from car windows. Drew made some phone calls to anyone from JREZHS he could get a hold of because he had picked paper while both Ben and The Mad Hatter had picked scissors which immediately caused them exchanged high fives. Baxter Black passed the time by talking about how much this reminded him of that awful football movie he was an extra in which is coming to theatres soon and stars The Rock. Zachary “Carvin'” Kervin poked at the ground with a stick. Justin Famous discovered that if you refill a “Double Gulp” at 7 Eleven it only costs a dollar. Brock Ironside continued to chew on the same piece of gum he’d been chewing for eleven years. Ben found a rabbit. Hours passed, but eventually a few more loyal member from Jim Rage’s Elite Zombie Hunting Squad arrived on the scene. Alice Thompson quickly recounted how she had recently bet some high stakes in Atlantic City and won big, but then foolishly squandered it all on petty expenses instead of investing it. The rest seemed a little groggy from the car ride.
“Now prepare yourselves you so called hunters of the dead. For the greatest challenge you have ever faced.” Declared The Cardinal of Death.
“Football! Yeah Football!!!” Added the severed head.
“But we don’t have any protective gear. We need that in order to play.” Peter Fury shot back.
“Yeah, alright, football!!!” Added the severed head.
“Are you guys serious?” Asked the Cardinal of Death.
“Yeah it’s the rule book.” Said Justin Famous between sips from his Double Gulp. “It’s also getting kind of dark. Do you wanna just save it for another day?”
Upon hearing this The Cardinal of Death’s head collapsed in on itself from shear irritation. He then turned into a pile of dust like that evil creature does in the beginning of The Dark Crystal and a void opened up into the Necroverse. An old stove which was sitting near the railroad tracks was the first thing to get sucked in. They thought that was a bit odd since it obviously had more mass then anything else around, this was soon forgotten however once they themselves were being sucked in.
While being squeezed through a violet, swirling, wormhole the sound of the ring tone “clowns” could be heard. The Mad Hatter reached for his phone pretty surprised that his phone got reception between dimensions. A little bit embarrassed and kind of feeling like a jerk The Mad Hatter decided to answer his phone.
“Hello? Yup this is the zombie guy… No it’s the real deal… You’ve got a zombie in your basement? How’d it get in your basement?… Well it’s gonna cost you quite a bit if you want us to come all the way down to Kansas… No we’re not national we cover mostly New England… It’s just one zombie right? Have you read our manual?… You really should, it’s pretty good… No we won’t link to your site… I don’t care if you have a video of a reticulated python eating a pig… Me? No you hang up. No you hang up. Listen buddy you know how many loonies get my number from the site and decide to call me. You have no idea. Hello? Hello? He hung up.”
Eventually everything went dark and quiet.
TO HELL WITH IT!
When everyone regained consciousness, they found themselves standing
on a giant chuck of black volcanic rock suspended in a sea of churning
red energy. The red energy stretched on into infinity, with pieces of
debris and lighting storms hovering in the distance. Hell-Zombies were
everywhere, standing motionless around them with their pale wet eyes
gleaming in the fire light. The air was thick with the smell of
brimstone and sulfur and the screams of the dead echoed in the distance.
A lone marshmallow floated past in the energy vortex. Hanz Irontheighs
reached forward and swallowed it.
“How does it taste?” asked Ben.
“Just like a marshmallow,” said Hanz, eyes wide with terror, “only
WITHOUT A SOUL!!!”
Suddenly there was a noise of creaking joints and rattling metal and
everyone turned around. There before them were dozens of acolytes and
a vast throne assembled from the remains of a thousand human corpses.
On top of the throne sat a hideous skeleton creature clad in familiar
red robes and finery. Burning green light poured out from its eyes.
“Greetings fleshy ones,” gasped the skeleton creature rising to its
feet, “I am the Dark Pope of Living Death, Spiritual Leader of Church
of Death and Emperor of the Necroverse!”
Nobody said anything. It was hard to think up anything appropriate to
say. The Dark Pope of Living Death grinned a horrible grin of evil and
climbed down from the podium
“This is the realm of the dead, a transition point for souls before
moving on to new realities. But we are the souls of the WICKED and the
CRUEL and we are doomed to remain here forever in perpetual agony! To
wither against the burning winds of the Necroverse! We are the DAMNED!
We are the UNHOLY GHOSTS!”
“But no longer! At long last the stars and the planets are in the
proper alignment and the boundaries between our dimensions are at
their weakest! When the required arcane rituals are completed, they
will shatter, merging our worlds into a single universe! Then the
Legions of the Hungry dead will spill forth and devour the living!
Light will be extinguished and earth will be consumed by a shadow of
living death! DESPAIR MORTALS! This is the hour of ZOMBIEAPOCALYPSE!”
“We know all that,” shrugged Mary The Mistress of Madness, “Carvin”
Kervin figured out your plan and explained it to everybody on the
helicopter ride to Boston.”
“SILENCE!” shrieked the Dark Pope of Living Death. He spewed forth a
jet of blazing hellfire filled with the laughing faces of the damned.
Mary scarcely had time to scream before she was obliterated into a red
hot smoking pile of dust.
The Jim Rage's Elite Zombie Hunting Squad's No Swearing Policy was temporarily forgotten about.
“ANYONE ELSE WANT TO INTERUPT?” screamed the Dark Pope of Living
Death, spitting blood and froth. Everybody mumbled “no” and stared
down at their shoes in silence.
“Good,” smiled the Dark Pope. “You miserable bastards have hindered
the good work of my church for a very long time. Not even the
annihilation of your HQ could slow you down. But that’s all in the
past and it’s time to discuss your future. I have decided that you
will fight for my amusement in the Arena of Death. You will fight
without weapons, or rest, or food. You will fight until your bones
shatter and your muscles split and you drop to your knees; weak and
ready to die!?
Somebody, we’re not sure who, screamed like a little girl. It was
embarrassing. Although we can’t be sure it’s generally accepted it was Jono.
“We’re ready when you are” shouted Sherry Anderson cracking her knuckles.
 |
With a chuckle, the Dark Pope made a gesture and summoned forth the vengeful spirits of Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan, Ivan the Terrible, Charlie Starkweather, Vlad the Impaler, Idi Amin, Lucretia Borgia, Rasputin, Judas, The Marquis De Sade, Pol Pot, Jack the Ripper, Torquemada, Countess Bathory, Caligula, Josef Stalin, and William Shakespeare; easily the most vile people in the history of mankind reborn as warriors of doom. They roared with fury and clawed at the air. Adolf Hitler was not present but we just thought it best not to ask why.
“Now,” commanded the Dark Pope, “TEST YOUR MIGHT.”
Everyone split up and the fight became a long series of one of one tournaments. The sheer brutality of the fight that followed, the animality, was staggering. It was clear friendship was no option. Only one thing was truly certain: fatalities were going to be high. The warriors of doom fought with inhuman ferocity, like Chinese ninja warriors they were cold, so cold. Caligula slithered into battle like some kind of reptile, dodging every punch thrown by Justin Famous. “Get over here!” Justin finally shouted, dragging Caligula to his side and landing him with a fireball haymaker straight to the jaw. Torquemada, a lost soul bent on revenge, charged at Brock Ironside, but he had hadn’t counted on his opponent’s amazing strength and Ironside, in an outstanding move, ended up twisting Torquemada up like a pretzel. The punches of Rasputin stung like a scorpion, but Drew slammed the Mad Monk of Moscow with an excellent bicycle kick. Genghis Khan, born to rule, born to conquer, engaged Sherry Anderson in a ferocious swordfight. Blades flashing, the two neared the edge of the black rock with Khan pushing Anderson towards the churning energy vortex. At the last moment, Anderson stabbed Khan in the stomach and hurled him over the side into the great beyond. It was a flawless victory. Oh, and strangely enough, Baxter Black fought just like Goro from those old Mortal Kombat games.
When the dust settled, Thorn Hammerfall terrorized Ivan the Terrible, Peter Fury subjugated Charlie Starkweather, Carvin’ Kervin attacked Attila the Hun, Sherry Anderson conquered Genghis Khan, Justin Famous crushed Caligula, Baxter Black overpowered Idi Amin, Eric “Deathwish” Chabot trampled Judas, Max Power beat up Josef Stalin, Drew Peberdy routed Rasputin, Hanz Irontheighs “owned” Vlad the Impaler, Pablo “The Flame” Vandross toasted Lucretia Borgia, Sport had a bone to pick with Pol Pot down on the killing fields, Alice Thompson thrashed Countess Bathory, The Mad Hatter mashed the Marquis De Sade, Brock Ironside trounced Torquemada, Dirk Razor ripped Jack the Ripper, and Ben Peberdy taught William Shakespeare a thing or two about the poetry of pain. |
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“This time you’ve gone too far,” snarled the Dark Pope, “I
see I’m going to have to kill you myself. Eat mindblast!” His eyes
glowed bright green and a mindblast shot forth from his throbbing
skull. Everyone writhed in pain as our brains were flooded with raw,
red agony. Only Ben remained conscious, somehow resisting the sheer
mental force that was tearing everyone else’s brains to pieces. It
seemed like the end.
Slowly and with grim determination, Ben climbed to his feet, pushing
past the pain. His eyes narrowed and his hands started to twitch and
shake. Amazingly he suddenly began to float off the ground, with white
light streaming forth from his mouth and eyes. “I KNOW EVERYHTING!”
shouted Ben, his body crackling with lightning. He thrust his arms
open wide to the sky. His skull cracked open and out sprang Rye “Let’s
Say No to Litterbugs” Crofter, clad in shining white battle armor and
his customary gem sweater. Ben collapsed to ground, unconscious. For
a few seconds everything was silent. Even the Dark Pope stood up,
astonished.
“I am now Rye the White,” said Rye the White finally. “Since my
physical body was destroyed months ago, my essence has been incubating
inside Ben’s skull. I have returned to save this world from evil. My
master wouldn’t let me die??
“You thrice-damned fool!” sneered the Dark Pope, “the Necroverse is
MY domain! You are alone and powerless to stop me!”
“That’s what you think,” said Rye the White and soon as he had
finished his sentence the shining spirits of dead zombie hunters
flashed into existence alongside him. There they stood: Guido
“Deathwish” Castiglione, Rory Gory, John Islington, Dick Weston, Tom
Van Voorhees, Mary The Mistress of Madness, a few people we’d forgotten
had ever existed, and all of the Toad-Eating Yes Men’s righteous souls who
had returned to bring justice. Company loyalty runs high at JREZHS,
but we never anticipated that it would run high enough to motivate
employees to assist us after death. It was pretty kick-ass.
Rye the White led the charge, the ghostly zombie hunters
following behind him. While they fought the Dark Pope and his
acolytes, the rest of us rushed the dozens at of Hell Zombies;
knocking them to the ground and pushing them off the black rock and
falling out into the energy vortex. Victory was ours!
“I’ll tear you to red ribbons, you insufferable morons.” shouted the
Dark Pope breathing hellfire all over Rye the White, “I”ll suck the
marrow from your knuckles!”
Rye the White shook his head sadly, shrugging off the hellfire like it was
a warm summer breeze. “Sorry mister, you can’t beat me. You and the
rest of the Church of Death are just trying to get attention in a bad
way and I’m darn sick of it. Be gone Dark Pope, dissipate into
nothingness.” And with that, Rye the White reached forward and tapped
the Dark Pope gently on the forehead. The sheer goodness of Rye the
White’s touch was too much for the hellish creature, and the Dark Pope
began to disintegrate into cosmic dust, overpowered by benevolence,
reduced to atoms by the white light.
Suddenly the rock underneath our feet began to shake violently. Red
lighting exploded off in the distance. Rips in the space/time
continuum began to appear all over the place, opening wormholes to
earth. The Dark Pope laughed a final hideous laugh.
“You fools! The merging of our worlds has begun! Earth will be
destroyed and there’s NOTHING YOU CAN DO! REVENGE IS MINE AT LA ---?
but at the moment the Dark Pope dissolved into nothing and disappeared. We
pretty much got the point though.
“Jumping butterballs, this sure throws a monkey into the wrench
guys,” frowned Rye. “We still have a chance. I’ve got a hunch that the
rips in the space/time continuum can be destroyed, but they’ve got to
be destroyed from within the Necroverse. That means one of us will
have to stay behind and sacrifice their life for the good of the team.
Well chums, I volunteer---?
Suddenly Sherry Anderson bashed Rye across the jaw and knocked him
straight into unconsciousness.
“You’ll wake up in a couple of days Rye,” said Sherry. “You’re needed
on the other side. I’m the one to stay behind.”
Everyone was stunned. We tried to get her to change her mind,
explaining that nobody had really missed rye all that much, (The whole
jumping butterballs thing made everybody insanely furious.) and
besides, she had already scarified her life for the good of the team
once before. (Well okay, technically she actually survived that time
and she’d been studying sociology at college the whole time, but we thought
she was dead and that was good enough for us.)
“Sorry guys,” said Sherry shaking her head, “but this is no time for
a debate. I’m the only one here who has a shot at destroying those
rips in the space/time continuum and you all know it. Sport and I had
the foresight to load up the chopper with twenty tons of unstable
nitroglycerin. Should be more than enough to do the trick. She turned
to the assembled spirits of the dead zombie hunters. “Yo! Dead guys,
let’s go! We’ve got us a universe to save!? The ghosts nodded and flew
off towards the space/time rips.
Sherry climbed up into the cockpit of her helicopter, her trusty
German Shepard, Sport at the controls. She lit a cigarette and gave a
salute. “See you in the afterlife comrades. Crash and burn.”
“Crash and burn.” We all sadly replied with thumbs up.
And with that, Sherry activated her helicopter and flew off into the
crackling energy vortex. We barely had enough time to watch to her leave
before we were forced to turn towards the portal home. Dodging
fireballs and streams of lightning, we jumped into the portal carrying
the unconscious bodies of Ben “Bloodscorn” Peberdy, Rye Crofter, the
smoldering ashes of Mary The Mistress of Madness, in addition to Johnny
Wanderer (who’d hit his head when we landed in the necraverse and had
been out cold the entire time).
As we were sucked into the dark abyss of the portal, Carvin’ Kervin
was heard to mutter under his breath: “She was the best goddamn
helicopter pilot we ever had.” He spoke for all of us.
And then everything went black.
EPILOGUE
We awoke hours later to find ourselves in a gigantic pile on the
streets of Paris, France. The portal from the Necroverse had randomly
deposited us thousands of miles from Boston and Blue Springs, but ironically
where all this trouble had begun. We’re spending some time in Paris for a
while. That’s mainly because after paying for funeral services and hospital
bills we haven’t got enough dough to buy plane tickets. Right now we’re trying to earn money by selling baguettes, berets, and black and white horizontal stripped
shirts to French cyclists. We don’t make much, but we’re getting there. So help us out and send us some money or buy something off our merch page.
In the meantime, we’re mourning the dead and licking our wounds. The
brain-eating madness of the ZOMBIEAPOCALYPSE was averted but at only
at a great cost. Frank Gritt and Jim Rage are still missing, out there in danger
somewhere. The endless quest continues...
-SHERRY ANDERSON-
1978-2006
THE BEST GODDAMN HELICOPTER PILOT WE EVER HAD.
Plus the best goddamn savior of the universe we ever had.
EPILOGUE “Redux” SPECIAL EDITION!!!
Not too long ego Alice Thompson found Ben “Bloodscorn” Peberdy standing on some rocks looking into the fading sun.
“Ben, you’ve been up here for five hours, so we know you have something important to say. We drew straws to see who should come up here and Baxter Black go the short one but then Pablo poured molasses on him and Baxter had to take an “Emergency Shower”. So I decided to be the responsible one and see what’s up.”
Ben bit down hard on the toothpick he’d gotten at the Italian food restaurant. “I’ve been thinking Jim Rage’s Elite Zombie Hunting Squad isn’t for me anymore. It’s not just that Sherry and Mary got killed in the Necroverse (Ben paused to reflect on the coincidence that Sherry and Mary rhyme). It’s not just that Rye Crofter commandeered my brain and has now manifested himself into a glowing ball of pure goodness. It’s really just the pay. I mean I was told I’d get a base salary of ten dollars an hour. That never happened. I haven’t even gotten a raise from minimum wage. After all I’ve been through saving the world and all I can’t even afford “Better Shred Then Dead (The Dick Dale Anthology)” and I love Dick Dale!”
After a brief pause where Ben tried to remind Alice of Dick Dale’s face melting guitar abilities by humming “nitro” unsuccessfully, Alice replied. “What will you now?”
“I’m thinking of going to Africa. I’ve only ever been there on business.” Announced Ben.
“Where will you go after that?”
“Which ever way the wind blows.” Said Ben far too dramatically.
“Do you have a cigarette?” Asked Alice.
“No. smoking’s bad for you.” And with that Ben applied some Neosporin to his, still recovering eye, and went to Africa.
