Zombie Apocalypse was not what I was expecting when my son came home for Thanksgiving.
In fact, I had just finished saying how nicely my son had turned into a lovely young man when he came home for Thanksgiving. He had decided to quit smoking. On my holiday, in my home, on an island, in the middle of long weekend he came home, without the patch.
For the first day or two he slept and ate and breathed and did Yoga. Then he started had having emotional turrets where he just went cranky for no reason.
And on about day four he was energetic. All piss and videgar. He started asking me ridiculous questions.
Mom, was a I bastard?
No. son you weren’t a bastard?
But you and Dad had to get married.
We didn’t have to get married. We chose to get married.
In conclusion, wasn’t that because you were having a baby?
Yes we had you and then got married. So
I was born out of wedlock?
Out of wedlock? What? Ae you from the fifties kid? You’re not a bastard. How many times do I have to tell you?
The whole night was like this.
Mom, tell me honestly now. Was Ninja Turtles a better TV show than Power Rangers?
“I don’t know. They were both better than that friggin Little Mermaid we watched a hundred times.”
An hour would go by.
“If you were a Lesbian would you were forced to sleep with Sailor Moon or Pink Power Ranger who would you pick?
That’s easy Pink power Ranger. I think Sailor Moon is under age.
An hour later he cried out:
How would you survive a Zombie Apocalypse? Would you shoot them with a gun? Or stab them with a knife?
Let me say, I don’t believe in Zombies. They are right up there right up there with aliens as far as I am concerned. They better not come to my house in the middle of the night dripping their alien goo all over my clean floor. And sticking a probe up my arse well that just make me cranky. I don’t believe in aliens. Why? Because I don’t want to give them any kind of encouragement. In fact its like the law of attraction. You believe you get one. And then everybody thinks you’re nuts because you see a meat thermometer you burst into tears.
I don’t believe in aliens or ghosts. They might be there but I am not going to have them talking to me, moving furniture in the middle of the night.
But the Zombie Apocalypse I thought I’d play along with. After all the kid needed a smoke.
I’d kill the Zombie with a knife.
Well that wouldn’t work.
Those were my choices knife or gun. And I don’t believe in guns.
That wouldn’t work mom. Zombies have strong lower arm strength and would take it out of your hand and you’d be dead.
I didn’t know that okay. I didn’t know.
Calm down, Mom. Calm down. Its just we’re trying to assess your Zombie survival rate.
This is the conversation we were having. The kid graduated from university. Or almost did. He’s smart and intelligent and funny and we are having a frigging argument about how to survive a Zombie Apocalypse.
“All right. I’d splash them with water then like the Wicked Witch of the West. I am trying to bring a little levity to this serious conversation but he got insulted,
“If you’re not going to be serious about this, we are not going to play. I am not even going to talk to you.
Really? You promise.
I couldn’t take it any more I finally went to bed as I was in bed drifting off to sleep when I heard a voice,
“If you don’t shut your mouth I am going to stick a cigarette up your ass.”
In fact, it was not an alien from planet it was my daughter screaming at her Zombie loving brother. And as they yelled back and forth fuck you, no fuck you I thought WOW its good to have them home.
In conclusion, the next day he went to town, bought the patch, five bags of humbugs and so far he has kept the Export A’s and Zombies at bay!
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