Sand Mountain Outbreak

Ya'll forgive me, I'm just a un educated country boy, so I got the old shit listed first- and new events down at the bottom. Very convenient (thank you Word spellcheck).


What Had Happened Was...

05/04/08

After church morning momma showed up at the Magic Shack (that's what we call the meth shed) to make sure Jr. was still mixing his shit. Turns out someone broke in and slit 'ol Jr.'s guts wide open. So momma calls me up and tells me Jr.'s dead and to clean it up. Well, me and Jr. were pretty close, being brothers and all, so I felt kinda bad for him. I grabbed up the 870 with some slugs to see if I couldn't find out who'd done it and what not.

When I get there, Jr.'s sitting over in the corner just reaching in and pulling out strings of his smaller intestine, just holding them in his hands like a cat's cradle of yarn. Well, hell I was happier than a whore on payday that Jr. was ok. But unbeknownst to me at the time, Jr. wasn't alright at all. As I got a little closer to him, I could smell that he had shat himself. So I just backed up a bit and told him if he wanted any wiping papers. He just looked at me, with a real stupid look, stupider than normal even. It wasn't like Jr. not to answer. Actually, that dumb son-a-bitch never shuts up. So that was real strange.

Anyway, there's Jr. digging in his belly like he's looking for something, when I hear the door swing open behind me. I spin around with the shotgun and this meth-head is trying to leap on me. Luckily the shotgun was between us, and luckier I had the safety off. I blasted that fucker point blank. He flew back and out the door and hit the ground like a sack of drowned kittens. I was just about to turn back to Jr. when I saw that meth-head start to get back up!
Now I'm thinking there's something strange going on. They usually stay down. I mean, I imagine they would if they were to get shot like that on some other day by my a 870. So I did what any good Southern christian would do, I shot the meth-head in the head, was my method. I pumped another slug and waited for him to get back up. He didn't.

I turn around and Jr. is standing right in front of me! I damn near shit my pants. I did jump back about four feet out of reflex, because I got good ones. Jr. just stood there with his guts trailing on the floor behind him and finally I was beknownst. Even meth ain't going to keep you up with a slice like that. I hated to do it, but I knew Jr. had become a living dead. Momma had said he was dead when she called me, but he was aliver than shit when I got there.

I popped a slug in his open gut and that threw him down to the floor. It also covered me with the contents of his stomach, since it was hanging down in the center of his belly, no longer supported by his intestines. I wasn't mad about him getting stomach juice on me, but I still had to finish him off. Momma wouldn't have it if the whole neighborhood was gossiping about Jr. being a zombie and all.
Long story short, I buried both the bodies behind the Sheriff's house, in case any shit happened, I could blame it on him.

I can't tell you exactly where this happened, for personal legal reason's, but if you're ever driving bewteen Tennessee and Alabama, you better give the folks at them truck stops a second look. Not all of them are just meth addicts. Shit, at least I hope not.

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Worst Mother's Day Ever

05/11/08

Long story short... Momma's dead. And some other guy is too. Oh yeah, they were zombies.
Figured I'd give a quick summary in case anyone was short on time and was wonderin' why Mother's Day was so bad.

Somethin's going on down here in Alabama lately. I went to visit momma after church on Sunday, and she wasn't in the house, so I go around to the meth shed to see if she's playin' chemistry. Well, of course she was, cuz the disablility checks don't cover all her cigarettes and food and rent and all, so... y'know already.

So I tell her "happy Momma Day" and give her a carton of Camels. Blah blah blah, "thanks", blah blah blah. I wasn't really paying attention. But I could hear all the trees rustlin' behind the shed. Given what happened last week with Jr., I wasn't taking no chances. So I'm haulin' ass back to the Ford to grab the shotgun, when some son-of-a-bitch comes bustin' out of the woods! He's lookin' all wild-eyed and crazy, so I was a little bit stressed out. I'm thinking, "did I reload the 870 after shootin' Jr. and that meth head?". At the same time, I'm grabbin' the gun and finding out. Nope, I didn't reload. But wait! Is that a 3" shell in my pocket or should I be really embarassed? Thank God, it's a shotgun shell... Cuz if my junk was only 3 inches I'd have to brain myself.

I slip the shell up into the receiver and give 'er a pump. What a beautiful sound! I realize now that I don't know where that freak ran off too. Naturally I run into the house, cuz that's where momma is. I gotta save momma! I run through the kitchen listenin' real hard for noise. I bolt up the stairs and I'm just about to call for momma when it hits me... That dude in the tree's was that meth heads brother I done shot last week. Damn, he must be a zombie too. He sure looked like it. I guess. He didn't really look different, but he was actin' weird. He's always dirty, so that wasn't no different. Oh Shit! Momma's in the shed!

I run outside and that dude's limpin' towards the house... and me! Oh man, he's got blood all over his shirt and face and everywhere. He ain't got a gun, so he either brought a knife to a gun fight, or he's a zombie! And I don't see no knife either. I rush up on him and BLAM! square in the face. I know that's momma's blood on him, and I'm extremely agitated. So I did my best to take his head clean off. I got most of it.

I remember what happened to Jr. after he got tore up by one of these things. I'm out of ammo and momma's in the shed all tore up. I run back to the truck and grab my Louisville baseball bat, my personal favorite for collecting late payments.

I lean into the doorway and there's momma, standin' there lookin' at the back of the shed. I don't want her grabbin' at me like them others did, so I sneak up behind her real slow like. She breathing all raspy and slow, just like a zombie, oh poor momma! I can't believe I gotta do this. I rear back with the Louisville and let fly. CRACK! Dropped like a sack of potatoes. I've learned that that's not enough. SMASH SMASH SMASH!!! That's about the worst thing I ever had to do. Well, this one time when Uncle... never mind. It's probly a tie.

I dragged 'em out behind the sheriff's barn and buried 'em next to Jr. and the other dude's brother. Boy, that sheriff is gonna have a surprise if he ever plants a garden back there! Looks like one of his dog's dug up Jr's. body... Hope it give's 'em heartburn.

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A Bob Marley Song Comes to Mind

06/09/08

Well, guess what happens if a dog eats a zombie. Apparently not much, unless he bites ya' soon after. Guess what happens if you eat one of those tomatoes on the news with salmanella on it? You become a zombie that pukes explosively out both ends, top and bottom. Well, you don't really become a zombie, but man do I feel like one. My ass feels like I been wiping with a cheese grater. Sorry ladies, very ungentleman of me to say that. Ya'll know I like to be gentleman right? Right? Don't make me smack you... I'm kidding... I kid... But don't make me. Long story short, don't eat at Dairy Queen no more.

Anyway, I'm riding to the Rx in town to get some Pepto and Amodium and some fuckin' Tucks, when who do I see staggerin' down South Main Street? Sheriff Coleman. Now, since he's staggering, I take notice. Because Coleman is Mr. Straightlaced No Bullshit Man. He's walking past old Miss Carla's, she's the widow gardener, you could eat lunch just from the fruit tree's and diner from the vegetable vines, when he starts climbing over her picket fence. Well, Miss Carla is sitting on her knees pruning some little green leafy thing, but she's got her back to the street. She don't see Sheriff comin' over. She wouldn't think much of it anyway, except for the fact that he was climbing the fence instead of using the gate like a civilized son of a bitch. But me, I know things now, things that make you watch people real close, different than how I watch Glen Tanner's girl when she's home from college, but close in a mean way. A killin' way. That's kinda how Jr. watched Tanner's daughter, but he had some mental issues.

Coleman flopped over the fence and landed flat on his face, but was up in an instant and movin' towards old Miss Carla. I saw the back of his neck then. A big bloody chunk was missing out of it. I'd heard Sheriff got attacked by his dog right after the day I... since my last writing. He'd been taking some sick leave last anyone heard. Looks like he'd been busy turning into a zombie. It was my lucky day!

I slammed the brakes, grabbed the shotgun off the rack, jumped out and pumped the gun once. As my truck kept rolling down the street, I realized I ain't loaded the gun since I last used it. I was planning on cleaning it before I got gut rot from the DQ. I pulled the trigger anyway...click...nothing. I figured that. But now Sheriff Coleman was reaching for Miss Carla. I couldn't get to him before he got to her. Plus, my guts were boiling, so I needed to squat before too long, and I couldn't run as fast as usual. I mean, hell, I wanna save Miss Carla, but I ain't gonna shit my pants to do it!

The Sheriff grabs Miss Carla's shoulders and just bends down and bites her on the head, right through her little sun hat. She starts screaming, but gets quiet real quick. I finally get through the gate and I'm looking around for somethin' to get Sheriff with. All Miss Carla's hand tools were right there next to her and Sheriff Coleman. Then I see the little orange extension cord running across the lawn, hell yeah!, get me a chainsaw, even though it's electric (that's kinda gay). Well, it wasn't a chainsaw- it was a bush hedger. If you don't know what that is, look it up right now.

I grab the hedger, I run up behind Sheriff and I bulldoze his ass onto the ground. Before he can get up I jump on his back, lay the hedger across the back of his neck and stomp it down with my boot, and turn that sucker on. Electric hedger's suck. They are very weak. So, I got my knee in between his shoulder blades and my other foot jamming these shitty little blades into his neck while this little whirring noise, like an eggbeater, is trying to drown out his growlin'.

Fifteen minutes later, that fucker's head finally rolled away. I got up and stomped the shit out of it. Them brains were scrambled. This is your eggs on brains. When I turn around to check on Miss Carla, I notice all the assholes from the neighborhood standin' there watchin' me. Man, they coulda helped me out! I flip 'em the bird and they all just turn and walk off. I heard one of 'em mutter "jerkoff" under their breath. I'm gonna kick that kids ass when she gets outa school tomorrow.

Poor Miss Carla, I just stuck a pair of garden shears in the hole Sheriff made and scooped some of her brains out. Figure that oughta do it. I just left them both laying there. No point hiding them, everyone saw.

The difference between the Bob Marley song and what happended (besides me not actually shooting the Sheriff), was that I did kill the Deputy too. He came around the next day, all them assholes ratted me out. They neglected to mention to the Deputy that Sheriff was a fucking Zombie.

I'd seen the dog since, and he looked fine... stupid, fat and happy. It seems like it must take a while for you to turn if you just get zombie blood in you somehow. The dog ain't a zombie, but he had zombie meat in his teeth when he attacked Sheriff. Sheriff was mean to that 'ol dog, that's why his ass finally got attacked. That's why it took fifteen minutes instead of ten to take his head off too. I like dogs.

Bama Out! Piece!