The Zombie Apocalypse Survival Guide: Part 1

“Damn it! Damn it all to Zombie Hell! You finally did it. You finally unleashed the end of days.”

Who can forget that classic quote from Charlton Russell from the classic motion picture: Rise of the Zombie Apes. Who knew that it would so accurately foreshadow the future apocalypse in which we now potentially find ourselves. Having seen this event coming for so long, I took it upon myself to prepare a Zombie Attack Survival guide for you, my dear reader, cause let’s face facts here, it’s just a matter of when, not if, this guide will be needed.

Please note that much of this guide can also be used in the event of an alien invasion, nuclear war, the Germans having another go or uprising of underground dwelling monster race of Crab-People.

Chapter 1: Preparation

Forearmed is Forearmed. The more armaments you have at your disposal, the better chance you have of coming out of this alive. It’s no good popping down to your local hardware store once the Zombie apocalypse has hit because it's probably going to be clossed. You need to prepare yourself now.

The best weapon in dealing with Zombies is a good old fashioned “lobo”. A lobo is a lobotomising weapon that can be used in combat by just about anybody. It is the only real option when fighting the Zombie hoards. A gun will run out of bullets and quickly attract other Zombies with its noise, and while a bow and arrow or crossbow is a good medium/long distance weapon, it too suffers from the same animation problem as the gun, along with its slow reload time leaving you open to close quarter attack.

There are many different types of lobo you could invest in. This is mine:

I call it "The Re-Deadinator"

It covers all bases. You got the broadsword for your traditional skull cracking. The gun for your close combat head shots, when you got no other choice. And finally a sharp knife that can be used to stab through the eye of a zombie, into the brain in case you run out of bullets.

I highly recommend that you choose something heavy and strong. While a baseball bat might seem an obvious choice, it just has very little weight behind it and you will need a swing like Babe Ruth to destroy a Zombie’s brain with a single swing. The best choice of weapon would be a sledge hammer/pick axe combination deal. This will provide the weight of a heavy hammer, with the brain piercing power of a pick. 

Here are some basic Zombie killing techniques for you to memorise:

The Sword Skull Crack.

The Gun Brain Splat.

The Knife Eye Kebab.

Where to get food?  Your first instinct during a Zombie apocalypse will be to run out to the supermarket and fill up a trolley. DO NOT DO THIS! 

A typical Supermarket 4 minutes after an Apocalypse.

You must avoid large congregations of people at all costs as everyone else will have had the same idea as you, leaving you to battle it out with other healthy humans in a fight for what little resources are available. During the Zombie attack you must start thinking differently. You must forget the “rules” of society and think outside the box.

Hmmmmmm

Old people are easily confused, overpowered and stolen from. You most likely have many elderly neighbours and relatives who will have cupboards chock full of yummy food. 

As old people are pretty much dead anyway, you will be doing them a big favour by taking their food and denying them the curse of Zombification. However, should you wish to end their suffering quickly and humanely, this is a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone and not just get a healthy supply of food, but to also test your lobo Zombie killing skills. Old people are perfect to practice on as they are 80% Zombie anyway. The moan a lot, suffle along like they've been dead for a week and eat things that would make a billy-goat puke. So hack away good reader and be sure to take a moment and acknowledge the sacrifice these elderly people have given you.

Be at peace innocent ones.

Fortification: Having got the jump on many of your competitors for what little resources remain available, it is now time to baton down the hatches and wait out the first wave of Zombie attacks.

A good cushion fort can withstand anything up to a level 3 Cloverfield attack.

You must proceed to your home, lock all doors and windows and bunker down for a minimum of 2 weeks. With careful rationing you will have more than enough food and water to last this time. Make sure to keep curtains and blinds closed at all times as you do not use any lights that can be seen from the street, less you attract Zombies or gangs of marauders.  

There is always time for Disco, but we must all make sacrifices.

Always have an escape plan in case of home invasion however. I highly recommend having a second story window from which you can escape in an emergency situation. Always keep your essential supplies in a bag next to this window should you be forced to flee in a hurry.

Clothing. As the Zombie virus is spread through bites and sylvia, it makes obvious sense to try and protect yourself as much as possible when presented with a Zombie attack. Even basic cotton clothing is enough to protect your limbs from Zombie bites, so be sure to cover up your arms and legs at all times. Another top tip is to wear tough, thick gloves. You will most likely be doing a fair amount of hand to hand combat with Zombies so it makes sense to protect the area of your body that is going to be in closest contact with the Zombie mouth. 

 

Coming in Part 2: The Hoard Arrives.....

 

Dead Poets Society 2: The Dead Shall Rise

Please be aware that the following blog entry you are about to read could be very damaging to your health. Those of a nervous disposition and anyone currently taking heart medication are advised to stop read right now and leave this page at once.

During my mid teen years, I occasionally knocked out a free flowing and eloquent poem to better verbalise my teenage frustration and curiosity. Long thought lost forever, it was only recently when clearing out a load of old junk that I happened to come across these lost masterpieces.

Reading them now in the cold light of day some 15 years later, it is clear to me that my teenage years were a festering mind funk of putrid wonderments and gibberish. I hereby present you, dear reader with the full, unedited and complete works of one WG Mullins.

I shall attempt to analysis and uncover the truths in each poem as we process. But be warned, the following words are not for the faint of heart. Together we shall delve deep into a troubled psyche and uncover unexplored emotions and anger. Peeling back the veneer of time and aged wisdom, we shall dissect and ingest all the clever word play, verse structure and symbolism entombed within these long lost masterpieces.

Strap on your Beatnik beret and sit back daddy-o. Things are about to get wild.

Poem 1:

The Night of my Life

I’ve started smiling

But for no reward

They look at me with carrots for cats

Common people.

Drink, for my thumb has a beer

Cool man, I mean really cool.

Walking is a trip of life with empty shells

But where are the cracks?

IN THE BIN!

23-24, why are bats bind?

Owhhh, why are bats blind?

Maybe because I have 9 legs.

I AM BLIND!

I have hurt a tea bag.

His brown blood flows forth from his soggy skin

Why do I treat it so bad?
Ah, ah ahhh, yeeeeeeeeees.

Carrot, cat, kick, kite, car, kill.

Kit Kat?

Has it gone bright black?

Ah “The Night of my Life”. An action packed and energy filled far out trip into a universe of infinite possibilities and dangers. Currently negotiations are on-going for a feature film adaptation.

Let us analyse.

The first verse is a clear indication that I had recently had some sort of good news, which was not shared with my nearest and dearest. Carrots for cats would suggest that I was in combat with some strange, as to yet undiscovered vegetable/house pet hybrid. I can only assume that they were attempting to take over the work and replace the “common people” with “Catots” overlords.

In the second verse things start to get a little clearer. “Drink, for my thumb has a beer” is a clear indication that the writer has supplemented the childhood thumb sucking tradition for consumption of alcohol. A damning indictment of modern parenting standards? I think so.

In verse three we find our protagonist continuing his combat with the catots, “walking is a trip of life with empty shells”.  An obvious reference to the now empty “pods” that the evil hybrid creatures and be born in. An excellent verse for story progression and character development. “But where are the cracks?” he asks. Searching, as are we all for answers in these dark times. “IN THE BIN!”. And the first act draws to a close with realisation that answers cannot be found by looking at the cracks, but through the cracks! Through the holes that we all have within us, allowing us to combat evil in new ways.

Verse four is where the action really starts to crank up. “23-24, why are the bats blind?” is a reference to the power of sonar. Hearing the truth if you will, which can be half the battle when battling something evil. Continued questioning prevails throughout this verse. It is not enough to shout out the truth, you must repeat it and repeat it until the message gets through that we are under attack and something needs to be done. “Maybe because I have 9 legs.” SHOCK! The protagonist has been struck down by the mutating alien virus he has been trying to stop. He doesn’t have much time, he is racing against the clock in order to save the world.

I AM BLIND! The protagonist has lost his way, he is now questioning himself and his ability to lead the fight back against the alien hybrids. A classic third act twist.

Now we get to the big finally action verse. Realising that there is nothing to be done, but wipe them all out, our hero attacks, and attacks hard. He scythes through the evil hybrids, knowing that they are just following their primal instincts and know no better, but he cares no. Blood flows and the body count stacks up. This is a dark day indeed.

“Carrot, cat, kick, kite, care, kill. Kit Kat?” Could there have been a more eloquent and powerful sentence ever written in the English language? If there is then I certainly haven’t read it!

The Catots slowly die, through kicks, kites and kills. All that is left is the metaphorical “Kit Kat”. A symbolic breaking of the two wafers of our different civilisations. Always to be interconnected, but never to be together. Powerful, powerful stuff.

Has it gone bright black? The hero dies I think. Or there’s a power cut or something. Maybe a bulb goes out?

Now onto “We Apologise for the Delay”. A damming and ahead of its time study of the effect of crass consumerism and commercialisation have on a modern society. Read it and weep for the lost generation.

We Apologise for the Delay

Time, it is an eternal struggle.

But for some it is an excuse

The cooperate fat boys

Fat bellies squashing the life from the belly buttons.

(The life of a belly button)

I see it coming towards me

Squashhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

The lie, they lie, why do they lie to me?

Do they think I am scared of bellies?

Nooooooooooooooo.

I AM ANGRY

(The life of a belly)

Shall we? No

Shall we? No

Shall we? No

Shall we? No

Shall we? No

Shall we? Yeeeeeeee… No

HA HA

They think I am a faceless belly button

But no

My belly will make them pay.

Brum Brum

Now let us analyse.

Verse one sets the stage of an epic battle that shall ring throughout the ages. We are not just fighting cooperate greed and callousness, we are fighting for the very future of our souls. The poem starts with a stunningly clever and heart breaking prologue. “Time, it is an eternal struggle.” No matter where I go or what I do, I feel this will always be the most personal and real sentence I have ever written. It just doesn’t get better than that. But if that wasn’t good enough, I then go on to expand from this original opening salvo and continue to blow the readers mind wide open! “But for some it is an excuse, the cooperate fat boys, fat bellies squashing the life from the belly buttons.” WOW! How I was allowed to get away with writing such incendiary and dangerous prose back then I will never know. Taking aim directly at the highest echelons of government and Royalty, I tear down the very building blocks of dogmatic control that enslave the population of this great planet. Is this first verse responsible for the end of Communism? I don’t know, maybe it is, maybe it isn’t? But it’s just a bit funny that they both seemed to occur at the same time isn’t it?

The second verse continues the great tradition of rebel poetry by taking on the target in the most direct and dangerous way possible. Through the metaphorical symbolism of the belly button. “Squashhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” I said! Yes, I said it! And I meant it!!!! Never let it be said that I am afraid to be controversial and daring. I would carve every letter of that sweet, sweet word into the chambers of Government if they would let me. Forever a statement to the power and fighting spirit of the belly button.

Verse three moves into high gear. The scared foolish power centres of the world combine in an attempt to stop this revolution. Offering pennies for souls and promises for placate people. The constant “Shall we? No”, a verse of a child’s tears as the powerful and strong bring down the full force of the corrupt upon an innocent civilisation.

Thinking they have won, verse 4 gives us a complete 180 as the masses fight back against their evil oppressors. “They think I am a faceless belly button, but no, my belly will make them pay!” represents the collective joining together to no longer be a belly button, but to be the BELLY! In a shocking twist that will leave M. Night Shyamalan crapping himself we discover that the belly buttons are now the bellies. Forever doomed to repeat the cycle of button and belly for the rest of time.

“Brum brum”. Yes, brum brum indeed. Brum brum indeed….

Finally we come to “No Title”. The most heart aching and personal of my poems. Even reading it now brings a tear to my eye.

Or at least it would if I could actually remember what it was about? Honestly, I have no friggin idea. I think I was just randomly writing down words with no real sense of what and where they were going. Maybe it was some kind of spontaneous prose that I was working on, but it’s more likely to be a bunch of random song lyrics jumbled together.

No Title

Why is life such a bitch

Giving you crap and feeding you shit

When all day long all……

What is it that makes me queasy?

You want is to wear pyjamas in the day time.

Doctors gives ohhhh-hhhh-afternoon

Coffee spoons and books to beat the bed with

Playback illness?

Ohhhh-ohhhhh-ohhhhhh

Measured with coffee spoons.

I am shrinking!

Tiny –CRASH –BANG

Child has an accident

No illness, blue or white hair is hard

Hmmm, hmmmm, girl doesn’t belong

Marks make her evilllll

Hmmm, hmmmm, hmm

Church on the road

Don’t understand?

Parents, evil beard, stopping on floor

Hmmm, hmmm, hmm, hmmm, ahhhhhh

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh

Ahhhhhhh, ahhhh

Ahhhhhhhhh

Finish, frogs, fighting on my head an in the tent

Nature is evil

Tools are sharp and fingers look like wilder beasts

Shades of my body are laughing

Don’t get it?

Neither did the animals.

DIE!!!!!!!!!!

Let us analyse.

Uhmmm. Ok. This is where things start to get a bit weird. Did I ever mention that I spent a part of my teens locked up in a mental institution for the criminally insane?

I honestly think this poem may have been the one that cost me put there. I don’t even remember writing it, and bizarrely the original looks like it has been written in human blood. Though not mine… For some reason I remember it isn’t mine.

A rambling and incoherent jumble of “ahhhh” and “hmmmm”, I feel confident that this poem was in fact a statement of intent to be posted to the Police before I began my crime spree.

I even remember buying a hammer, shovel and knee pads after writing this poem. What the knee pads were for remains lost in the fog of time, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with poisoning the countries water supply. Is that weird? Maybe.

Thankfully I started taking medication after this incident and have not had a problem since. I’m doing so well that I stopped taking the meds last week and now feel completely fine. In fact, I feel so fine that I think I may write a new poem for the first time in 15 years!

Soon

I’m coming people, coming to get you all

I’ve been asleep for a long while, but now I am awake

Awake like the apple in the orchid that knows no pain

Evil seeping into my eyes like a clown into the night

Honk honk honk honk honk honk honk honk honk

Dinky donk?

I look over the hill and sky, my domain, my prison, my wimberry tart

Custard, cream, single or double? No matter, all cream is the heart of a mother

MOTHER! She makes me listen to the sun. No sun, just rays of hats

Tip topping toeing tying tired teach tell tiddle.

Soon the darkness will come

Soon I will speak with the power of a cat on fire

LIFE/LIVE/little Billy don’t know what a toothbrush is

Weep for Billy

Weep for his jaws of death!

I gotta say, I’ve gotten so much better at this down the years.

Big In Sudan

While casually looking through the visitors and locations of the people who visit my blog, it came as something of a surprise to discover that I seem to have an ardent fans and supporters living in Sudan? As some of you may know, Sudan is currently in the grips of a political, moral, civil and religious war, with hundreds of thousands of its citizens having been killed from either direct combat or starvation and disease inflicted by the conflict in the Darfur region.

Undeterred by this seemingly hostile environment, I decided to travel to the Sudan and thank my fans in person. Was it dangerous and stupid? Yes, absolutely. But I grew up on the mean streets of the South Wales Valleys, a place where militant coal miners regularly form unlicensed Welsh Male Voice choirs and where you have to travel nearly 20 miles to get a Burger King. So don’t talk to me about poverty and putting my life on the line cause I’ve walked through the fires of Hell to get some curly fries I’m sure a few pissed off Arabs with machine guns and attack helicopters are nothing compared to the one way system on the Porth by-pass.

Porth By-Pass: 8:30am on any given weekday

Chartering a flight to the Sudan proved somewhat difficult owing to the whole UN embargo thing. But some perseverance coupled with several pound coins (which equates to a year’s wage for those people), managed to get me a single propped jalopy that flew me in from Egypt. 

Landing in a dusty and barren landing strip, I surveyed the Sudan environment around me.

"Thats some quality work"

 Large holes pitted the runway and scorched the earth. Destruction of runways is pretty much the first point of business in any war as it cuts off supplies for the opposing army. Without food, provisions and weapons, the enemy is there for the taking! Admiring their gutsy and well executed bombing runs I was unaware of the rustling coming from behind me.

I turned round and found myself staring at a thin, dirty looking man called Mubingto. He wrongly assumed that I was some kind of relief worker and was there to help him for some reason.

I explained the situation the best I could to him using my (admittedly) rudimentary understanding of the Sudanese language. 

I showed them print outs of Batdad and Animals That Deserve to Die in the hope that they may have some kind of knowledge as to who my mysterious fans were. I thought I saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he scanned over a badly drawn caricature of Rebecca Black with a bowl of cereal. He instinctively knew that I wanted to explore and find people who had an internet connection. Were there people in this part of the world who were even online? The answer when it came was understandable in any language. “One”.

 This “One” must be the people I’m looking for. It would be a 3 day hike through hostile jungle...

Searing hot desert

Snow-capped mountains 

And deep, dry valleys. 

He had heard about this town, the town of the “spiders-web signal” and “magic glass box”. Up until I had arrived he had assumed that it was just a fairy tale, something that was impossible, achievable only in the most cheese fever induced dreams. 

But now that I was with him, he started to see it as a sign from the mighty Goat God, Guhindi that he should lead me to the Promised Land and that he would be rewarded with life eternal and a Facebook account.

 

The trip was arduous and difficult. We dodged bullets and bombs, drank Pepsi Max at room temperature and suffered through patchy 3G reception. Just when I thought poor little Mubingto could carry me no further, we came to a clearing in the forest. A path lay before us at our feet, leading towards a place.. A special place, a place that I had travelling half the world to find....

I approached the town slowly. It was so unlike anything I had seen in Sudan that I was convinced that I was having another of my cheese hallucinations. I reached out and touched the sign that bore my name. I was real.

I slowly started to walk into the town. Pristine houses lined the spotless streets. I could sense eyes on me as I slowly advanced towards the town centre. They remained hidden as I turned the corner and moved towards the figurehead of the town to find....

A giant, solid gold statue of me!

I gazed up at this majestic figure of wonderment. What did it all mean? A town elder exited the Church of Winning-ication behind him and slowly advanced towards me. 

They say you should never meet your hero’s. What they don’t say is that you should never meet your God’s either, as it will only result in mass disappointment and running for your life with a village of pissed off Sudaniesians chasing after you. Managing to escape and barter my way out of the Sudan, I returned to Wales with one less set of fans and a harsh lesson learnt. In the future I will stick to posting links from the safety of the virtual world and never again make the mistake of actually interacting with other humans.