ZOMBIE HUNTER EXECUTES JUNKIE CANNIBAL CULT, CLAIMS "INNOCENT MISTAKE"

Rob Provencher

Summerfield, Fl

"If it looks like a zombie, smells like a zombie, and eats like a zombie, shoot it in the head." That's the position of Jericho Hemlock, Zombie Hunter and self proclaimed Sword of God. Mr. Hemlock was arrested this past Thursday on charges of breaking and entering, and multiple counts of first-degree murder. "When you're confronted with that situation," he explained in a closed interview, "you make a judgement call and you run with it. You don't have time to second guess."

According to the report, Mr. Hemlock broke into the Summerfield Church basement early Thursday night, barging into the mass of the Union of Satan's Fang [USF], a cult that meets in the church basement every Thursday to inject heroin and eat human flesh as part of a religious ritual. Patrolling officers who were in the area arrived at the scene moments later, responding to reports of gunshots, and found Jericho midway through "cleansing" the scene, a seemingly Obsessive-Compulsive cleaning ritual that involves a great deal of bleach and fire. The District Attorney is attempting to bring charges of arson and destruction of evidence against Hemlock, though he claims that the "cleansing" was merely a preventative measure to keep the contamination from spreading.

Jericho is a member of the Holy Order of the Crying Cross -- usually abbreviated to The Order of the Crying Cross or the OCC -- a religious sect supposedly started by professor Abraham Van Helsing, who slew Dracula. The OCC's intent was to continue the work of Professor Van Helsing, both in the academic field of studying hell-spawned creatures and where they come from, and in the practical field of exterminating them. According to Hemlock, he was "just doing his duty" Thursday night when he entered the church basement and encountered "a mass of incoherent once-humans with bloodshot eyes, halfway through devouring the body of a man."

Police reports confirm that the revolver Jericho was found carrying had been used to shoot all seventeen members of the UCF in the head, as well as the half-eaten pile of intestines in the center of the room (later identified as Bob Haselkoff, 31, reported missing three days before the incident).

Jericho admits to the shootings, though he denies the murder charges, claiming that he thought they were already dead dead when he arrived. "I thought they were zombies. They were drugged up and eating a cadaver, all available evidence pointed to that conclusion. Under the circumstances, I did what I had to."

The defense is currently preparing a case that, because the USF members were on heroin and acting in a demonstrably aggressive manor, Jericho could have been acting in self defense. "It's not a lot," said Jericho's lawyer Ronnie Cheng, "But while you know and I know that if the USF had been zombies, and he hadn't acted so decisively this whole city'd be overrun and quarantined right now, the Prosecution's not going to let up unless we come up with a more traditional defense. Given the circumstances, I think we may settle out with a self-defense sentence and a small fine for the breaking and entering."

But human rights groups are up in arms, calling for the full force of the law. "Simply looking like a zombie does not automatically forfeit your right to live." Says Rich Davis, spokesperson for the United Kin organization. "We may not have agreed with what the USF was doing, but they were people, not corpses, and this madman should be put away for the execution of eighteen people." (The prosecution can only charge Jericho with seventeen counts of murder, however, as the coroner's report concludes that Haselkoff's mass of organs was dead long before Jericho shot it.) "Moreover,the USF represented a small but vibrant piece of human culture, and now with the Summerfield branch dead and the rest -- if they still exist -- driven into hiding by fear, I'm afraid that Hemlock has destroyed that piece of culture forever. It's such a shame."

Other watch groups offer a much grimmer interpretation of what happened. "The Union of Satan's Fang was a rival cult, plain and simple." Says Mary Spellen, head of the Summerfield neighborhood watch. "The USF was gaining a little bit of power in this neighborhood, and the OCC snuffed it out in a display of brutality and violence more typical of criminal gangs than any religious order."

But many Summerfield residents agree with Hemlock's gun-ho approach, and support for Jericho's release has produced a petition for his acquittal. "I think what Hemlock and the OCC are doing is a service for all humanity," says one local woman. "It's not like they're only saving Christians, or only saving the rich like some other cults. They put their lives on the line to protect all mankind from these monsters, and I don't think we should stand in the way of that."

"Frankly," says another local man, "if you're drugged up and eating people, you're just asking for it."

A closed-casket memorial service for Bob Haselkoff will be held this Sunday.

You know what Patriots, fuck the Giants, why don't you just turn around and hit Brady yourselves?

Don't even start with me, assholes. Don't even pretend that, had I been in the stands, you would have let me wander onto the field and sack your quarterback. You make me sick, all of you. We're done talking. You are Losers, and I do not talk to Losers. You might be contagious.

All of this is true.

Since conference week is basically over (finished the draft two hours ago, bitches!), I can finally live without my computer long enough to send it in for repairs under the warranty. Which is magnificent. Because the screen is going out; if I nudge it, everything fucks up until I feel around the edges of the monitor and press together in a very specific spot, and that heals it for a while. And look at how awesome my computer is, holding together until I've finished my most important paper of the semester, what a trooper.

Anyways, I need to attatch a post-it to the computer when I send it in:

"Dear Compaq:

Why does your repair service involve me sending my computer to you and then not having a computer for several weeks? Going several weeks without a computer has not been okay since I was born - which is why I've been holding out on sending this to you, until I finished my exams and didn't need it every day of my life. So as long as you're taking care of the monitor...

The power cable is only able to send power to the PC intermittently; I need to twist the wire into the right place or it falls back onto battery power. Which sucks, because the battery's also fried; a nudge while the PC's running off the battery and the whole unit shuts down. Also, I think the wi-fi card melted.

Also, sometimes when I touch the speakers, they spark and the computer turns off. And as long as you're at it, could you do something about my optical drive not being there?"

I'm pretty sure they're not going to replace the battery or the cd-drive, even though it was their shitty construction that got the disk drive snapped off in the first place. Still, everything else should be covered under the warranty.

...oh, man. Those guys are gonna be so pissed.

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Now playing: Unknown Error - [Fear No Evil LP #06] Fear No Evil [foobar2000 v0.9.4.1]
via FoxyTunes

Suck on this, Freud

I had a dream last night.

Before I go on about that, though, I want to make sure we're all on the same page. So we're clear: I get super excited whenever I get a dream. I don't know if it's the insomnia or the insanity or what, but I only ever get about one a year. Before tonight's, lats night's, whatever, I only remember two.

From two years ago: I was sitting outside, on my back porch, and all of my pals were there. The grill was up, we had hot dogs cooking or a barbecue going, or something... and we chat around and chilled and chatted and smoked.

And that was it.

Last years? Finally, finally, I got one: Zombie Apocalypse. I never fucking get zombie or vampire dreams, I've always wanted one, and last year, I finally got it: The newsmen were screaming on the television --"Zombie Apocalypse is HERE" "Do not attempt to rescue your loved ones!" "Stay in your houses and lock your doors" "If you see one of the enemy, do not make contact" "The End Is Extremely Fucking Nigh" -- and so on. So I got up. I walked into my basement. I walked into my zombie shelter. And I shut the door behind me.

There was enough water and food. Nothing went wrong. I waited it out and everything was chill. Nothing went wrong.






The entry isn't over, I just want you to take a minute to dwell on that.





Okay, good? Well now you can see why I'd be so eager for this year's shot. At this point, I could raise my track record by having a dream about cutting off my foot with a bandsaw.

I did not cut off my own foot with a bandsaw. Instead, I had a dream that was clearly influenced by watching too much anime.

Which has nothing at all to do with whatever you're thinking of. I did not have a six foot long magical sword. I could not cast magic. I couldn't shoot fireballs or fly. I couldn't even catch 'em all. Nope. Instead, every woman who has ever been in my life decided, on the same day, that they were going to act on their suppressed lifelong attraction for me. Friends. Friends' girlfriends. My elementary school teachers, one of whom it turns out is actually really hot, so goddammit, I guess. But yeah. Every female influence in my life.

And boy, was there drama. Oh my god. My fourth grade teacher - the hot one - was doing some heavy campaigning and scheming to get me away from the other girls, and good old Rachel from the coffeeshop, I think she may have killed someone, god bless her. Some classmates were just going at it like cats, and oh, you know who else was stirring up trouble? My girlfriend. Yes, even in my subconscious, every single person I knew waited until I was no longer single to reveal their lifelong crush.

So how did it all play out? Who won? Did any of the girls have enough character and savagery to beat out all the other girls for my attention? Did I just settle for the annoying female lead? Or - how 'bout this, -did I stay faithful to my girlfriend even in this time of adversity? Well not technically, no. (~Scandalous!~)

I lasted for four hours before I drove myself off a bridge.

And that's that

That wraps up the maintenance bit; from here out we return your to youre regularly scheduled blogcast programming.

Microsoft Word is literally more bothersome to use than a typewriter

That's not true, young'un! You'd know better, if you ever hammer those dang-blasted keys like we did in my day, and why, if you ever futzed up and made a typo, then you'd have to take the whole darn thing anFUCK YOU. Okay? Fuck you. I have a goddamn typewriter, it's set up right next to my goddamn Compaq tower. It's a Smith-Corona Skyriter, a non-electric portable that has a shift key and the caps lock function. There is no number one key, to make a 1 you hit the L key, and if you want to make an exclamation mark you have to type a period, backspace, and type an apostrophe. I have typed entire letters and essays on it, I frequently go back and forth between it and a keyboard, and yes when I go back to the computer I hit the keys too hard. When you fuck up, you backspace and lift the ink ribbon, there's a white-out strip and you just type the same key again. It does not take forever to dry, it takes exactly as long as the normal ink. It costs me six dollars a spool, and I have to order them from this one very esoteric, sketchy-looking site that takes about a month to ship them, probably because nobody wants goddamn typewriter ink ribbons. I do know what I'm talking about, and yes I feel that Microsoft Word is goddamn more frustrating than the technology it made obsolete sometime last goddamn century. The one single advantage that Word has is that it saves documents in a digital format, rendering it more practical than the "archaic" technology in the way that burning down towns with the plague used to be more practical than treating the infected.

Thing about natural beauty, is it's always trying to grab you or give you Lyme's disease.

I left the house yesterday, because as always our kitchen is a barren, god-forsaken place, and I needed food. Of course, since everything in Owings Mills is within a few miles, and it had cooled off considerably as evening was falling, I decided I’d hoof it, and enjoy a nice walk. Having neither a car nor a license had nothing to do with this decision.

I didn’t find food, but I did swing into the Best Buy to buy a new pair of headphones and this, which is much better than food anyway:








> Eating.














Out in the parking lot, I rolled myself a cigg – a new habit I’ve picked up that I’m particularly fond of. I popped in my new headphones – cheap ear-clips, nothing fancy with noise cancellation or bass boost (not that I wasn’t sorely tempted to opt for the latter) – and then, in a sudden burst of inspiration, I took them out again. Deep down, you see, I’m secretly a Romantic, and occasionally I just can’t help these urges to appreciate my environment – to “stop and smell the roses,” and all that nonsense. It’s what separates me from efficient, practical people who get things done and advance society.

I took the long way back, walking alongside Owings Mills Boulevard. Perhaps you’ve never walked along side a four-lane road, as cars sped by? The wheels, spinning along the pavement, intermittently accentuated by flashes of music or bits of conversations floating out of open windows – it’s not very unlike the lapping of waves against a seashore. And though there is human life carried in that river of movement, hearing the waves of sound and seeing, maybe, the white and red currents of light, you feel lonely and awed. On this particular stretch of road, that loneliness is accentuated, because the place really is barren; business complexes with sprawling, empty parking lots, shopping centers that have so few customers that after years of operation they look brand new, and massive, empty buildings with more being built… It was surreal, standing under that geometric skyline, while the setting sun reflected off shattered beer bottles and empty potato chip bags.

When the future comes, we’ll only miss trees because environmentalist pussies say we should.