They're all zombies, Richter

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Have you noticed that they all just shuffle around, groaning?  I mean, sure, they don't usually eat people (unless you're a Gay person in CA or ME), and they smell of fear instead of rotten meat, but they're still zombies.

Of course, you can't just start chopping their heads off or run around  screaming "PRESS A!  PRESS A!", because then other zombies will put you in a cell with the really BAD zombies...Which, of course, just means that the CoN even took the fun out of the Zombiepocalypse, just like they took the fun out of global nuclear war and investment banking.

But make no mistake, they are the walking dead, and there are only a few survivors left.  You, me, that old guy down the street who sits on his porch with a pistol in one hand and a beer in the other...They dragged all the rest down years ago, January of 1981, as I recall, when the last of the yippies finally died and became insurance salesmen.

Coincidentally, January of 1981 is the month the fun died.  Or maybe not so coincidentally...After all, the only thing separating you and I from the zombies IS fun, the dirty badwrong kind of fun that used to be a mark of pride, but now makes the zombies all crowd to the other end of the bus. 

The Fun was killed by Reagan and Haig and "Just say no" and creeping legislation that slowly but surely eliminated basic rights, such as the right to blast stop signs with #7 birdshot at 4 in the morning, or drive your car backwards down an onramp while you bellow out the lyrics to The Harlem Shuffle.

Hell, due to stupid greedy bankers, we can't even have the Conspiracy's brand of "fun", anymore, because nobody has any money to buy their False Slack™.

But we're different.  We know that Slack™, real Slack™ isn't about money or possessions or Everybody Loves Raymond, it's about enjoying the ride.  They can't take that from us, those miserable zombies, and we shall continue to bray our demands and our laughter into their blank, uncomprehending faces until, at last, they finally drag us down by sheer numbers, just like what happened to the curator in the first Mummy movie.

This is no century for the timid, Richter, as we watch the world circle the bowl.  This is no century for the meek, the "go along, get along" crowd.  This is OUR fucking century, and I - for one - plan to burn it the fuck up and leave it smouldering in the ditch beside this Lost Highway.

Or Kill Me.

[Richter]

Back in the days, Roger, Zombies wouldn't have been a problem.  Grandad would have been out front, making bunny rabbit hash with his government supplied Springfield, and would have nailed the first decaying shambler right between the eyes when a torso shot only slowed it.

Now though, well, we just can't HAVE people out enjoying gunplay (SAFETY!), and responsibly toting ordnance isn't the right it used to be.

the zombies are different too.  The brains they clamor for are the FUN and SLACK the live folks have, as they mob around somone serious about havign a good time, but moan about how hazardous, dirty, or insane it is.  They'll give it restrictions, designated areas, leagues, and permits until the FUN is sucked right out.  They don't decay outwardly, but inside they are dead, withered, and rotting, too desicated and mummified to reconstitute easily.  The stink is a subtlker one now.

The zombies circle, and I'm all but alone Roger.  There are other survivors, but we can't stay circled all the time.  My inclination and my path takes me out solo, and that's when they'll come for me.

There will not be a gun in every closet, the tools will be "Fisher price" safe, and the shovels will be cheap plastic or pot metal.  Grandad's old trench spike would be a godsend, the vicious, unabashed anti -human tool it is, but it's locked away too.  My own approximated version would be welcomed in my hands, but same problem.

Some might call this Survival Horror, alone, and limited arms, but we have SLACK on our sides. 
I will set the zombies gnawing each other, confuse, misdirect and sabotage. 
If I don't have the hardware rock through like a Space Marine, I can still play Loki, Coyote, or Bugs Bunny on the bastards.

Survival comedy either way.   

[LMNO]

the zombies are different too.  The brains they clamor for are the FUN and SLACK the live folks have, as they mob around somone serious about havign a good time, but moan about how hazardous, dirty, or insane it is.   They'll give it restrictions, designated areas, leagues, and permits until the FUN is sucked right out. 

That, right there.

[The Wizard]

These are amazing.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

the zombies are different too.  The brains they clamor for are the FUN and SLACK the live folks have, as they mob around somone serious about havign a good time, but moan about how hazardous, dirty, or insane it is.  They'll give it restrictions, designated areas, leagues, and permits until the FUN is sucked right out. 

Yes, the "First Amendment Zones" aren't just there to keep protesters out of sight and out of mind of the politicians, etc, they're also there so that the media will know just where to get their photos of the funny angry primates.  Any actual awareness must be reduced to a 16 second blurb on E-Entertainment, where they can pull out the fangs and the poison sacs and make clowns of anyone who still gives a shit.

It seems to me, Richter, that the right to peaceably assemble to petition for redress of greivances is no longer sufficient.  We can't just blast away at the zombies, of course, but we CAN throw marbles all over the floor, figuratively speaking (zombies do not cope well with marbles).

But while doing so, we have to keep from becoming zombies ourselves.  We cannot let ourselves become popularized, etc (excepting fools used as diversions).  We cannot become a shrink-wrapped product for the zombie masters to sell.

So we stay small, stay under the radar, and spread our marbles whenever we aren't in the arc of the security cameras.

We will spread our filth and our unsafe practices and our badwrong sexhurt degradation, but we won't let the zombies know about it.

Weird Uber Alles,
Roger

[Reginald Ret]

Back in the days, Roger, Zombies wouldn't have been a problem.  Grandad would have been out front, making bunny rabbit hash with his government supplied Springfield, and would have nailed the first decaying shambler right between the eyes when a torso shot only slowed it.

Now though, well, we just can't HAVE people out enjoying gunplay (SAFETY!), and responsibly toting ordnance isn't the right it used to be.

the zombies are different too.  The brains they clamor for are the FUN and SLACK the live folks have, as they mob around somone serious about havign a good time, but moan about how hazardous, dirty, or insane it is.  They'll give it restrictions, designated areas, leagues, and permits until the FUN is sucked right out.  They don't decay outwardly, but inside they are dead, withered, and rotting, too desicated and mummified to reconstitute easily.  The stink is a subtlker one now.

The zombies circle, and I'm all but alone Roger.  There are other survivors, but we can't stay circled all the time.  My inclination and my path takes me out solo, and that's when they'll come for me.

There will not be a gun in every closet, the tools will be "Fisher price" safe, and the shovels will be cheap plastic or pot metal.  Grandad's old trench spike would be a godsend, the vicious, unabashed anti -human tool it is, but it's locked away too.  My own approximated version would be welcomed in my hands, but same problem.

Some might call this Survival Horror, alone, and limited arms, but we have SLACK on our sides. 
I will set the zombies gnawing each other, confuse, misdirect and sabotage. 
If I don't have the hardware rock through like a Space Marine, I can still play Loki, Coyote, or Bugs Bunny on the bastards.

Survival comedy either way.   

Typo.


RAH! all around.

[Richter]

They chose to amendments got amended with post it note solutions for dissatisfaction with their governing, so it's only to be expected that we have to seek more extreme means to try to express it.

Jackboots are soled with nails, but lined with tar, and we're going to have to pour in a LOT of acetone to get them off.

[Richter]

Back in the days, Roger, Zombies wouldn't have been a problem.  Grandad would have been out front, making bunny rabbit hash with his government supplied Springfield, and would have nailed the first decaying shambler right between the eyes when a torso shot only slowed it.

Now though, well, we just can't HAVE people out enjoying gunplay (SAFETY!), and responsibly toting ordnance isn't the right it used to be.

the zombies are different too.  The brains they clamor for are the FUN and SLACK the live folks have, as they mob around somone serious about havign a good time, but moan about how hazardous, dirty, or insane it is.  They'll give it restrictions, designated areas, leagues, and permits until the FUN is sucked right out.  They don't decay outwardly, but inside they are dead, withered, and rotting, too desicated and mummified to reconstitute easily.  The stink is a subtlker one now.

The zombies circle, and I'm all but alone Roger.  There are other survivors, but we can't stay circled all the time.  My inclination and my path takes me out solo, and that's when they'll come for me.

There will not be a gun in every closet, the tools will be "Fisher price" safe, and the shovels will be cheap plastic or pot metal.  Grandad's old trench spike would be a godsend, the vicious, unabashed anti -human tool it is, but it's locked away too.  My own approximated version would be welcomed in my hands, but same problem.

Some might call this Survival Horror, alone, and limited arms, but we have SLACK on our sides. 
I will set the zombies gnawing each other, confuse, misdirect and sabotage. 
If I don't have the hardware rock through like a Space Marine, I can still play Loki, Coyote, or Bugs Bunny on the bastards.

Survival comedy either way.   

Typo.


RAH! all around.

"EVERYONE'S AN EDITOR!"   -W. Ellis

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Jackboots are soled with nails, but lined with tar, and we're going to have to pour in a LOT of acetone to get them off.

YOINKED.

Richter is a veritable cornucopia of quotes today.

[Richter]

I'm back in my city, amidst the associated crap, with a coffee and a headache.  Ideal conditions.

Over the weekend, I was away.  I was up north hanging around with the folks.  I was taking long walks around the marshes and repair yards, messing with metal, repairing plumbing, and eating well.  I couldn't write for shit. 

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I'm back in my city, amidst the associated crap, with a coffee and a headache.  Ideal conditions.

Over the weekend, I was away.  I was up north hanging around with the folks.  I was taking long walks around the marshes and repair yards, messing with metal, repairing plumbing, and eating well.  I couldn't write for shit. 

Yep.  If I suddenly started making money at writing, I'd have to keep a job, or I wouldn't be able to write.

[Richter]

And well damnit all it WORKS.

When things are GOOD, we'd just sit around growing slowly more decadent, picky or fussy.  We'd start to whine about safety, the neighboor's addition, and the bus not dropping the kids off in front of our house because we'd have no persepective on things that matter.

Instead of becoming that uselessness, we're drawn to situations that are fucked, and feed off of it. 
Altruists? 
Crisis Junkies?

It doesn't matter since it's indistinguishable in practice.
The real horror behidn it all is that we're the good guys.  ("Forces of Light", though not to riff to heavily on the MSY)

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Instead of becoming that uselessness, we're drawn to situations that are fucked, and feed off of it. 
Altruists? 
Crisis Junkies?

In The Church™, we are called Emergentiles.

It doesn't matter since it's indistinguishable in practice.
The real horror behidn it all is that we're the good guys.  ("Forces of Light", though not to riff to heavily on the MSY)

Ho ho ho!   

[Richter]

Instead of becoming that uselessness, we're drawn to situations that are fucked, and feed off of it. 
Altruists? 
Crisis Junkies?

In The Church™, we are called Emergentiles.

THIS.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Instead of becoming that uselessness, we're drawn to situations that are fucked, and feed off of it. 
Altruists? 
Crisis Junkies?

In The Church™, we are called Emergentiles.

THIS.

Not for us the lackidasial ways of the Rewardians.