- Nick: Dora is getting cancelled this year
- Dora: Yo he venido aquí para pasar un buen rato y yo honestamente siento tan atacado ahora
This makes me want a video game about a zombie apocalypse that only affects men so it’s up to the housewives of 50s’ America to save humanity.
…saving this idea for class.
Yes, yes, yes. This needs to happen
Margaret, “Marge” to her friends, was doing the day’s chores and making quick work of it. It wasn’t even 3 pm, and already Marge knew she’d be done by then. She was carefully sorting the children’s clothes for the next day when she heard it. A noise. Something loud from the front yard.
Her husband Alan wasn’t due home from work for a few hours, and Gracie and John were still at school. Her brow furrowed, and she stood up slowly, pushing the top drawer of John’s dresser shut. Her head leaned forward anxiously as she heard the noise again. A dull thump. Marge laid down the clothes she was still holding and began walking to the front of the house.
“Whatever could all this racket be?” she muttered to herself as she swung the door open and stepped outside. Jeff Davids from up the street pronounced Marge’s name “Maahge”. Marge didn’t mind, because Jeff was one of her husband’s oldest friends, and it sounded sweet when it rolled off his tongue. He was always first to volunteer for manning the grill for the monthly neighbourhood BBQ, and that was just fine as a peach because everyone on the block knew he cooked a hell of a burger. Alan could talk the ear off anyone he met, so Marge was surprised to find Jeff in the front yard, shambling aimlessly about and wailing incoherently.
That was all weird enough, but Marge saw he had already successfully trampled over half of her prize flowers. Geraniums, tulips, and orchids lay flattened and torn apart at his feet. ”Jesus Christ almighty Jeff, get the fuck off my flowers!” The words left Marge’s mouth without thought, and her hands instinctively clapped over her mouth when she realized she’d cursed in front of company. By the time Jeff had shambled a few feet closer, Marge realized he hadn’t come over to talk about the weather.
Her mouth widened in horror as she saw the human ear dangling from his mouth, blood over half his face, and an eye drooping lazily from it’s socket. She turned sharply on her heels and ran inside, slamming the door before locking it behind her. Marge leaned heavily against the door, her heart racing in her chest, her breath hitching as she fought to understand.
Then it clicked. She knew what this was. She’d been listening to the radio. All those accounts of men turning wild. Russia had been in radio silence for 4 full days, and word from the Kremlin was that everything was under control, but who could trust those communist russkies? Word had leaked out about men with no control, no intelligence. Their eyes glazed over, their actions mimicking those of a savage beast. Marge shook her head, unable to believe it had come to her corner of suburbia; but the facts were there.
Marge made her way into the garage, where Alan kept his .307. She calmly checked to see if it were clean and loaded before she spared another thought for Jeff. There was no hope left for him. Jeff was a Zombie now; and she was going to blow his goddamn brains out.