April 1, 2013

The Zombiepocolypse is coming.

Last night I sat down at my laptop for my nightly porn ritual. Before I choked the chicken, I went onto the message board for single studs in Washington. It's shit, but it's local. Usually I get some emails from the gays wanting to get with me. Yeah, I know I'm sex on a stick, but my cock just doesn't swing that way. I'm on the lookout for a hot MILF. That's right, I'm total cougar bait. I need a woman having a mid-life crisis. One that's ready to rock the rafters, ride me hard and get put away wet.

So, enough bullshit. I don't do the pay sites to get off. Free shit with lots of amatuer babes is fine with me. I like a little roll to hang onto when I'm ridin' 'em from behind. So, I'm sitting there, cruising for some big jugs and a hundred pop ups come on the screen. You know, everything from barely legal to ad's for old farts in need of viagra. I don't turn em off. Some of the best sites on the net for jerking off come from those suckers.

About the time I'd lubed up and gotten rid of twenty or increase your cock size ad's (Wolves don't need that shit. We're hung like motherfucking stallions) I ran across one that made me squeeze my cock hard and puckered my butthole.

Zombies. That's right assholes. Zombies. Gut eating, blood thirsty, brain dead meatheads. Leg draggers with eyes. Fucking siren warning, flashing biohazard, scare the shit out of you eat your dick in your sleep monsters.

Instead of slappin' the salami around, I spent the next six hours drinking redbull and espresso. Yeah, I know, you're thinkin' I'm a total fuckin' pussy, but the shit's good. Know what? I get my beans imported too. Fuck this grocery store shit. That crap is stale. I like the shade grown, all organic, Bolivian brew. Take that corporate assholes!

So anyhow, I'm not just a total lunatic. The CDC has a whole page dedicated to this shit. If the government says it's real, you know it is. They NEVER lie. Hell, they even provided links to all sorts of tactical gear and shit. Knives with blades longer than my schlong. Emergency response training too. The way I figure it, there's two things at the top of my list.

1. Buy a helmet. DONE. Fucking munchers ain't gettin my brains.

2. Recruit. NOT GOING WELL.

First, I slid up on my boy Embry. If I can get him, then maybe I can get Jake. He's all wrapped up in Bella. Knocked her up and it's worse to phase with him now than it was before they started dating. It's all Bella... Bella... Bella... Baby... Baby... Baby...

Christ, he doesn't even think about sex anymore, which totally blows because she's gonna be one hot MILF. 'Sides, he oughta wanna protect them both from the zombies. Hospitals won't be safe. It'll be worse than a damn vamp crypt when they smell their blood. Free gut buffet, served up toasty warm.

NOTE TO SELF: DO RECON AT FORKS GENERAL. SEE IF THEY HAVE VIRUS INFO. CHECK THE BASEMENT. THAT'S WHERE THEY HID SHIT IN KINGDOM HOSPITAL.

ALSO, SWIPE KIM'S STEPHEN KING BOOKS FOR RESEARCH.

The way I figure, we can deliver the baby. Emily knows how to stitch shit up and it can't be much harder than catching a football. Hell, bet I can do it with my eyes closed.

So yeah, Embry is down, but those two little pieces of wolf bait, Collin and Brady overheard us. They're all about smashing heads so we'll make them our bitches. They can create their own perimeter. I'll give em the tools, but fuck if I'm gonna bunk up with those pricks. They snore like motherfucking buzzsaws.

No luck with Sam. Tried to get him on our side but he's all responsible and shit these days. Paul's too busy banging Rachel to pay much attention and Jared's still pissed I tried to get with Kim a couple months ago. Not my fault she walks around the house naked or that Quil Junior is primed and ready to go at all times.

They'll all come around eventually, but until then, like I told Embry...

We're on our own.

I found this journal stuffed away in my mom's underwear drawer. The first couple of pages had some kind chick bucket list on it. I burned those. Freaked me out. Something about a boy toy and body shots in Vegas. I don't wanna know.

If you're reading this, it probably means I'm dead or else I've been zombified. If that's the case, don't underestimate the importance of the Double Tap. I'm one tough son of a bitch and I'd make a badass zombie.

This is my record of events. Time to prep for doomsday, fuckers!

oooOOOooo

Beer. Check. Attack dog. Check. Hormel Chili. Check.

Sitting back in his ratty armchair, Quil belched loudly, flipped on the t.v., then stuffed one hand down his pants- Al Bundy style- to watch the Doomsday Preppers marathon. The shelves of his bedroom were full of pirated DVD's of zombie flicks. The DVR was getting full of reality show television, edging out his secret addiction to the original 90210 series, but it was worth it. The way he looked at it, this was research. Life saving research.

Thunder echoed in the distance. Quil wondered where the hell Embry had gone to. Fucker shoulda been here by now, he thought. It had been hard enough to convince Jake that they both needed the night off from patrols. Selling this shit wasn't easy.

"You'd think he'd wanna protect that kid of his," Quil muttered to nobody. "Fuckin' ridiculous." One little mention of ordering an apocalyptic delivery kit and the ass freaked out. "Christ, they're made by Gerber!" Didn't matter. There was already one coming thanks to ebay. Best to be prepared. Even if the zombie infection didn't happen before Bella popped out Jake II, sooner or later one of the imprints would need to drop a pup. Judging from the pack mind, there'd be a full litter coming. Bitches in heat and spring mating season. All everyone was doing was fucking. There wasn't a damn tree out in the woods that didn't reek like werewolf jizz.

Quil yanked his journal off the end table and scribbled down a note on his to do list. PUT A BUN IN AN OVEN. "Enough with chokin' it myself, Killer," he said, reaching down to pat the fluffball dog on the head. "Ain't no time to waste sperm. When shit gets real, the world is gonna need some bad ass motherfuckers and the Ateara's are on the top of that food chain, my friend."

The mutt was the latest addition to his plans. Attack dog. The furball didn't look intimidating and that was the whole point. Bitch could be trained and he was just the wolf to do it. Any encroachers around his perimeter would think they could sneak past her, but the second they tried to enter his blood circle, they'd get an ass full of teeth. He'd already taken the bitch over to Doin' it Up Doggie Style for a bath and a bunch of bows. The Bichon Frisee looked like a princess lap dog with her pink polka dot ribbon, but the devil was in her eyes. He could smell it... literally.

"Tomorrow you're gonna get your first training session, girl. Sneak attack. When the creepers come, we gotta be ready."

The rain was coming down in sheets, screwing up the satellite feed from the roof. Quil cursed the cable company for not running lines out to the reservation. Suddenly, a flash of lightning tore up the sky and the screen went blue with the ominous message, SIGNAL LOST. "Son of a bitch!" Throwing back the last of the chili and downing his beer, Quil let out a loud belch and started stripping. When the dog cocked her fluffy head at him, he just shrugged. "I get buck-ass naked a lot. Get used to it."

Shoving the Killer out the door, he shifted and then picked the squealing mutt up with his teeth and beat feet into Forks. There was one place he could go that had cable. Damn if he was gonna miss the Doomsday Preppers marathon because Mother Nature was on the rag.

Half an hour later he was scrunched up on Charlie Swan's sofa next to Bella, who was watching her dad's house for the weekend. She'd been less than thrilled when he burst through the door dripping and naked with a squirming puffball danging from his mouth and commandeered the remote, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

While Killer ran laps around the living room, Quil sucked up the fact that pregnancy smelled like ass. Bella kept dropping farts that reeked worse than moldy cheese. What the hell is with that? he wondered, mentally adding it to his ever growing list of pregnant chick research. The way he figured it, if he was gonna deliver a baby, he'd have to know as much about this shit as he could. Someone had to do it.

"Jesus, Quil!" Bella screamed, sounding totally disgusted. "What the hell did you feed that dog?"

Quil's eyes never left the television set. Some douchebag was talking about how to build a sun oven. Guy might be a dick, but when the worst happened, he'd be able to eat. "Probably got into the can of Hormel. Had extra beans in it." Smells better than you, he added in his head. Served her right for patting Killer on the head and offering her some pooch treats.

"This isn't doggie daycamp," he'd informed her. "I'm turning this mutt into a stone cold bitch with a thirst for blood." Traitor hopped up on Bella's lap and curled up like a damn queen.

About the time preggers took off for her fourth piss break in a half hour, he started bunging the stash of skittles she had hidden behind the couch cushion at the dog. Hopping her up on sugar seemed like a good way to bring out the inner animal in her.

"Then explain to my why she's got rainbow colored poop, Quil?"

"uhh..." Quil finally unglued his eyes from the tv and sprang into action. If Jake came home and saw his wife cleaning up dog crap while he sat on the couch he'd be stuck doing double patrols for a month. That would put a serious crimp in his prepping plans. "Probably the vibe in here. You know, you and Jake all unicorn happy and rainbow shit all the time. I'll clean it up."

While he busied himself scrubbing the carpet under Bella's watchful eye, Quil decided to make some mental notes. She was absorbed in a book, smiling to herself and patting her fat belly. A copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting was in her hands. "Whatcha readin' about, Bells?"

When the corners of her lips turned up in a smile, he should have known something nasty was coming. Bella Black might look all sweet and innocent on the outside but was an evil bitch bent on revenge when she wanted to be.

"Mucus plugs."

One hand fell smack into the rainbow pile of dog shit. "Sorry I asked," he stated, hoping that was the end of it. Instead, she kept going, reading directly out of the damn paperback.

"As the woman gets closer to labor, the mucus plug discharges as the cervix begins to dilate. The plug may come out as a plug, a lump, or simply as increased vaginal discharge over several days. The mucus may be tinged with brown, pink, or red blood, which is why the event is sometimes referred to as 'bloody show'. Loss of the mucus plug..."

Just when Quil was ready to hurl from the Hormel/Skittle pile of dog crap and the images of bloody snot pouring out of a woman's vajajay, the best and worst thing to ever happen came busting through the door.

Jacob took one look at his pregnant wife, the curly haired bitch turning circles on the carpet and the hicks wielding sub-machine guns on Doomsday Preppers, then went ballistic. To top it off, the scent of Killer's little present hit him like a freight train.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" he roared. In two seconds flat, he'd shoved Quil and the dog out the patio door.

Knowing an ass kicking was in his future for sure, Quil didn't stop running or look back once the whole way home.

Plopping back down in his shitty recliner, Quil pulled out the light reading his lightning fast reflexes had managed to snag off the coffee table when Jake wasn't looking. Hopefully Bella wouldn't realize it was missing. For the next five hours, he read the book front to back, making a mental note to build an extra room for whoever he impregnated.