How I Feel About Santa Claus After Seven Blue Moons.

I don't know if y'all are aware of this but it's December.  You know what happens in December?  Yea you do.

Work Sponsored Christmas Parties.

So, Danielle is a Waitress and her Work Christmas party was this evening (Read: Open Bar).  

Now I myself have not been "a drinker" for quite some time.  I have some serious family issues and most of it stems from people deciding that it's ok to get lit and then hit everyone else.  Something about self-esteem or some other new age psycho babble bullshit.  I partied but I did it long ago and not to any legendary extent.  I mostly would just get shitty, kiss a guy on the face, slap him and laugh like a jack-ass.  

Yea, life of the bleeding party this one was.  

Anyways,  stuff makes me feel like shit so it's just better this way really.  

Two sad things though, one being that while I am a large dude I'm also a huge light weight when it comes to alcohol.  The other is that while I can be funny when I'm sober I'm hilarious when I'm drunk.  I know everyone says the same thing but I ain't no goddamn son of a bitch. 

You better think about it, baby.

Open bar means free beers.  I drank me some beers.  I developed a deep love for Blue Moon this evening.  

Oh Blue Moon, you are so goddamn tasty, what with your Orange slice and your smooth texture...

Ahem.

So on the way home we begin to discuss Santa Claus.  I don't know why.  I was inebriated after all.  Now Danielle's cousin Nicole was with us and I don't think she has ever had the pleasure of my idiot ass when i'm topped off.  Danielle starts to make fun of her ghetto ass Christmas tree which causes Nikki so retort with some jibber jabbber about Santa and Mrs. Claus statues standing on opposite ends of the tree.  You know, like they are fighting.  For some reason I decide to start in on the freaky sex life that they would have to have.  Dude spends every day with elves.  Think about it.  You know them elves be getting freaky.  Like midgets all hopped up on Goof Balls.  This leads into why the French don't they have any kids.  Is he sterile?  Is she?  Does he actually hate children but he's stuck doing this job like some kind of penance for sins past?  Why would she stay with him if he can't give her children?  I'll tell you why.  He's goddamn Santa Claus.  How is any other guy gonna compete with that?  Jesus could i'm sure but I don't think he and Santa are on good terms anyways.  Seriously though, what the hell would you talk about on a date?  

"Oh, i'm recently divorced.  My husband?  Oh, he's Santa Claus.  I don't want that to drag you down though.  I like that you're an Accountant".

Game Over you fat bastard.

Maybe he's like Zeus and just knocks up chicks all over the world every year on Christmas.  Think about it.  They're both old.  They both have a penchant for serious Bearding.  They're both generous with gifts. 

I bet they shop at the same stores.  They're simpatico.

Sandworms man.  You know I hate 'em.

Meh, as long as he brings me an XBox and a Northface jacket I don't give a shit what he does.  Or who.

Jingle all the way, you son of a bitch...and to all a good night.

World's Edge: Unkillable Monster by M & K

Here sits a Diner.  A Diner full of the Dead.  The air is heavy, the place silent.  

The front door, desperately in need of oil, creaks open.  

A man walks in.  His head is down, shaggy Black hair covers his eyes.  He is dressed in a white button up shirt and black slacks.  His tie is Crimson with a Windsor Knot.  A small silver chain connects it to his shirt, the pin on the chain is the Shape of a Snowflake. 

If anyone ever asked him his favorite season, he would say Winter.  Sadly, that question will remain unasked.  

He steps gingerly over the corpses on the floor, sighing at the sight of them.  He thinks to himself about the wasted potential surrounding him.  He surveys the scene, taking an object from each body.  Wallets, watches, earrings, etc.  He moves to the booth closest to the door and sits down.  He then lays the objects on the table in an orderly line.  He begins to touch each in turn.  Feeling the weight of the wristwatch in his hands, leafing through the wallets, he breaths in the smell of their former owners.  His green eyes roll back into his head as it begins to loll from side to side.  He breathes in deep and holds it.  He begins to tap his fingers rhythmically on the table as he exhales.  

He begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing forearms covered in blue and black markings.  The markings are names.  Names of those that he has met along his journey from its beginning.  They are the names of those he has taken from this world.

"You can come out now", his voice like a whisper, "they've gone from this place."

The air in front of him begins to shiver.  It begins to take shape.  The form of a man appears.  He is old, with long gray hair pulled into a ponytail and a mustache.

"Barlowe.  It has been a long time my friend".

"I am not your friend, Bayne.  Friend is not a word I use to define myself in any capacity.  Woe onto you if you truly feel that you mean more to me than the puddle you are sitting in.  Also, you reek of fear."  Barlowe snorted.  "I find that to be delicious."

Bayne shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.  

"Ahem, I've come from on high to bring you a message.  He has use for you again.  He said that your time of wandering is done.  He needs you eliminate an obstacle from his path."

"He wants me to handle Nazareph.  The one He Christened as the Righteous Frost.  The one He Handpicked to fill the spot left by Lucius when he lost his edge and later his head.  Correct?" Barlowe said, already knowing the answer.

Bayne nodded his head.  He looked around the Diner.  The sight of the dead made him uncomfortable.  Barlowe could see it in his mannerisms.  A twitch here, a shake there.  He was chewing his lip in nervous anticipation of getting to once again fade into the ether.  

Barlowe wanted to see him sweat. 

He closed his eyes and lifted his hands to his face.  He opened his mouth and caught the small blue flame that escaped.  He caressed the flame in his hands, like a small pet.  It began to divide.  He threw the flames into the air.

Bayne watched as the flickering blue lights drifted through the diner, settling down on the corpses strewn on the floor.

The bodies began to stir.

"Please...." he said.

Barlowe smiled at him.  His teeth like daggers in his mouth only they were too long.  His lips began to bleed, the blood ran down his chin and began to pool on the table.

"No.  Please...I only came to bring the message..." Bayne cried out as the bodies moved to surround him.  They twitched horribly, almost as if they were in horrible pain.  Their eyes were solid white, their mouths hung open, teeth gnashing in the open holes.  

"Goddamn you...do the job you son of a bitch.  Do the job and then go away forever!" Bayne screamed as a hand groped for his shoulder.  

He snapped his fingers and disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

Barlowe looked unto the faces of the dead.  They stood motionless, awaiting his command.

With a flick of his wrist they crumpled to the ground.  

He sighed again, a sigh of pure annoyance.  

He watched as four new names appeared on the inside of his forearm.  He said goodbye to his new friends and assured them that they would never be forgotten.  They belonged to him now.  The time would come when he would call on them again.  Before the journey was ended he would call on them all.

They were all one inside of him.

He stood up, fixed his shirt sleeves and walked to the door.  He stepped outside into the rain.  He looked up into the sky and spoke.

"I'll do this deed.  Sadly, the cost will be greater than even You can imagine."

He began to walk down the street towards a dark alleyway.

The Zombie Discussion: Maybe She's Right but I'd Never Want to Say "I Told You So"

I am terrified of Zombies.  

If you know me this is no secret.  Not even a little one.  I will shut the Front Door Down when it comes to Zombies. 

Seriously.

Why?

When I was but a young lad and should have had a childhood filled with things like Disney and Dr. Seuss, my caregivers decided to forgo my well-being for their own needs and fed me a steady diet of R-Rated Sex, Violence and Horror.

Sounds shitty right?  

Actually, on the overall, I don't really care.  Hell, it probably attributes in some way to the person that I am today.  That guy is alright in my book.  

To clarify, I have no book. 

Now, I don't follow that philosophy with my own child.  Danielle and I agree that The 'Dozer doesn't need to watch that at this age (Read: 2 1/2).  When she's older, hell yea, I'm gonna teach her the awesomeness of George Romero, James Gunn, Peter Jackson, Sam Raimi, Neil Marshall, Dario Argento, etc. but not until shes like, 4 or so.

Sheesh, I am not Nazi Germany over here.  I believe in fun too.

Back to business.  I watched tons of horrible things in my childhood.  You were watching The Grinch and I was watching Killer Klowns From Outer Space.  Can you dig it?  I SAID, CAN YOU DIG IT?  

I knew you could.

As I write this, we are watching My Little Pony.  This serves to embarrass me as well as drive home my point.  

Ahem.  My fear started when I was around 5 years of age I would guess.  My caregivers had decided to throw us in the car and head out to the local Drive-In (Read: Breese, IL).  What's a Drive-In you ask?  Why, it's a huge projection screen out in the fresh air that you watch from your car.  They pipe the sound in through individual speakers or through your car radio.  Odd right?  I know...

Man, Drive-Ins were totally awesome.  

It was a Saturday Double Feature Night.  First was Beetlejuice, one of my favorite films to this day and in my honest opinion Michael Keaton's finest work, followed by Return of the Living Dead.  

Bingo.  Game Over.  Stick a fork in me.  I'm Done.

I had never, to this point, been so goddamn scared of something that I completely shut down.  Never.  I've seen some terrible shit mind you, like the entire catalog from the old Full Moon Entertainment production house.  This though...this warped me. 

Beetlejuice was awesome.  The bit where he turns from stair bannister to homicidal snake still messes with me but I digress.  It always leaves me feeling a little off, even to this day.  Movie did it's job as far as I'm concerned.

Return of the Living Dead.  Man...I didn't watch another zombie movie for twenty years.  I forced myself to go see the Dawn of the Dead remake in the theater so I would have to break my fear.  After that, I loved everything zombie...except Return of the Living Dead.  I even bought the special glow-in-the-dark DVD that came out a few years back so I could give it another go.  I got five minutes in (maybe) and wigged out.  

Any idea what it's like to be crippled by somethings that's not even real?  It's a Goddamn Bitch that's for sure.

Why does it mess with me so much?  It's because they talk.  Simple as that.  They talk and plan and scheme and give me the Heebie Jeebies something fierce.  Also, they don't die (Read: Redundant).  Destroying the brain don't stop 'em.  They just want to eat you.  Specifically, they want to eat your head...I can't even type that they want to eat your brains...ugh...goddamit....

Gives me the chills.

So, Danielle and I watch The Walking Dead every week and I'm currently reading World War Z which on occasion brings up the subject of the Zombie Apocalypse.  We were out doing some Christmas Shopping last night and someone on the radio commented on something about idiot people and a zombie apocalypse.  So we start talking.  She doesn't get how I can be so tripped out by this but I do.  Years ago I had an article featured on a website that no longer exists which laid out my survival plans in detail.  Now, while it was nowhere near the planning of the Handbooks you can find on the subject now, it was huge for me.  

See?  I've been a shitty writer for like, a decade.  Ha!

Fact is, I don't know what I would do.  I truly don't.  I'd like to think that I could hold my shit together and help to re-establish humanity and all that hero trite garbage but in reality, I just want to save the asses of those that I love and cherish.  If I saw someone I loved go down, I think I'd snap.  Probably not to the point of giving up but I think I'd dump out my Marble Sack and not get all of them back in.  I like to think I'd be more Rick than Shane but you just never know.  

So much would depend on when and where it all started.  It really would.  I can only hope that I would not be at work.  Sorry gang.  As much fun as it would be to fortify that joint and just hold up until the Armed Forces or Jesus arrived, I would want to be with my family. 

I like to think that I'd be able to shut off the emotion section on my brain and just start dispatching of those monsters all around us but I'm pretty sure that is some type of conditioned response...unless you're just broken to begin with.   That's what I think our collective problem would be.  I don't think that, at least initially, people could do what needed to be done.  You'd have people hiding Zombie bites and stashing corpses.  Messed up shit.  Like, barn full of Zombies messed up.  

Lord above, how could you ever think that would be a sane idea?  Come the Funk on, man.

It would be chaos.  Straight up.  All of these people that think they have a leg up because they wrote a book or made some fan film or played a ton of FPS games...garbage.  Just garbage.  You're no more prepared than anyone else.  Deal with it, champ.  Sorry.  

Ask yourself how you would handle it? I know, it's a near impossibility but still.  Ask.  Realistically.  Do you ever walk into a building and immediately notice a structural weakness that would get you Iced?  No?

Perhaps you should start.

While Danielle thinks that I'm nuts for being scared of this stuff, how far off are we from it?  Whats stopping some Umbrella Corp. type shit from happening?

Nothing.  Everything.  Who knows.  Not me that's for sure.

Let's Make a Deal Right Now.  Me and You.

Yes, You.

This goes down, you see me in danger, help a ninja out.  I'll do the same.

Just keep hold of your damn self.