We have this little tradition at my alma mater. It’s kind of a big deal. Like movie material. Seriously, they’re making a movie from it, peep it here.
It’s called humans versus zombies, and for a week the campus turns into a wartorn, post-apocalyptic universe where students try and survive…you guessed it…a zombie outbreak. Though it took until my senior year to succumb to the pleas of friends, I finally caved. It was incredible fun; if you can imagine attending lectures like life is normal, until class lets out and you find yourself battling your way through the very real threat of twenty sprinting students all hyped up on redbull
Each semester, we would live in a post-apocalyptic campus where going to class was flirting with the grim reaper. better times have not been spent.
But i cant go today without mentioning, of course, fat tuesday, AKA Mardi Gras. There’s probably more alcohol splashed on the streets in New Orleans than drunk in the rest of the country.
More importantly, theres this sick wall plastering the city (see left). And of everything that one could write (many inspirational sayings), I could think of nothing other than to “survive a zombie apocalypse.”
Have a brilliant Mardi Gras,
get some beads by honest means,
no need for a wardrobe malfunction:
a Tara Reid reduction of clothing.
But for the love of all things scaly,
please, for the sake of the oceans,
think of the schools
think of the caviars
think of the poor salmon who will never
swim upstream to be devoured by grizzlies,
and don’t worry about the loaves or fishy laws come lent.
Of course, todays post would not be complete without a nod to the most extreme of Bear Grylls situations: HvZ. So before I die…
When I die and the devil collects,
I want to go in a blaze
of orange darts and sock
grenades flying haphazardly overhead;
remembered not for my sins
against fellow comrades-
the brethren infected early,
who now rabidly wander
looped roads with voracious hunger-
but as a stunner of the living dead,
separating kerchiefs from their heads.
And when I die and the time
comes to hand over my lifeblood-
a six-digit slip of soul-
I will proudly liberate the bandana from my leg
baptize it to my forehead and be born again
as a predator of men with toy guns.