the dogs are coming, swift and mean

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( An excerpt from Rodeo's notebook of zombie observations, handed over to Lilah along with footage from the freezers. )

( Cherry )

[Jotted down in Rodeo's Moleskine journal.]

I'm not sure when exactly I started to care about you. I think I might've been invested from the start. It was something in your eyes. Guarded, veiling secrets. Like watching pay-per-view movies through the static on a TV. I wanted you to let me in. I was begging at your door, scratching and whining. See, I keep coming back to the way your kiss tastes. You fed my cravings and still left me even hungrier than before. You let me in, you touched my hair and kissed me soft. I wanted to be good for you. I never wanted to see your eyes full of tears... But I'll never be good.

When I was real small, my mama gave me a blanket, and I loved it with all my little heart. Kept it close, wouldn't let no one near it. I loved that damn thing so much, it was always in my hands. I loved it so much that it frayed, tore, and ripped to shreds. All worn out & dirty. And when I think of you, it feels the same. I broke it, I tore it up, and there ain't no going back now.

There's always a worst case scenario, at any point in your life. Always something you reckon you could never survive. You never really think it could happen, never think things could go that wrong. But they do. It always happens, and the worst part is, you do survive it.

Why claw up from rock bottom only to fall into the same old hole?

Tonight, when I look in the mirror, I will see a dead man. I know of only four truths, and one of em is this: you are every good thing that could ever happen to me. I said things I never meant. But in that moment, I meant it. I wanted to end him. The anger I felt overwhelmed me, made me overreact like a tiny spark touching a pool of gasoline. Explode.

There's a man who drowned himself in liquor, I remember him with his blue eyes raging and his violent hands breaking everything he touched. When I look at my own face, he is all I see.

( Adelaide. )

So I had this fuckin nuts dream last night. In it I had this lil baby alligator. I was stayin in a motel, and I put it in the bath tub with a little water and a couple pieces of a burger I was eatin. Anyhow, I looked out the bathroom window and there was these bikers standing out in the parking lot, they were drunk and talking about fuckin up my bike. I yelled out the window that if they touched my bike they'd fuckin regret it. One of em, older fella with a throat tattoo, came stomping over yelling back at me so I reached under the windowsill and pulled out a big ol Mossberg 500 and shoved the barrel right in his face. I pulled the trigger and his head disappeared in a cloud of smoke, like fuckin Bewitched shit. Then I ran. I took my baby alligator and ran.

Got any dream interpreters on here tonight? Hope the secret meaning is I'm gonna find a pile of gold and fresh steaks or something.

Doing last call on a couple little wagers. Contact me here or privately to cash in. Tell me which proposition you set your shit on, give me your wager, and name your price. Pay out information is included for each bet.

A. O'Brien will have 50% gray hair by mid 2019.
Proposition: Chief of the apocalypse police has been lookin a little silvery as of late. Wager is on whether he'll be in serious need of Just For Men before the year's up. Pay out June 2019. 80% final pool, even split.

B. Days in a shuffler life cycle.
Proposition: Since I inadvertently managed to get a shuffler shut up in an empty 7-11 freezer, we got ourselves a real gamble of a wager. The geek's got no food source all all, just four walls and a locked door. Wager is on how many days before it croaks. 80% final pool, even split to those who guess the right life span to the day.

C. McRib survives the apocalypse.
Proposition: Several-year old McRib patties from the McDonalds on W 46th are still fully edible. Lord knows this shit ain't normal meat. I'll eat a whole McRib sandwich. Bets are on whether I wind up with food poisoning or not. Because of the personal risk of this proposition, pay out is 60% of final pool, even split.

D. Thinning the herd.
Proposition: Apparently, old folks have a bit of trouble surviving the winter. Just one of them things. Taking bets on how many 60+ dustbags kick the bucket before spring. Pay out comes March 20, 80% even split for exact numbers.

( Cherry )

So, it's really come to my attention that there's something we all been lacking in our re-developing society out here. We got food, shelter, and protection, sure, but I'd say we're severely lacking as far as entertainment goes. Specifically, adult entertainment. I was thinking we ought to rectify that issue, and give some folks the opportunity to live up to their true potential here in this new world.

I originally thought it oughta be a good old classic strip joint, but as is the case with unscrupulous whores, I got a feeling it'll wind up a veritable cat house. Some ladies just got one purpose in life, and I ain't here to hold 'em back from it.

I got some names in mind for the lil establishment:

The White Swallow
The Landing Strip
Daddy Issues
Hepatitis C Cups

I gotta extend a special thanks to the lady who inspired me to make a motion to start up this joint. It's clear she's been lacking her true purpose in life, considering all the meddling, pointless bullshit she's gotten herself up to lately. So sad to see a slut with no direction. Thankfully, the lady Rae Alghren will soon be able to get back to what she's best at.

Hey, little lady. I hear you're pulling through real fine, and I ain't surprised. Just wanted to ask how you was feeling and all. You ready to get out? Looks like I ain't gonna be on the mainland when you do, but I'm real glad to hear you're doing good.

--The fella who found you, if ya don't recall (you was a little out of it, understandably...)

So did anyone know they got comic books in the library? I got to perusing a couple of them, and after an hour or two of comic books, I went on and designed my own superhero. A simple lumberjack from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, sick of seeing his home and native land torn apart over polite banter and hockey, decides to take matters into his own hands. He forges a suit out of the strongest materials known to [Canadian] man. A jean jacket, jean shirt, and jean jeans complete the facade. Behold. DENIM MAN is born.

(The best part of this superhero is that in the summer, he can just turn them into cut offs.)

Ladies, have you ever noticed how hard it is to find a good man in this post-apocalyptic dystopian landscape? Well, allow me to be your matchmaker. You tell me what it is you're looking for in a man right here, and I'll tell you why you're crazy/unrealistic/oughta have a nice lil picnic with me and lower your expectations.

Alright, whatever shit you think of me, I need ya'll to read this over. Yesterday I was out looking for supplies, and I spotted this kid in the window of St. Bart's, surrounded by a fuckin' party bus of geeks. I got him out and brought him back to the library, but he ran off in the middle of the night. I searched the library for him, but the kid left the safehouse. I wanna put out an APB on him I guess. His name's Scotty. He's probably around ten, blond, pretty skinny. Says he's never been bit. Seemed to think he was fine on his own, but he ain't, so ya'll be on the lookout for him. When I found him he was near Grand Central, but I ain't sure he'll go back to that area. Still, anyone sees him, scoop him up and keep him on lockdown. He don't belong out there.

If he gets located, would appreciate it if someone let me know ASAP.

I hate this intranet shit. The thing the actual internet used to be good for was googling Asian hotties, and now that it's all down I'll never know if I ever received a reply from Sooyun Chong re: my eternal love.

Anyway, I'm heading out for a few days. Going on a trip with a hot bitch, heading out to Las Vegas to pick up an illegal kidney (long story.) Don't believe whatever she tells you 'bout hunting or whatever, I'm a vegan.

Rodeo Williams, Esq.

Anyone know a place where a fella can get his hands on a guitar around these parts? Been doing some wandering, but I haven't seen any worth snagging so far. Probably a music shop somewhere, but I just ain't run across one yet.

Damn, really got you lot riled up last night, didn't I? Thanks, folks. I'll be here all apocalypse.

So all day today I been wondering why the hell people use handkerchiefs. It's considered the upper-class version of a tissue, but let's be honest it's really just a dirty booger rag that you reuse. It seems to me that there's nothing "High-Class" about blowing your nose on a cloth napkin and then folding it up and cherishing it for a day or two.

Now I know I'm new around here, so some of y'all might be wondering why I ain't introducing myself, talking about the state of this world or where I been all this time... Well shame on you. We're discussing rags of mucus. How could you make this all about me when we should really be centered on the dirty snot captivity blanket?

I hate when people call them hankies. That's about as good as pizza with ice cream on it.

I wrote a haiku about it:

Blow your snots in it
Then put it in your pocket
Dirty handkerchief

If you use handkerchiefs just realize, you're not upper-class, you're just an idiot who carries around a miniature snot soaked towel.

Good day,
Rodeo Williams, Esq.

who could tell the dogs from the men?
i've seen their faces and i know where they've been.
( i know i'm with them, but i ain't like them. )