You know, this zombie apocolypse this better hurry up and get here, or otherwise I'm gonna be too old to enjoy it. I've already decided that the whole "bug out" situation is not for me -- if I tried to survive by running around the woods trying to get by on only what I could carry, I'd be dead of starvation or exhaustion within a week. Mebbe there was a time that I was enough of a hoss to pull that off, but, while I am not quite a flacid blob of goo, the combined aspects of age, cigars, and sitting too much in front of this 'puter have sorta softened me up. So the new plan in to sit on my porch with one of my bottles of water, munching on some freeze-dried food, and snipe 'em off. Head shot; eat a doughnut; head shot; get some coffee; etc. -- you get the idea. Mebbe have a buddy over -- "hey john, you 'member that time" BLAM! "that you and I " BLAM! "poured that honey all over . . " BLAM! -- once more, you get the idea. But I'm starting to feel a little silly sitting here with all my zombie killing equipment, and not one damn zombie in sight. I dunno, mebbe if they DO eat brains, they figure the pickin's are a little slim around my house, but hell, one one think I at least would be tempting as a snack. I'm not getting any younger. Eyesight's going, hearings going, blood pressure is high . . . and I'm starting to develop that old grit "I've got boots older than you" attitude. Bring on the damn zombies already. Hell, at this point I'd settle for flying monkeys.