Justin and the Amazing Technicolored Turncoat
After taking somewhat of a “bender”, Justin was back with a sort of “can do” attitude. Unfortunately company policy was “no you can’t”.
A new persona, named Justin Cendiary, had arisen from Justin’s vast library of alter egos, and he had the perfect mix of level headedness and complete disregard for personal safety that makes for a great (if only temporary) zombie hunter. But he had one fatal flaw. Literally, fatale. A zombie bite he received two weeks earlier while dealing with a particularly hard headed zombie at a construction site. His partner in grime, Holly Hellyeah, had returned to the west coast after the excursion because of some lame excuse about an undead posse that was “ow’ta gitter.”
The wound all the while had been festering and had grown several blisters that required sherpas to investigate. Our insurance policy covers the cost of going to the free health clinic at the Blue Springs’ Unitarian Church, with a small processing fee. A volunteer doctor saw Justin, but when he went to checkout the bite he vomited, passed out for a second, awoke to vomit, tore out his own eyeballs, hollowed out his own eye balls, filled them with dynamite, placed them back in their sockets, and blew up his head.
So we were required to use some good ol’ home remedies based mostly on hearsay and old wives tales. Once the cows were all laying down in the field, we’d spotted a few ladybugs, and we’d sent our cat to steal the breath of a new born babe, we were ready to get cracking.
First we applied the cleaning solvent Klean Handz™ directly to the sore. We’ve been using the stuff for years to clean up zombie gunk and we’re pretty sure it’s actually just aloe. The company that makes it claims it to be proprietary knowledge so we may never know what it actually is, but by the way Justin screamed like a sissy, it might have some bleach in it, or maybe Tabasco sauce.
Next we cooked up a buttload of chicken. Consuming flesh in a social environment is a healthy activity that suppresses unwanted cannibal urges. Chicken dinners can be a slippery slope though. There are those out there that find that after they get home from work they just need a piece of chicken to take the edge off. Before you know it they’re waking up in the morning, requiring “a little bit of fir off the chicken that bit them”. In the wink of an eye (plus the maybe the time it takes to do your taxes) you too can become hooked on chick. There is help though. Somewhere. Not here.
After Justin Cendiary’s fat face had been stuffed like a pig we sat him down on the Jim Rage Elite Zombie Hunting Couch of Inner Relaxation (or JREZHCIR) and had him listen to The Captain and Tennille, because that sucks. Getting bit by a zombie is a cardinal offense at Jim Rage, punishable by Captain and Tennille.