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Ivanka Trump’s endorsement of The King in Yellow play violates ethic rules

Ivanka Trump, used her position as senior advisor to the president to endorse an unproduced play called The King in Yellow on Twitter, a play whose contents are said to have made Marquis de Sade advocates blush. She captioned the photo, “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.”

What is The King in Yellow?

Originating in France in the mid 1800s, The King in Yellow was condemned not just for its content but for the effect it had on its audience. It was seized by the French government, but translated veersions found their way to London and ultimately across the pond.

The last copy of the play was thought to have been burned by the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice in the 1910s. Anthony Comstock, head of the Society deemed, the play “a threat to the very fabric that holds society together. It isn’t merely titillating or seditious. It is funnel by which madness passes into the mind. It is a grimoire dictated straight from Lucifer’s lips. Every poor soul who dared to gaze upon it is either invalid or dead.”

How Ivanka Trump acquire this cursed work?

Last Monday a stranger knocked on the North Portico of the White House. There was no breach in the fence along the Pennsylvania Avenue. No sensors tripped on the North Lawn. No signs of a high altitude aircraft or a parachute. The stranger was simply there, waiting patiently, in tattered yellow robes with ribbons swaying against the breeze.

“You, sir, should unmask.” A Secret Service agent shouted.

White House staffers say the stranger appeared to be wearing a blank porcelain mask and that he was unfazed when the Secret Service shined their laser sights into his eyes.

“Lay your disguise aside.” The agent repeated.

“I wear no mask.” The stranger said.

White House staffers claim the frayed hem of the Stranger’s robes unfurled and outstretched like tentacles. It wrapped itself around the Service members pistols and plucked the weapons from their grasp. The stranger stepped over the threshold and requested an audience with President Trump. He said he was an emissary for “Hastur the unspeakable, the King in Yellow, conqueror of Carcosa where twin suns sink into Lake Hali, where many moons circle the sky, and black stars rise.”

White House staffers say throughout the entire encounter the stranger held a copy of the play, a gift for the President from those dwelling in a neighboring plane of existence.

Ivanka is behaving strangely  

Of course President Trump didn’t read the play, but his daughter did and she’s been tweeting about it ever since.

“I just finished The King in Yellow and the shadows of my thoughts are stretching across the Rose Garden, crawling up the hedges and stepping onto lawn #mindfulness”

“I have seen the place where the Hyades cluster points, the skeleton of the civilization, and the one who calls the ashes his home. #meditation”

“They call this the Blue Room, but I’m seeing the Yellow Sign everywhere I look. On the carpet. The curtains. Even the chairs. #wellness”

Ivanka’s social media activity illustrates how The King in Yellow is already affecting her mental state.

Can anything be done for Ivanka?

Seeking some kind of treatment White House staffers scoured the Library of Congress for information on The King in Yellow.

In 1895, author Robert W. Chambers collected stories from those with the misfortune of having read the play. One such victim was Hildred Castaigne who said, “I pray God will curse the writer, as the writer has cursed the world with this beautiful, stupendous creation, terrible in its simplicity, irresistible in its truth—a world which now trembles before the King in Yellow.”

While White House staffers combed through accounts from survivors Ivanka shared craft projects on Instagram. Tissue collages, macaroni art, and glitter. All made to look like the Yellow Sign, an angular glyph like a triskelion or something out of The Lesser Key of Solomon.

Ivanka’s tweets culminated with a link to a pdf of the play itself. That’s when the hashtags

#CourtOfTheDragon, #CarcosanKraken, and #YellowSign, started trending.

Now there’s a mass contagion of madness, despite social media platforms attempts to suppress the document. The CDC has joined in the effort to trace the origins of the play to try to understand what they’re dealing with without exposing themselves to it.

What is The King in Yellow about?

Little is known about the play itself since so few readers live long enough to recount it. The details psychiatric experts compiled say its similar to Edgar Allen Poe’s Masque of the Red Death.

In it, Prince Prospero lords over a kingdom in the grip of a pandemic called the “red death.” So named because it makes its victims bleed from their pores until there’s nothing left. While the people cry out for leadership, Prospero bunkers in his stronghold with a 1,000 nobles, leaving everyone beyond his walls to fend for themselves.

The extended quarantine gives Prospero a case of cabin fever. Loathing this disruption to his lifestyle, he wants his kingdom to get back to business as usual. He decides to rally the nobles by throwing a masquerade ball. The nobles are all too happy to feed Prospero’s ego, by embracing the opulence for which they’ve grown accustomed.

The ball is success until a figure in a red funeral shroud parts the dancefloor. The figure wears a mask of blood slathered flesh, a visage made to resemble the plague riddled corpses lining the castle walls. Prospero is so incensed by this reminder of his failures that he calls the guards to hang the party crasher.

When the party crasher is unmasked its revealed there’s nothing underneath. He is the red death incarnate and in that moment all the revelers drop dead.

What is Carcosa?

Another aspect of the play psychiatric experts are trying to understand is its location. Carcosa is a scorched hellscape first documented by Ambrose Bierce in his story An Inhabitant of Carcosa. Bierce would later admit he got the location from a nightmare he had as a child.

Bierce dreamt he stood before a alien citadel with monolithic battlements, skyscraping spires, and a crocked keep, a structure so tall and wide it stretched beyond his field of vision.

When he entered young Bierce found the remains of a cafeteria. The kitchen stunk of rotten meat, moldy cheese, and ammonia. The steam trays were teaming with maggots. The stovetops were teaming with pans, each filled with the grey hollowed out husks of human organs. Deflated entrails spiraled into donut swirls. Strips of skin were laid like bacon. Boney fingers were arranged like sausages. Kidneys were covered in shredded cheese and garnished with minced parsley.

The faded sign above the buffet read OMELETTE BAR.

There was a long dining table, the length of a redwood. Swarms of flies hovered over the spread. Beyond that was the exit. It lead to a hilly plain where the grass had been baked golden brown. The remains of ashen pyres dotted the landscape. There were craterous remains of dries ponds, flags marked with the Yellow sign, and sand traps.

Bierce recalled thinking he was standing in the remains of a golf course and then he woke up.

Psychiatric experts are debating whether Bierce’s dream was a vision of something that happened on some distant world or if it was a premonition of something destined to happen here.

Did Ivanka Break the law?

The King in Yellow is spreading across social media thanks to Ivanka Trump who may have violated an ethics rule by sharing it. The United States Office of Government Ethics is responsible for preventing conflicts of interest with the executive branch. West Wing employees, like Ivanka, are forbidden from endorsing an organization (be it a corporation, a non-profit, or an alien order.

A spokesperson for Ivanka defended her passion for the play. “Ivanka was showing personal support for a work once condemned now revered as a timeless treasure.”

“Timeless treasure” is one way to describe a play that causes readers to gouge their eyes out with ice cream scoopers. “Literary contagion” is how the CDC is describing it and right now they are failing to manage the spread.

Readers are acting out scenes in the middle of flaming buildings, four lane highways, and shark infested waters. Experts fear the carnage is going to get worse.

On Wednesday, the President stacked printed copies of the play (he has yet to read it) on the Resolute Desk, giving the accursed work his personal thumbs up. Because of course he did.

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Trump stages photo op holding the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis

On June 1, the National Guard fired flash bang grenades, rubber bullets, and tear gas at peaceful protestors outside the White House. Then President Trump walked to the Neolithic rune on the edge of Lafayette Square known as the Shrine of Kandar. The president’s entourage crossed monolithic stones, burial mounds, and biomechanical architecture. Photographers corralled Trump and the first lady beneath the shadow of the crooked skeletal steeple for a photo op.

Wind howled through the macabre masonry. Stacks of sun-bleached femurs creaked like old rocking chairs. The brickwork of skulls spat dust through empty eye sockets.

Ivanka Trump set her $1,540 handbag on an altar made of human clavicles, slid her hand into an armored gauntlet, and exclaimed, “Klaatu Barada Nikto!” She withdrew a volume bound in flesh and penned in blood: the Ore Magnus Necronomicon Ex-Mortis, also known as the book of the dead.

Ivanka handed the tome of forbidden knowledge to her father. Trump held the book so the cameras could see the anguished face on its cover.

Written by the Dark Ones in an age proceeding man, the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis contains bizarre burial rites, funerary incantations, and demon resurrection passages. When spoken, its verses cut a gash through time and space. A seeping wound for Hell to bleed through. The book has been used by tyrants the world over to summon deadites; extra-dimensional soldiers whose sole purpose is to defile humanity.

A reporter dared ask Trump if that was his personal Necronomicon.

Trump said, “It’s a Necronomicon.

Defense Secretary Mark Esper says he didn’t know about the assault on the protesters or the blasphemous outing. “I thought we were going to inspect a bathroom that had been damaged during the demonstrations. I had no clue we’d be trouncing across the courtyard of the damned. Do you think I was happy to hear a chorus of the lost souls cry out, ‘Join us,’ as we rounded the block?”

Former Vice President Joe Biden was vocally outraged. “The president held up that ancient Sumerian text, beside his mortified wife, like some sort of twisted play on American Gothic. I just wish he opened it once in a while instead of brandishing it. If he opened it, he could have learned how infinitesimal he was in the shadow of the Dark Ones, whose long black shrouds blanket everything.”

With their focus on herding protestors, White House officials had no plan for what the president might do once he arrived at the Shrine of Kandar. So Trump posed with the Necronomicon, placing the severed portrait over his own face, giving it bunny ears, and jabbing its eyes. By all accounts Trump disrespect both the text and the site itself.

Hierophant Zezron, head sorcerous of the Knights of Sumeria and keeper of the shrine, had some choice words for the president. “I can’t believe what my eyes have seen. Here’s a man who can’t even read Sumerian, who never listened to Professor Raymond Knowby’s translations, who’s shed no blood into the Kandarian Cauldron, wielding our sacred text like a nuclear button. He used violence to disperse demonstrators and then called for peace while propping up a chaos artifact he had no business touching.”

Hierophant Zezron says she’s already communed with the corpses that line the Shrine and they are equally upset to have their bones used as the backdrop for a photo op.

Mere hours after the event the White House had cut a victory video together. Set to a demonic chorus it showed the president saluting riot police, leaning on the standing stones, and thumping the Necronomicon.

The video abruptly cut before the face on the cover came to life and bit the president’s finger down to the bone.

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Continue reading Trump stages photo op holding the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis

Wisconsin Supreme Court Votes to Invite Vampires into all Dwellings

In a stunning reversal of Governor Tony Evers’s sundown curfew the Wisconsin Supreme Court issued an open invitation to all vampires into every dwelling within State lines. This includes private property, secure facilities, nightclubs, schools, and hospitals.

In vampire lore, ancient magics prevent the undead from entering these spaces uninvited. Once invited vampires are free to come and go until ownership changes. With this ruling, the only way for Wisconsin to rescind its invitation would be to secede from the union.

The effect was immediate

It wasn’t long before photos of crowded blood banks showed up on social media. Bloodsuckers took selfies from the ceiling as receptionists cowered beneath them. Some vampires donned stolen stethoscopes. Others wore brown stained scrubs.

The vampires instructed their familiars to pass around bartending gear. The medical staff was given one instruction. “You’ll need this to live.”

The technicians were immediately overwhelmed, mixing blood cells in cocktail shakers, pouring plasma from liquor spouts, stirring platelets with bitters droppers. Worse still, the vampires swarmed them with esoteric drink orders.

“Barkeep! I’ll have an Ottoman Sultan.”
“I’d like a Judas sunrise, easy on the serum.”
“One red dragon, for me and my friend.”

Once served the vampires clinked their glasses and sang, “Should Old Acquaintance be forgot, and never thought upon…”

Kaylee Suther was doing her rounds when a flurry of red capes descended onto her wing. All of sudden she was cramped behind a gurney mixing drinks. “This is what survival looks like. We watched them flip a colleague, stick him with a spigot, and drain him like a kegger. Every phlebotomist on the floor became a mixologist, like that.” She snapped.

Vampires are expanding their hunting grounds

Emboldened by Wisconsin’s crucifix shortages, vampires are appearing in the suburbs.

One vampire, in a long velvet gown, was seen etching glyphs into neighborhood watch signs. Another, in a corset with a keyhole neckline, was spotted collecting satellite dishes. And another, in a lace ensemble with sleeves that hung to the ground, was seen conducting a swarm of fireflies through the night sky.

Doorbell footage shows vampires scouting homes for defenses, unchaining pets, and ultimately hurtling doors into the trees.

Jason Campbell describes one such encounter. “I ducked behind the kitchen island when I heard the door tear off the frame. There was nothing in the reflection on the oven, but when I peeked around the corner there was vampire at the entryway. His foot was hovering over the threshold like he was testing the water. When he stepped inside he announced his presence, ‘I’ve invited myself in.’ He spoke with a put-on eastern European accent. You know when people sound like hicks, but they’re not from the south? He tented his satin gloves with childlike glee, ‘I’ve waited so long to say that.’

That’s when my father sprayed him with the AR-15. Groin, abdomen, chest, and face. Dad nailed every zone. The vampire fell flat on his back with a splat. I crawled over to check the body, but before I could the vampire was up again, pounding his fist into my father’s face. The vampire spat the bullets into his palm and one by one set them into my father’s gums. My mother and I were helpless to do anything, but listen. After an agonizingly long series of whelps and gurgles the vampire said, ‘Now you look like you’re happy to see me.’

The vampire bared his fangs and bit into my father. He took his time slurping, like he was imbibing a fine wine. He corked the bite mark and took a moment to swish the blood around in his cheeks. After gurgling it down he asked my father, ‘Were you born in 73? That was such a delicious vintage.’”

Fortunately for Jason the vampire drank its fill after draining both his parents. Other communities weren’t so lucky. Just ask Felix Afton the lone survivor of the Woodland Hills massacre.

Vampires are targeting wealthy neighborhoods

Felix Afton describes the night vampires took over his planned community.

“They rammed the gate with a jet black party bus. They blasted Toccata and Fugue in D minor for all the neighborhood to hear. Then they floated up to the windowsills and dove right in. I survived by spending the night inside my tanning bed. I knew those UV rays would keep me safe.”

The next morning Felix Afton found his neighbors’ entrails strung between pillars like a Viking blood eagle, their severed heads lining picket fences, and their bodies impaled on flag poles.

“The worst part is that party bus is still there, blaring Bach. It looks like these leech people are in for the long haul.”

Reports of vampire squatters are coming in from Whitefish Bay, Fox Point, and Elm Grove.

According to Mr. Afton the Woodland Hills vampires have begun draping fumigation tents over their windows, converting panic rooms into mausoleums, and importing coffins.

“Sometimes I see the Vampires walking survivors on leashes. I saw the Hutchens out there in their underwear with ball gags in their mouths. They had bitemarks up and down their necks. The vampires took turns glamouring them, making the Hutchens do tricks for their amusement.”

Mr. Afton has since invested in a fumigation tent, corpse blue body paint, and a pair of prosthetic fangs.

“Last night I saw them burning the Woodland Hills welcome sign in the middle of the street. The next day I went to see what had taken its place. The plaque read ‘Welcome to Hellmouth Heights.’”

Mr. Afton says he plans on moving once the housing market rebounds.

Wisconsin is a test bed for how other states will handle the vampire epidemic

The Fieldview Meat Packing plant is under new management. Lord Nicolai Chrysanthus has cut the first and second shifts and replaced all the nighttime staff. He’s broken contracts with meat suppliers. And according to the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency he’s left a mountain of viable product on the backlot to rot. Surveillance satellites show trucks unloading the plant’s newest meat source. It’s people. Of course it’s people.

Wisconsin’s restaurants are reopening and people are on every menu. Food trucks are serving blood battered limbs and even ice cream vans have a new assortment of toppings.

Disheartened by the carnage Governor Tony Evers said, “It’s like a Transylvanian blood orgy out there. I tried to keep people safe, but Justices Corpsewood, Paganmilk, Thornpierce, and Veintide voted me down. I can only recommend that people avoid crowded spaces, especially ones where virgins might congregate.”

Meanwhile Minnesota is planting garlic along the state lines. Michigan is digging a mote of holy water. Iowa is lining their edge with cheval de frise embattlements. And Illinois is lighting their border on fire.

More on the story as it develops.

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Continue reading Wisconsin Supreme Court Votes to Invite Vampires into all Dwellings

Health Officials Quarantined Until White House can Determine Which One is the Devil

Monday’s Bizarre New Conference

This Monday President Trump held a press conference on his coronavirus response efforts. The event came to an abrupt end when he spoke in tongues, bent over backwards, and spider walked through the Rose Garden.

The first sign something was off came when the president was asked to address test shortages.

“As far as Americans getting a test they should all be able to get a test. They might not be thrilled about the dark passenger behind their eyelids, but they’ll get a test.”

The President was asked if there was a double standard, since White House Staffers could get tested, while normal Americans could not.

“If we didn’t get the tests you’d be up here complaining. I understand you very well. Better than you understand yourself. We children of Belial hear whispers in the ether and yours come through quiet clear. As meek as your internal monologue is, buddy, the angel of lawlessness hears it.”

Reporters were struck by how incoherent and yet articulate the president had become.

Trump was then pressed to elaborate on a tweet accusing former President Obama of the “Biggest political crime in American history.”

“What crime do you believe Obama of committing and do you believe the justice department should prosecute him?”

“Obamagate. You know what the crime is. The crime is obvious to everybody. He sat at Empusa’s table and failed to make a blood offering. Now it’s on us to pick up his tab.”

From there the President’s statements got weirder.

Weijia Jiang of CBS News asked why Trump was bragging about the amount of testing in the US. “Why is this a global competition to you if every day Americans are still losing their lives and we’re still seeing more cases every day?”

The president flared his nostrils. “That’s a nasty question. Don’t ask me that question, ask Mesopotamia that question and when you ask them that question I’ll bet they’ll tell you all about the wrath of Erra. The tower of Babel was battered in blood long before it fell. Believe me.”

“Excuse me? The wrath of who?”

“Can you blame a death god for getting bored when he sees dust upon his swords?”

“What swords? What are talking about?”

President Trump bit his lip. “When his tall shadow stands over your pillow and you feel his weight upon your chest, you’ll know.”

Weijia Jiang’s demeanor shifted. “Mr. President? Do you need us to flag one of the doctors down for you?”

That’s when the president’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his face went flush. “The dragon has risen. You failed to see the scales for the land. We are but worms writhing on hungry tongues. Soon the hydra will swallow us all!”

The press core heard an audible crack and then the president bent over backward and spat blood across the grass.

A Discovery of Witches in the West Wing

This Thursday, White House Press Secretary Kayleigh McEnany offered an explanation for the bizarre conference. The president was being puppeteered by Satan himself.

“We have reason to believe the devil has been squatting in the Emergency Operations Center. Last Tuesday military personnel noticed a black mold growing in the Reagan tunnels. A closer examination revealed a walled off room where something had been nesting.”

Kayleigh McEnany clicked a remote. A dilapidated room came over the projection screen .

Mold arched over the ceiling like the vaulted roof of a gothic cathedral. The cinderblocks were exposed and eroded down to sand. The floor was littered with paint chips.

Each piece of furniture was an antique, likely pilfered from the White House itself. Everything was arranged in a circle and every surface was covered in candles. The wax runoff streaked to the floor like icicles in a frozen waterfall.

She clicked the remote.

“Military personal found a credenza fashioned into a makeshift altar. On it they found a poppet, more commonly referred to as a ‘spell doll.’ The doll was made from taglocks. These are personal items, which allowed the devil to use sympathetic magick on the president. The items included: a pair of platinum cufflinks, a lock of long blonde hair, a red 60-inch tie, and a custom sharpie pen.”

She clicked the remote.

“Not far from the altar was a cheval mirror laid flat on the floor. White House Spiritual Advisers believe the mirror was used for scrying. Scrying is a form of crystalmancy conjurers use to see victims from afar. We believe the devil used this to surveil the president.”

CBS news correspondent Weijia Jiang raised her hand. “How are you certain this was the work of the devil and not some other agent of evil?”

Kayleigh McEnany clicked the remote again but this time a video began.

The point of view came from a thermal imaging camera. It followed a set of hoofprints from the circle to the wall. There was a strange heat signature on one of the bricks, like a hand with long talons. The camera operator pressed it and a curious breeze whistled into the room. Then the wall spun open.

The camera operator stepped through the door, lost his footing, and fell back on the floor. His boots cast pebbles into the darkness before him. They rattled all the way down, echoing from an impossible depth. Then there was a faint wind tunnel hum with an undercurrent of whispering.

The camera operator tilted the lens. A set of glowing eyes came over the viewfinder. A horned figure, with a mangy collar, was holding onto the wall of the well. It gnashed its teeth, snorted, and charged at the camera.

“We tracked the hoofprints to a grimoire in the White House library. There we found an account of the Order of the Second Circle, a secret society comprised of our founding fathers. Apparently they held orgies in a lair beneath the Vermeil Room. Benjamin Franklin used sex magick to summon the devil and the devil has been down there ever since.”

Kayleigh McEnany clicked the remote. There was a picture of the president boarding Air Force One with toilet paper stuck to his shoe. “The devil has been using black magick to make the President look foolish and arrogant. Many of you may remember that President Trump was once a Pro-Choice Democrat who rebuked David Duke for being a bigot. Then the devil got his hooks him. The president started slurring his speech and muttering about subterranean cities made of bone. But not to fret.”

McEnany’s last slide featured the health officials responsible for guiding the country through the COVID-19 pandemic.

“We believe we’ve isolated the devil to this group of individuals.”

There’s an M. Night Shyamalan Situation in the Situation Room

In a sudden show of transparency reporters were presented with a live feed of the Situation Room. Health officials were seated around the conference table. They appeared to be scrutinizing one another.

Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, appeared to be building a barrier out of folders. Dr. Robert Redfield, director of the Centers for Disease Control, gripped his name plate like a weapon. And Dr. Stephen Hahn, commissioner of the Food and Drug Administration, was praying.

The lights flickered and the officials cowered behind their rolling chairs. I asked Mick Mulvaney, the White House Chief of Staff, if the devil had some sort of power over electromagnetic fields.

Mulvaney shook his head. “Oh no. We’re the ones cutting the lights.”

“Why?”

“So the devil has an opportunity to kill one of the health officials.”

“How would that help?”

“We believe that narrowing the suspects is the best way to isolate the target. They call it ‘the devil’s meal.’ We got the idea from that movie M. Night Shyamalan produced, but everyone thinks he directed.”

“Won’t sacrificing health officials have a broader impact on the American public?”

“That’s the wages of sin, I guess.”

The feed flickered and a face filled the screen. It had black sunken eyes. The bridge of its nose was an earthquake of frown lines. Its cheeks were high and sharp, and its fangs protruded from a Cheshire cat smile.

Mulvaney reached for the light switch. The feed flickered and the face disappeared.

And just like that there was a body on the conference table, arms and legs spread open, head twisted all the way around. All the health officials ran for a door that wouldn’t budge.

Mulvaney tapped the monitor. “See. It’s working.”

The Situation is Still Ongoing

At the time of this writing the devil is taking his time finishing his meal. The health officials are struggling, blaming one another for the bodies accumulating on the table. Mick Mulvaney keeps his hand on the light switch, ready to make another sacrifice.

As for the president, he’s in isolation while the White House waits for a team of exorcists to fly in from the Vatican.

But what about the American public, who are dealing with a sudden wave of beasts rising from chasms in the streets? Well. Whether we like it or not we’re all we’ve got.

This story will update as it develops.

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3D Horns sculpt by patrakeevasveta
Photoshop by Drew Chial

Continue reading Health Officials Quarantined Until White House can Determine Which One is the Devil

This Year’s Purge Postponed Due to COVID-19

In an effort to limit the spread of the coronavirus, President Trump has postponed this year’s Purge. Health experts urged for a cancelation, but the president was concerned with how that would impact the markets. The Purge, the one night a year when all crime is legal, has been an boom for the economy.

With many Americans out of work the delay will be another blow to their pocket books. Unemployment rates are projected to average 15% this quarter. And this could be the worst economic collapse since the New Founding Fathers came into power in 2014.

President Trump, who ran on a platform of extending the Purge from 12 to 24 hours, faces backlash from his constituents.

Is the Purge an Essential Service?

Back in 2014 some economists were hesitant to embrace the Purge. Critics said it was a social experiment that would create more debt than profit. They harkened it to Detroit’s Devil’s Night, a time for arson, but very little earnings.

Years later the Purge has become an American tradition. Purgers wear customs, decorate vans, and sport designer firearms by Dolce and Gabbana, Gucci, and Versace. They use apps to hone in on homeless populations. And they spend good money on an experience that will last them a lifetime.

Rural communities hold human sacrifice lotteries. Malls have been converted into battle arenas and casinos stage Russian roulette tournaments. Contrary to what economists had worried, the Purge is big business.

People Are Unhappy

This March there will be no Emergency Broadcast warnings, none of the familiar sirens, and no blood battered streets come morning. Although, we will have culled equals numbers from the population.

That’s according to Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases. “The NFFA won’t need to perform ceremonial sacrifices of political opponents. Rich families won’t need to violently euthanize the terminally ill for fun, and hit squads won’t need to bolster numbers in the inner city. We don’t need a holiday to kill the poor when a pandemic will do it for us.”

Many Americans don’t think Fauci’s math adds up, like Harlon Jackson, human taxidermist.

Jackson says, “We need the Purge now more than ever. With the dwindling economy and the surge in homelessness we need hunters to reduce their numbers.”

Many Americans have already invested in Purge accessories, like hardcore purger Tristin MacMillan.

“I sunk my allowance into a purge mask that uses facial recognition to track my expression. It flashes ASCII emoticons across an LED matrix. When I have it on I look like a DJ from a hell dimension. Now what am I supposed to do, wear it to the grocery store? Lame.”

But the Purge isn’t just about the pageantry. For many it’s an outlet for their darker impulses, like Karen Lauder, soccer mother.

“This bitch in the Walgreens parking lot was giving me shit for not wearing a mask. So I tracked her license plate, scouted her apartment, and loosened up her fire escape. I got this jagged dagger and I was going to use it to cut out her heart, but now we’ve got to stay six feet apart. It’s bullshit”

Then there’s Kaley Nelson, a Highschool senior, who just enjoys the celebration. She says in the last five years she’s never missed a Purge. “I used to make fun of families cowering at home on lock down. Now I’m one of them.”

The Purge Is Good for the Economy Year Round

Walk into any Home Depot and look to your left. You’ll find electric fencing, tear gas sprinklers, and automated turrets. Look to your right and you’ll see polycarbonate windows, zinc roofing sheets, and armored doors. The warehouse out back is full of fire suppression systems, backup generators, and panic bunkers.

Sharper Image sells squadrons of surveillance drones and armies of weaponized Roombas. Apple sells proprietary security consoles, infrared trackers, and biometric locks. Target sells Class 4 weapons at the checkout counter, and even Amazon sells doorbell cameras.

Ever since the first Purge Home security has become America’s number one industry.

The Murder Industry Will Need a Bailout Too

Without sales from Purge apparel companies like Killer Threads, Bleed Wear, and Hot Topic risk going out of business.

Purge viewing suites in low income communities will sit empty. Landlords may be forced to convert them into affordable housing.

Also at risk are Slaughter Hostels which employ a fleet of laborers every year: from victim scouts to private security. From weapons safety experts to disk jockeys. Not to mention the team of sterilizers who come in after the fact.

Those are just the Corporate Interests

Freelancers, like Thorsten Osouf, might be the hardest hit by the closure. Osouf is an artisan blacksmith who specializes in weapons that are only street legal for 12 hours a year.

“I forge ballistic knives that function like silent guns, wolverine claws that cut through Kevlar, and great swords you can wield from your car.

Osouf scrolled through his Instagram feed. “My clients tag my weapons alongside their victims. You know that grim reaper viral video, the one in the homeless encampment? That was one of my scythes he was wielding.”

Osouf walked us through his forge, noting the dust on the anvils. “Frankly, the only people who want swords outside of the purge are nerds.”

How the Purge Effects the Market

Since the cancelation economists have shifted their concerns to the Purge black market. So much cash trades hands in such a short time it could be listed on the Dow Jones Industrial.

Heroin has a shelf life of three years from the time of manufacturing. Most of it is sold at 7PM on March 21st when wealthy users stockpile for years to come.

Street surgeons work one night a year harvesting organs. A single hitman might take on as many as ten clients. Kidnappers make a fortune on flash ransoms.

Then there are the pop-up services. Bulldozer renters charge premium rates to purgers who want to breach their neighbor’s security measures. Glass bottomed helicopters chaperon spectators. And food trucks sell human meat to the curious.

Without this dark stream of revenue flowing into the economy we’ll be looking at lower earnings across every industry.

But There is Hope

In a Tweet this Saturday President Trump promised to reopen the country with “a week-long purge that will put these COVID numbers to shame!”

He urged Americans to start working on their costumes, painting their vans, and stocking up on hollow points, “Because this one’s going to be special people. This will be a Purge of excellence.”

When the markets opened on Monday stocks surged at the thought of a 168 hour Purge. This could be the shot in the arm the murder industry needs. Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America a nation reborn.

May God be with you all.

•••

Continue reading This Year’s Purge Postponed Due to COVID-19

The President Downplays Spread of Headcrabs throughout the White House

This Friday, President Donald Trump met with 20 House Republicans to discuss the annexation of New York by extra dimensional beings known as the Combine Empire. The President spoke for over an hour without noticing that every lawmaker had headcrabs on their skulls.

Headcrabs are weaponized parasites from the Combine Overworld. They look like ticks with tough leather hides. On average they grow to be the size of a pillow. They have stubby legs, but they’re capable of running down rabbits, killing coyotes, and leaping over an elephants.

Headcrabs get their name by hijacking a host’s nervous system and controlling their motor functions. Their mouth works like a beartrap clamping onto the victim’s neck. Their talons work like climbing axes digging into collarbones. Their beak works like a grappling hook embedding itself in the cranium. Once installed the headcrab pilots the host, like a zombie, turning them into a soldier for the enemy.

Most Americans have staved off this threat by wearing motor cycle helmets, spiked pickelhaubes, and coolie hats. The average American has a steel tipped umbrella for when they go to the grocery store, a homemade spear for when they got to work, and Viking horns for when they go to the beach.

Headcrabs in the Whitehouse

Meanwhile the Trump administration has taken none of these precautions.

Raymond Werner, public health advisor at the CDC, said, “We told the president to launch thermal imagining drones, position motion sensitive turrets on the White House lawn, and install parasitoid screeners at every entrance. He said he’d take it under advisement.

Days later we find the oval office overrun with zombified minions and the president is sitting there with a shit eating grin. I asked why he didn’t notice these barnacles on everyone’s skulls and he said, ‘I’m too busy running the country.’ Christ, these things are the size of a jack-o-lanterns. You mean to the secret service didn’t spot a single one?”

Recently Stephen Miller, policy adviser to the president, and wife Katie Miller, the vice president’s press secretary, came down with a case of headcrabs.

When asked how he hadn’t noticed the president said, “Look at Stephen Miller’s face and tell you’d notice?”

Raymond Werner was baffled. “Ivanka Trump’s personal assistant had a parasite the size of a Thanksgiving turkey on her noggin and no one said a thing.”

A spokesperson for Ivanka said, “Ivanka had noticed, but assumed her assistant was having a bad hair day and didn’t want to be rude.”

3D Headcrab model by Elizabeth Edwards

The President wants to Reopen Despite Combine Invasion

The Governor of New Mexico lifted the state’s quarantine despite the serge of portal storms and the ominous green cloud over the Black Mesa Research Facility. Headcrab infections have skyrocketed ever since. The parasites have congregated in movie theaters, nail salons, and gyms.

Raymond Werner warned, “Headcrabs are pack hunters. They sniff out an easy quarry. You can go to church on Sunday, but you won’t be able to pray them away.”

The Combine Empire have taken advantage of the devastation. They’ve installed a suppression field around New Mexico. The field remotely neuters anyone caught within its wavelength by blocking key protein chains. The invaders don’t want us breeding.

Nevertheless the President applauded New Mexico on Twitter. “Congratulations to the great state of New Mexico on very good, and very smart, reopening. If only we could liberate the rest of the country so quickly. #HeadCrabHoax.”

The CDC is Very Worried

Raymond Werner is less optimistic than the President. “We heard the same denialism from Eastern European leaders. They claimed their countries had headcrab immunity. It wasn’t long before they were overrun with parasitic passengers of their own. After that Combine forces erected a dark energy reactor so tall it blotted out the sun. They call it the Citadel. Meanwhile we’re being told to go back to the amusement parks and strip malls, but If we’re not careful we’ll have a Citadel on every corner.”

The Combine in Washington

Since Friday the portal storms in Washington D.C. have only gotten worse. Headcrabs have filled the national mall and affixed themselves to the Lincoln memorial. They’ve swept through the supreme court, the house of reperceives, and the senate. Yes, the infected continue to show up for floor proceedings, if only to groan. Despite these developments the President is moving to wind down the Headcrab Response Task Force.

“Americans need to shrug off these parasites and get back to work.”

One Question Still Remains

How did the president go into room full of headcrabs and not get infected himself?

Raymond Werner was hesitant to speculate. “I think it has something to do with his hair. It could be the synthetic copolymer or the aerosol spray that holds it together, but the headcrabs wanted nothing to do with it. Figuring out why might be the key to saving the rest of humanity.”

•••

3D Headcrab model by Elizabeth Edwards
Photoshop by Drew Chial

Continue reading The President Downplays Spread of Headcrabs throughout the White House

Why People are Still Going Out Despite the Giant Spiders

Remember last April when the news was filled with stories of murder hornets? These two-inch insects were annihilating bee colonies, tearing heads off drones and collecting thoraxes to feed to their young. Beekeepers treated violated hives like crime scenes and agricultural biologists were on the hunt for the culprits.

After all the hardships 2020 had thrown at us we thought killer hornets was as bad as things could get. How wrong we were. The hornets were but harbingers for that which lay deeper within the earth.

Six Months Later

Winter is coming. Ducks are flying south only to be ensnared. Building frames are teeming with drooping white sacs and skylines are filling with webbing. A curtain of silk stretches from the Eiffel Tower to the hotels below. The roman Colosseum has been fashioned into a nest and the Leaning Tower of Pisa is hanging by a thread.

“It’s like a goddamn Roland Emmerich movie out there.” Said General Duke Granger, head of the Arachnid Warfare branch of the U.S. Military. “There’s netting stretching from the Washington monument to the national mall. And the whole thing is dotted with the kibbles and bits of tourists.”

170 ton spiders, as long blue whales, tower over cities. With redwood length legs, concrete piercing claws, and truck sized fangs. The spiders are proving disruptive.

The first appearance was in the financial district of San Francisco. A giant spider stomped down California Street, stepped into a sinkhole and caused a gas main explosion. The shockwave rippled through the 555 California St Tower. Senior members of Goldman Sachs halted their meeting to check on the commotion.

Marshall Kirkland, an investment banker, was on the other side of the building. He said it was hard to hear what was happening. “First came the car alarms, then the sirens, then the emergency tone, and just underneath there was this terrible slurping sound.”

It turns out the slurping was the spider sucking a victim’s brain from his cranium.

No End in Sight

In a frank press conference General Granger expressed pessimism about our chances. “The spiders don’t bleed. It’s like their pelts are made out of cast iron wool. We’re pumping them full of rounds faster than Northrop Grumman can make them. We have RPGs cross firing all over the city, and our heavy artillery cannons aren’t making a dent. We’ve crashed drones into their eyes. We’ve tried everything from napalm to citrus. They keep right on webbing soldiers up.”

President Trump has ordered General Granger to stay the course. “We’re winning bigly against the spiders. I think we’d win faster if we someone found a way to make spray bottles bigger. Spiders hate those things.”

There are still no concrete answers where the spiders came from. General Granger has heard all of the theories. “Those Berkley climatologists think we did this. Like the spiders were lying in wait until it got too hot. The eggheads at Mount Weather think it’s a spontaneous mutation. Like the spiders took a dip in a nuclear waste repository. Me? I think someone boasted she could weave better than the gods and they punished her by turning her into a spider. I think these things we’re facing are her children.”

The Threat is Getting Worse

The spiders have venom so acidic it burns through tanks in seconds. One spider destroyed a troop of British Challengers with a single burst. The medical personal who approached the ruins were exposed to neurotoxins. They died before they could administer the antivenom.

Spiders have discarded hollow husks in every city, draping kills over powerlines, bus stops, and playgrounds. They’ve turned bridges into hanging traps, shattered skyscrapers, and rendered entire residential districts uninhabitable.

Worse still is how widespread the spiders have gotten. They’ve trounced through suburban streets, leaving tornado-like destruction in their wake. They’ve worked their way to the heartland, picking fights with irrigation equipment. And satellites have just spotted a blanket of webs covering the Appalachian Mountains.

At the time of this writing America lacks the infostructure to calculate the damage much less tally the dead, but there are estimates that put it in the billions.

People Are Still Going About their Business

The National Guard has ordered everyone to remain inside, but in our travels for this article we spotted large groups of young people. They were tending gardens, stacking woodpiles, and hanging out in garages. All places spiders like to go.

We asked why these twenty-somethings weren’t that concerned and this is what they told us.

“The spiders are big, but they’re slow. They’re mainly webbing up old people. I’m young and spry. Why shouldn’t I be able to play volley ball?”

“Yeah yeah yeah. I know. Their silk slices through flesh like razor wire, but I have twenty-twenty vision. I should be able to go for a run.”

“So there’s a few egg sacs in my evergreens. That’s not going to prevent me from barbequing. Look those things are barely moving.”

“I didn’t have arachnophobia before. Why should I start now?”

“The news makes it sound like there’s a Stephen King story on every street, but I don’t know anyone who’s been cocooned. Do you?”
“Quite a few people, yes.”
“Anyone famous?”
“Bill Pullman.”
“See, I have no idea who that is.”

“We all have to die sometime whether it’s from a meteor or a giant spider. There’s nothing we can really do about it.”

General Granger disagreed with this line of reasoning. “If you see a huge ass invertebrate on the horizon you can drive in the other direction.” He ran a hand down his forehead. “Unless you’re so bereft you’ve resolved yourself to a slow painful death.”

This was General Granger’s final interview before he was stung and killed by a murder hornet. We thank him for his service.

•••

Continue reading Why People are Still Going Out Despite the Giant Spiders

Why Everyone is Stockpiling Amulets

The COVID-19 pandemic has thrown all our lives out of balance. 30 million Americans have applied for unemployment while essential workers find themselves working twice as hard.

Madame Monisha is a spectral officer for Lakeside Village, a planned community in White Bear Lake Minnesota. While the community is young Madame Monisha says there are hauntings abound.

“Most houses have infestations that tenants just operate around. Some Americans live hard lives. They leave nasty stains when they’re gone. The more time families shelter in place the more those ghosts are going to get in their face.”

Meet the Johnsons

Connie Johnson claims she had just such an encounter. “We were in the dining room assembling a jigsaw of the statue of liberty. Joe did his best to keep the children interested, telling them how the statue was built. Oliver’s attention shifted between the pieces and his phone. Grace was engaged, but her arms were dotted with goosebumps. She went to the hall closet and came back with a down jacket.

This was late April and her brother was already wearing shorts. I asked Grace what was the matter, but she kept her gaze fixed at something over my shoulder. I went to feel her forehead, but before I could reach I felt a cold spot. That’s when Grace’s eyes widened at something on the lawn. I turned to see and that’s when I saw it in the reflection.

Four grey fingers were threaded through Grace’s hair. They were nails as long as talons hooked around her chin. The hand came from a black lace sleeve. The blouse was tattered, covered in dirt. Its owner was leaning over Grace’s shoulder whispering into her ear. I could just make out her face in the glass. Her eyes were sunken, her cheeks were gaunt and her nasal cavity was exposed. When she saw me looking the face smiled wide enough to show her gums.

Grace’s eyes rolled back. She reached out with her fingers spread and slammed her palm down on the table. The jigsaw pieces exploded, shooting to the ceiling, and when they came back down. The puzzle was fully assembled.”

It all happened so fast. I don’t know if Joe would’ve believed it if Oliver hadn’t caught a picture of that terrible face. That’s when we reached out to our spectral officer.”

Madame Monisha took her time examining the photo. Connie admitted to feeling antsy.

“Should we join hands to tell her she isn’t welcome?”

Madame Monisha grabbed Connie by the shoulders. “You get down to the Blue Rose and you buy as many amulets as you can fit into your station wagon. Bring luggage bags if you have to.”

National Amulet Shortage

It turns out Madame Monisha was not the only one advising families to stock up. Ever since Americans were urged to shelter in place people have been panic buying charms. The nation’s New Age bookstores are reporting a shortage and social media is cluttered with images of empty endcaps.

Metaphysical supply chains are struggling to meet the demand. According to one warehouse manager the stock is there, but the enchanters who bless the stones are self-isolating. “Good luck getting them out of their commune any time soon.”

The Benefits of Stockpiling Talismans

After the initial scare Connie Johnson heeded her spectral officer’s advice.

“I hung amulets around the entryway, from the ceiling to the carpet. If a ghost wants in they’ll have to pass through a laser grid first.”

Connie toured her security measures. “As for any apparitions in the attic? I dusted the children’s mobiles, pried off the animals, and put amulets in their place. Joe hung them from the rafters and positioned a halogen lamp. Now they’re like gun turrets of healing energy.”

Connie and her husband went all in. They replaced their smoke detectors with sacred relics. Then they set artifacts in light fixtures, in the freezer, and behind all the mirrors.

“The hardest amulet to install was in the toilet bowl. You have to screw it into the ceramic without springing a leak. Do it right, and well, that’s one less place to worry about spirit.”

How Many Amulets Should Families Get?

Madame Monisha doesn’t think Connie has gone far enough. “My insulation is dotted with so many stones they’re like ice cream toppings.”

She recommends having one amulet for every square foot.

“Don’t forget about bookshelves. They are hotbeds of paranormal activity. Every bookshelf has some tome of forbidden knowledge gathering dust. You might not remember where you got it: a cobweb stricken castle, an abandoned institute, or a little free library. It doesn’t matter. The book is your problem now. Burn it out on the grill or shove it down the garbage disposal, it’ll show up right back on the shelf. That’s why I recommend an amulet between every other spine.”

Are there Amulet Alternatives?

Madame Monisha likes gemstones. “If you can find them grab the darkest gems you can. Black tourmaline, obsidian, onyx. The darker the stone the greater the pull. They’re like bug zappers for spirits.”

Madame Monisha’s neighbor Dale Spencer couldn’t help chiming in on our conversation.

He’s skeptical about the value of such rare minerals. “I don’t go in for all them fancy crystals. I make my talismans out of charcoal. It’s dark enough and it works like a dehumidifier for negative energy.”

How Ghosts get into Your Home

It’s not just supernatural stains that has Madame Monisha worried about her community.

“Essential workers are more likely to be exposed to COVID-19, be without insurance, and die from complications. With meat packing plants ordered to stay open, there’s a high probability ghosts are getting in through your groceries. Then there’s Amazon. You always hear about their dangerous conditions. We like retail therapy, but don’t be surprised when your new Insta Pot starts bleeding.”

Madame Monisha showcased the measures she takes to keep her home pure. She ran a carbide tipped drill through her peephole and set a starfire diamond in its place. “It’s like a doorbell cam for the ghost dimension. It lets spectral solicitors know they’re not welcome.”

Responsible collectors bring antiques to licensed curse lifters. Social distancing makes that impossible. While Zoom allows freelancers to conduct business online curse lifters need to feel items for cold spots. With the quarantine in place people buying online do so at their own peril.

Madame Monisha urges people to pause their orders. “The Internet is a swirling vortex of damned souls. Read the terms and conditions. They know. Most impulse items are contaminated with sin. For our anniversary my husband ordered a grandfather clock. I had to burn weapons grade sage before letting that thing in.”

But Why are there so Many Ghosts?

Madame Monisha suspects St. Peter and his staff are struggling to keep up with the influx of the recently deceased. “The pearly gates are like the unemployment phone trees here on earth. They weren’t built to handle the bandwidth. Some souls get tired of waiting and just say, ‘Fuck it, I’m going back.’

They say spirits who linger have unfinished business, but everyone has unfinished business. Whether it’s tracking down your murderer or finding out what happens on Lost. Nobody likes loose ends.”

At the time of this writing amulets have surpassed oil for the first time in the history of the Dow Jones Industrial.

•••

Continue reading Why Everyone is Stockpiling Amulets

The Challenges of Working Through the Zombie Apocalypse

If you’re reading this you’ve survived the rage virus pandemic up to now. Who’d have thought a strain of rabies would give human beings cannibalistic cravings? Now the infection is spreading at a sprinter’s pace, like a bite based relay race. Whether you’re a virologist calling it sixth extinction or an evangelical calling it the end times, you have to admit it’s pretty fucked up.

At least the symptoms are obvious: a spiderweb of black veins spreads across the face. The irises turn bloodred, and foam pools around the mouth. Fever boils brain. Then the body collapses and goes cold. When it gets back up it does the robot down the block.

Smart people are going into hibernation. Doomsday preppers are lowering venison into fallout shelters. The wealthy elite are wheeling whine into panic rooms, and a modern day Noah is leading animals into his fleet of underground buses. Suburbanites are filling bathtubs with clean water, nailing down their windows, installing gun turrets on their roofs, and laying landmines in their lawns.

We’ve been told to shelter in place and while it can be lonely the outside world is not a place you want to be. Trust me.

I’ve watched the infected form human pyramids to get at survivors. I’ve seen them scale commercial buildings like fire ants. Their team synergy is a sight to see and these leaning towers of zombies are hungry. They’re gnawing their way up the corporate ladder, ravaging open offices, chewing upper management down to the bone. A horde can downsize an entire call center within two minutes flat.

…And yet, like many employees whose businesses have been deemed essential, I have to go to work. Despite the blood trial up the block and the downed 747 across the street, Ship and Print’s hours have not changed.

That said I have some criticisms of S and P’s zombie apocalypse strategy.

Corporate has Left a lot to Be Desired

The rage virus is blood based. The masks corporate sent only cover the bottom half of our face. What are we supposed to do when an infected projectile vomits into our eyes? Our manager found some shades in the lost in found, but there weren’t enough to go around. The rest of us had to settle for reading glasses. Now we have to choose between getting puke in our eyes or being near sighted.

Corporate continues to provide inadequate munitions. Each Ship and Print location was issued one police issue Glock 17. Glock 17s take 9 millimeter magazines and yet we keep receiving boxes of 22 caliber rounds. When we emailed headquarters about the discrepancy we were told to make it work.

We’ve been forced to get by slingshots we’ve fashioned from office supplies.

We’re Not Meeting Safety Guidelines

We’re asking customers to wait outside the entrance, but there are intestines hanging from the stations and chunks of scalp on the handgrip. We’re trying to keep people safe, but our milkcrate barricades don’t come close to meeting OSHA guidelines. We tied the crates with zip ties but they topple all the time.

Customers try to ward off the infected by shooting them in the central mass. Even after we put up the sign that read, “Shoot them in the head or else you’re dead.”

I tried printing another with Keanu Reeves that said, “Be like John Wick give ‘em two in thick!” Still, customers are out there unloading their ammo into kneecaps.

Speaking of signage, I want to call attention to the fact that the Employees Rights posters that are required to be displayed by the Department of Labor are all covered in blood. Maybe that’s the reason no one is getting their fifteen minute breaks anymore.

Our Sanity is Wearing Thin

It’s bad enough to hear the infected at our doors, but due to lack of maintenance the office equipment is making strange sounds. Someone lost a finger in the production printer. Now it trumpets like an angry elephant. The copy machine beeps like it’s out of toner twenty times an hour and the fax machine keeps making a tone like a coked-up parrot. Oh and the satellite radio keeps playing “One Week” by the Barenaked Ladies over and over even though we’ve knocked out all the speakers.

Our Supplies are Running Low

We are starving. We keep submitting requests for provisions through the web portal, but they never arrive. Yet all of the planogram display kits keep coming on time. We haven’t seen a fresh water cooler in months, but the armored deposit service keeps knocking on the back door. We pried open the secure shredding container once we ran out of toilet paper. We’d still be using it if the shredding service hadn’t emptied it out.

Yesterday we had no choice but to raid the hardware store next door. It’ll help but we can only get by for so long on Red Bull and beef jerky.

We’ve Tossed Our Green Energy Policy out the Window

The CDC says the infected hunt the healthy by sensing body heat. Corporate didn’t have enough mylar blankets, so they mandated we cake on a layer of mud. Now they want us to keep the air conditioner running at twenty degrees all the time. It’s hard to meet customers with pep when we can see our own breath.

Now the power keeps going out and the backup generator isn’t up to the task.

Corporate sent us a hose to siphon gas from the cars out back. The problem is that most vehicles are too modern. Their fuel tanks have a metal flap to snag the hose and their filler necks have an obstruction to keep us from getting a good flow going. Suck all you like, but you’ll never get those things to come.

We are Overwhelmed

Everyone is over on hours because the infected never sleep. Corporate decided to mandate that when we clock out we leave the premises. That means we have to side step the horde, find a shelter, and get back within the strict five minute window before our shift starts.

If anything Ship and Print should be hiring more staff. We’ve gotten a surge of new customers ever since the infected swept through the FedEx up the block. Now more than ever people need to return their items back to Amazon.

We’re one of the few shipping services where people can mail essentials. Things like: vibrators shaped like eggplant emojis, gemstone water filtration pitchers, Millennium Falcon waffle irons, subscription lingerie, and espresso pods.

Closing Thoughts

My apartment has been in ruins ever since that Range Rover knocked out the support beam, and yet my lease is for twelve months. So I still have to pay rent. Then there’s my student loans. Those aren’t going away any time soon not with all the debt collectors safe and secure in their bunkers. That and I have to make car payments to make. Repo men don’t mind working in Armageddon conditions.

And let’s say someone does come up with a cure for the rage virus. Ship and Print won’t cover it. So I’ll need to start saving up for health insurance.

It doesn’t really matter that there are corpses lying in the intersection, with their jaws hanging open, and tongues rotting in the sun. It doesn’t really matter that Wall Street is now a game trail for the infected. It doesn’t matter that the national guard outposts have been overrun. Capitalism has survived the fall of civilization.

So I’ve still gotta go to work and make that money.

•••

Continue reading The Challenges of Working Through the Zombie Apocalypse

My Best Short Fiction for Self-Isolation

Slush Pile
A con artist creates a scheme to defraud aspiring authors, until one day he’s haunted by the manuscripts he’s cast off into the slush pile.

Shop Dropping
A bookstore owner notices an alarming trend. People he suspects of shoplifting are actually leaving strange books behind. His real problem begins when he makes the mistake of reading one of them.

Tunnel Vision
When an infinite hallway appears in a young loner’s dining room he must venture into the void to rescue his cat.

How to Exorcise a Demon So You can Get Your Damage Deposit Back
Sound advice for tenants who are either trapped with a demon or are just trying to avoid a blotch on their rental history.

Surviving Valentine’s Day
A peek into an alternate reality where Valentine’s Day is a time when the vengeful spirit of St. Valentine stalks the earth forcing everyone to invest in purge shelters.

The Pigeon King Excerpt
A story about a self-isolating podcaster with either a pigeon or a poltergeist problem.

Continue reading My Best Short Fiction for Self-Isolation