Moved

Moved to http://blog.grokthought.com

Blech

No writings today.
I feel terrible lately. My well of creativity is dry.
At least The IT Crowd is back; thank FSM for Graham Linehan.

I was panicking this morning, trying to throw 15 pages of random crap that I've written together for my writing class's portfolio. I was going to add the incredibly heretical introduction to my Evil Dead 4 script, but I don't think that'd go down too well with my class. Too many religious types over here to throw heresy around like a frisbee. Also, I've been laying it on a bit thick with the zombies lately.

I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that Ben Stein is an opinionated prick. Of course, I'm not saying that I'm not, as that would be hypocritical due to the glaring contradiction that I am an opinionated prick. I'm just saying that his prickish opinions differ completely to mine in every way, shape and form.

You First

I've been writing a one-act play for my Creative Writing class for extra credit so I could catch up on work I missed when I had mono.

It's called "You First". It's a re-enactment by "It's the End of the World Show!", a horrific television show that chronicles the last battles of people against the zombie hordes after the uprising based on CCTV footage.

Here are some excerpts from the script.
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BRENT: Maureen?
MAUREEN: Yes, Brent?
BRENT: I always knew the world would end on a Friday.
MAUREEN: The world is not ending.

BRENT looks at the corpse of the FEMALE ZOMBIE, then at WARREN, who lay motionless and wheezing on the table, then at the door which all of the INVESTOR ZOMBIES are standing behind, pounding and moaning, trying to get in.
He then looks back at MAUREEN with an expression that all but says “Are you kidding?”

MAUREEN: (sighs) Ok, fine.
What's your point?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
WARREN: (weakly) Can you two please keep it down?

BRENT and MAUREEN stand and walk over to the table next to WARREN.

BRENT: You're awake! How are you feeling?
WARREN: I'll live. How long have I been out?
MAUREEN: Three days. We've been stuck in here for three days.
WARREN: What happened?
BRENT: Zombie apocalypse.
WARREN: (stunned) You have got to be shitting me.

Whole bunch of stuff

No new writings to post here. At least, not yet.
I'm working on a whole bunch of stuff to put up here, and it's mostly pretty cool.
At least, I think it is.
Keep an eye out for some interesting stuff to do with zombies that will interest most people who like zombies.

I just recently registered Grokthought.com, so that's where most of it'll be stored.

Uh... fuck it.

Zombie Haiku

Argh, nngh, arrgh, brains, argh
Brains, argh, nnnngh, arrgh, brains argh brains
Nngh brains argh braaaaaaains argh

Insomnity

Vacuums inside two blue-green marbles;
bolts of crimson shoot through swollen eyes like forked lightning.
No sleep again last night; not hard to tell
for crusts of sand have barely formed, still liquid in nature.
He wipes them away in a single sweep and suddenly he can see me.

He scowls at me and looks like he's about to die.
Splashes of water on the face only add to the idea that he is
a hung over and burned out husk of a man.
He wonders if he should comb the mess on his head
but decides against it. There's no point because it's only cosmetic.
He lies to himself that he'd shave it off if he didn't burn
like an albino on the surface of Sol.

A cough, then a blink, then a sniff, then a groan.
The battle against insomnia commences once more.
I remove my hands from the sides of the sink and shift
my weight back onto my feet.
I shuffle out the door, consoled in the fact that
at least I didn't look as bad as that guy.

Canus Demonicus

Looking out through blind white eyes,
he knows not what we see.
Sam the zombie dog.
He is not made of beef.

Ugliest dog in the world; he won
that contest hands down. It’s hard
to imagine anything more horrible
than that oversized rat.

With thin hammy ears, decayed
yellow teeth like those of a dying
man who smoked all his years
and skin like a rotting chicken breast,
The hell hound plans his attack.

First he will enter the ugly dog pageants,
then the time will come. He will
call forth the demon dogs
and bring doom upon us all.

He’s an alien, a harbinger of death.
Proof that the world is weird and gross.
Wonders like this are best left unknown.
Now I have to find a bucket.

---

I wrote a poem about Sam the Ugly Dog for my creative writing class. I hadn't heard that he had died until after I wrote this.
Goodbye, Sam. You will be missed, but thank f*ck we don't have to look at you anymore.