I Want to Write Like David Wong

David Wong, author of "John Dies at the End," has a knack for hilariously good writing, and one of my long term goals is to be as good a writer has him someday.

I'm looking forward to reading his sequel to "John Dies at the End," called "This Book is Full of Spiders: Seriously, Dude, Don't Touch It (John Dies at the End 2)," notwithstanding the wordy title.

If my sci fi novel is even 10% stylistically Wong-esque, I'll be quite satisfied. Even that is a high bar.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and research everything (auto)biographical about David Wong that the Giant Internet Brain has available.



It's No Fun Waking Up to Zombies

One of them had my foot in its hands, luckily still attached to my body. It was sniffing it to see if I were edible. I really had to will myself not to yank my leg away, which would have agitated it, I'm sure. Thankfully, my shoes and pants - my whole body actually - were soaked in gore from my day long spree of neutralizing zombies down in the swamp where they get stuck the most. I'm not sure why I passed out coming back, but I was now sprawled on the ground next to the open gate into our little compound. The rest of the team were out on supply duty. I'd gotten the short straw for zombie cleanup. While I was unconscious, the three zombies must have stumbled through the open gate. I could not have been out long. My gore soaked clothes were camouflaging my scent but if I made any sudden moves, these corpses might attack me. Very slowly I looked around. The zombie fondling my lower leg was eyeless, so I wasn't too concerned about it seeing that I was alive, I just had to remain still. The other two zombies were bumbling along the fence line inside the compound about five feet away. The hammer I use to dispatch undead was still in the loop in my utility belt. Ever so slowly, I pulled it out and hefted it in my hand to get a good grip on it. I took a deep breath and in a fluid motion, I yanked my leg away from the zombie while at the same time swinging at its sightless head with the hammer. It's head jerked away as my movement surprised it and the heavy metal head of the hammer swished past its skull, missing the mark. The zombie growled and lunged, faster than I had anticipated. My leg now free of its grasp, I kicked the ground hard and scuttled backward away from the zombie. The other two zombies had heard the scuffle and were turning back toward me. The blind zombie was snatching at the dirt inches from me, seeking purchase on something to devour. I rolled away from it and sprung to my feet, coming face to rotting face with one of the other zombies. It grabbed my right arm holding the hammer. I punched it in the gut to get it away from me, but my arm went right through the soft decaying flesh of it's torso and got stuck in the entrails. The zombie's jaws snapped at me, and I jerked my head back to avoid having my nose bitten off. "Fucker!" I cursed, then threw my full body weight into the zombie and we both hit the side of the fence. I was able to free my arm from the zombie's torso and snatched the hammer from my other hand so I could land a lefty blow to the creature's skull. The force of the blow from my weaker left hand was not sufficient to brain the beast, but it gave me a chance to reposition myself for a more potent attack. I raised the hammer again, but the third zombie had come up behind me and grabbed my left forearm. Now each zombie had one of my arms in its grasp. I thought I was done for, but instinct took over. I don't know how I thought to do it, but I fell into a squat, yanking down on each zombie's clutching arm hard, and luckily both zombies' arms dislocated from their shoulders. I lept backward and with the zombies' arms still dangling from my own, I raised the hammer and dispatched first one zombie and then the other. The blind zombie had been crawling toward the sound of the other zombies' attack on me, hoping to join the flesh feast, and it was getting close by the time I brained those other two. I kicked the blind zombie in the face hard, sending it sprawling backward before smashing its face in with the hammer. I examined myself for bite marks, and finding none, I went to the utility shed to clean up. I'd better not tell the team about my feinting, or they might think I'm a liability.


Donald Trump Gets "The Biscuit" (aka "The Button")

Dear Friends,

I don't normally wax political on this blog (see the 2 Minute Reader for that), but I am not sure how much time we have together before we are all engulfed in a nuclear inferno and so I just wanted to say, on the eve of an epoch of existential insecurity, that I love you all.

Tomorrow, Donald Trump gets "the Biscuit," also known as "the Button," although it's actually just a card containing the launch codes for the entire American nuclear arsenal. Here are the facts on the ground:

1. The President keeps the Biscuit in his pocket at all times. An aide to the President carries "the Football," a briefcase with the equipment and information to actually order and launch a nuclear attack.

2. There are zero (nil, none, nada, not even epsilon) checks and balances on the President's decision to launch nuclear weapons at any time. That order will be followed without question by the aide carrying the football and the American military. This sounds like it should be false but it is absolutely true [SOURCE].

According to CNN:

"The president has supreme authority to decide whether to use America's nuclear weapons. Period. Full stop," said the Arms Control Association's Kingston Reif. A president could only be stopped by mutiny, he said, and more than one person would have to disobey the president's orders. [SOURCE]

3. Donald Trump is thin skinned, reactionary, and does not take criticism well. He arguably also has a loose grip on reality.

If anyone wants to guesstimate the days (or hours) between Trump's inauguration and the reduction of the Earth's surface to a radioactive slag desert, I will entertain those, but the winner will get no prize for obvious reasons.