See, I’m not crazy. No, really.

After my tediously long captivating post about surviving the Zombie Apocalypse, I ran across an article on MSN about a professor at Michigan State University offering a course on the exact same thing. Okay, if “Surviving The Coming Zombie Apocalypse” is being taught in classrooms now, it must be legit. It would be such a valuable class to have under your belt. I mean really, what good is Pottery 101 going to do you when Z-Day hits? The answer is nothing, unless you plan on spinning up a nice shiv or firing up the undead in your kiln.

Glenn Stutzky, I’m with you! That is…if you’re still alive.

About EBCorbin

Writer. Reader. Pumpkin Eater.
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3 Responses to See, I’m not crazy. No, really.

  1. Dear YELLOWRANGER – Just came across your blog today.

    I am glad to report to you that I am in fact, despite some bad decisions, still alive. Most of the students in my class survived the initial Apocalyptic Event only to perish at the end of the semester. Others made it through those weeks and are continuing to survive in the wilds of Michigan.

    We have gained some knowledge about what is going on (Michigan was “ground-zero”- Hey even the Apocalypse has to start somewhere) (We should have trusted the Government when they said to get out of the state) and (The Apocalypse Stinks – what I wouldn’t give for a decent shower and a razor – although I hear breads are back!)

    This coming summer is the third offering of the course and hopefully we will learn even more about how humans behave before, during and after catastrophic events.

    Maybe we can also find a way out of Michigan or maybe we should remain, the answers to reclaiming and rebuilding civilization may lie close to where it all began.

    Thanks for all your work in helping to bring awareness and knowledge to masses.

    Go to go… I just heard something and it sounded hungry.

    Glenn Stutzky
    “Social Worker by Day, Zombie Slayer by Night”

  2. I hear “breads” are back! Haha. I wish bread was back, what I wouldn’t give fro a fresh loaf of sourdough. Anyway I meant “beards”.

    • Ah, if only breads were back.

      To have even a stale loaf of the worst kind of bread—Wonderbread clearly—during these dark and troubled times would be like manna from heaven.

      I’m sad to report that while some of the old websites remain, like wordpress for instance, and somehow still seem to be a viable option for communication (Is the government running the internet now? Have you Michiganders figured that out? We haven’t.), all is not well here either. The west coast is in shambles. Los Angeles looks like a bomb went off and the sky is always brown. Though to be fair, that could just be the smog that was always there. I forget.

      A lot of people don’t trust electronics anymore to communicate. Some people say that it was our dependence on technology in the first place that made so many of us ill-equipped to deal with this sort of catastrophe. Most of us have taken to sending carrier pigeons when we need to relay messages. Of course, you’re never quite sure when you’ll get a rabid z-pigeon, so that’s a gamble too.

      I was more unprepared than I would like to admit. I hadn’t modified my survival plan since moving to Los Angeles, and that was all my fault. It’s not like I hadn’t had a chance. Let’s be honest, have you ever walked around downtown L.A. at night? It was crawling with crack zombies long before the Apocalypse. I was a fool. I’m lucky to have escaped with a group of survivors into some abandoned shops that we, at least for now, call home.

      The survivors are all pretty nice. I have no real complaints. Eugene, or “Z-killah” as he likes to be known as now that he is no longer an accountant/socially awkward shut-in, sleeps on the cot across the room from me. He’s okay. Kind of a mouth breather though. Marge is fine as well, though she lost all eight of her cats during the fallout, and she really just meows to communicate now. Odd, yes, but she makes a mean Fancy Feast gravy. We’ve been eating a lot of that lately.

      We follow Crazy Eyes, our leader. He must be one of the world’s best zombie slayers, Glenn. It’s like an art form when he does it. So clean and precise. Surgical almost. He lets us live in the shops with his group of marauders paying in what is now the only Apocalyptic form of currency—doll heads.

      God speed, Glenn. God speed to you and the others, if there are any “others” by the time this reaches you.

      P.S. Thank you for stopping by my blog and giving me something delightful to read in a world that gets so few laughs these days.

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