If it turns out that I’m “Patient Zero,” you’re all screwed.

Posted: August 8, 2011 in Uncategorized
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So only a few days ago, I had noticed what I had mistaken for leprosy on Jill.  With effort, I had believed that I had overcome the disgusting mystery affliction that was growing on my first love.

I was wrong.  To my horror, the nightmare wasn’t over yet.  The hand  was back, with a vengeance.  This time, the off-white, flaky, ubiquitous crud seemed to go even beyond the cast line.  This meant one thing:  whatever it is– it was spreading beyond my fingers and thumbs.   It was going in.   Jill was giving up the fight, as it seemed.  That made me sad.

It got into my hand, and it went bad...

Never in my life have I felt so close to a man named Ashley...

Quickly rewind everything here.  Due to what was supposed to be an exploratory surgery– that repaired a hell of a lot more damaged cartilage than the doc suspected was there, I am unable to perform a great many basic tasks.  I will be likewise handicapped, and re-learning to live lefty, until at least September 1.  Now, what began as a disturbing anomaly on the afflicted hand is appearing to spread, in spite of my previous attempts to thwart it.

Never fear, though, Rosie came to Jill’s aid– and proceeded to use a cuticle file like a potato peeler for the better part of a half hour.  Next time I decide to tear the decaying layers from my afflicted hand, I should just get a belt sander.  Or maybe I may have to get a bit more drastic.

Let’s see, most of my friends have me in their top 5 people to find in case of Zombpoc.  In case of Zombie Apocalypse, find me, and hope I’m not still in full-out “kill anything/everything that moves” mode.  However, as of right now, I have one usable arm, which nullifies any effective usage of a firearm, and I’m sure Rosie’s wicked ability with a fencing foil is going to net me exactly jack shit in the kills category.  The armor plating (aka the cast) on my right arm may provide some protection from gnawing teeth, but without use of the elbow…  I’m pretty much as much of a free-kill as Rachel Ray on a Comedy Central roast.  I have never felt so vulnerable.  Seriously, this is worse than those dreams as a kid being naked in school.

This all wraps back to one thing.  Zombie Jill.   She goes, I go.  If Rosie’s frantic scraping of Jill stops yielding results, or this mystery affliction goes farther into the cast, where I can’t get at it…  Do the math.

You're all screwed.

This is where it all begins. You've all been warned. This'll be the last thing you see before the horde gets you.

Strangely, I find this whole scenario far more comforting than the alternative– going and getting a half-manicure.  First it was buttering toast.  Then it was cutting steak.  I refuse to let this gimptastic state take away my last vestiges of manhood as I know it.  Sorry, Earth, I’d rather doom you than doom my self respect.

I’m sure you’ll all understand.


  1. Triplet says:

    My grama had the shits of the cast on her arm and resorted to shoving a crochet hook down inside to relieve the itch… hahaha… And there you have it.

  2. […] now, in addition to scraping the crust from Zombie Jill, I’m being tortured by my own body in a way that’d impress the Spanish Inquisition.  I […]

  3. rtyecript says:

    I really liked the article, and the very cool blog

  4. […] not the weirdest part.  Apparently I shouldn’t have been worrying about turning into Patient Zero– I should have been worrying about becoming part Wookiee.  Yeah, apparently being in a cast […]

  5. […] said, on to today’s entertainment.  It’s no secret that I’m not just a “zombie enthusiast.”  I’m psychotically enthusiastic about the inevitability of a zombie apocalypse, and […]

  6. […] friend.  Any and all arguments concerning survival henceforth are indefinitely invalidated if this Patient Zero turns out to be the Patient […]

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