I may like Chaos and all… but DAMN.

Posted: November 26, 2011 in Self-Deprecation
Tags: , , , , , ,

Note:  This has been in the works for over a month, and at least 10 attempts to tag/post/etc


I know I swore that I’d pay more digital attention to this undertaking of mine– but I lied like a freaking politician during an election year. That is, I had the intent to do something– or said that I did– and had about as much follow-through as [insert similar witticism here]. What can I say? Shit hit the fan in giant, stinky, corn-laden chunks– and I did as any respectable maniac would. I got the Hell out of the splash zone.

Anyway, with that halfassed lip-service apology out of the way (that I’m sure none of you believed at all in the first place), I finally got my badass zombie hunter costume “done.” Yeah, the quotes went up there because I had no freaking idea what a royal Roman whore leather is to work with. Rosie still lacks the experience to sew effectively– and Jill lacks the strength to punch through jack shit. Needless to say, I had to 86 the freaking reinforced forearms. Trying to get that shit done got put into the category of a balanced government budget– it’s looks pretty on paper, but it’s pretty freaking obvious that it’s a pipe dream.

Regardless– check this shit out.

And the sarcasm headdie...

And the sarcasm headdie...

All things considered, the hidden shotgun holsters, and the hidden prybar holsters worked out perfectly. I can’t complain.  I could complain about how WordPress’ interface has been the bane of my posting existence, or I could complain about how Cortana seemed to take personally how I couldn’t modify her coat in a way that she found suitable– but that would (in order) gain me nothing, or a punch in the dick.   I’m all for gripes that couldn’t ever result in anything besides wasted breath (like my constant middle-finger pointing at politics), but I am not all for a punch in the moneymaker.  What kind of sicko do you take me for?

Ok, back to the chaos at hand.  I never found the hat that I really wanted for the getup– like a wide-brimmed fedora-esque kind of thing, ala Doc Holiday or Van Helsing.  Yeah I know, don’t get on my ass about it, I tried everything.  On top of the shortchanging of the outfit, I realized at the last second that I forgot something key.  I didn’t even think about what to do for a shirt.  I was lucky that I had a random, plain, white shirt that worked.  Considering the stupid amount of work I put into everything else, something this trivial easily slipped my mind.

Don’t even get me started on having to disassemble and repair one of the shotguns— twice— within days of getting it.  Mind you, I’ve never even held a freaking airsoft shotgun in my life before– let alone cracked one open to see how the sucker works.  I am officially all that is man.  Except that I can’t do a push-up yet…  anyway….  (Update:  yes!  I can do  three whole push-ups as of last week!)

Oh yeah, severe props to Cortana for the scrape effects on my face– and these:


Pity/Fool. Love/Hate. Yeah. I got my point across, and my own twist on the knuckle tattoo concept.

The costumes were  a hit, all aggravation aside.  On the upside, I didn’t get arrested when walking fully armed into a liquor store to buy rum for one of the parties.  I also got the guilty pleasure of blasting a zombie and watching him drop like a ton of bricks.  Clearly, he’d been drinking far more than I had… and I’d shot him in the nipple with the shottie.  Needless to say, I was laughing so hard– I would have been a happy meal had this been the real Zombpoc.

Oh Halloween, how much I adore thee.  Let me count the ways.


  1. […] I hit that in the last episode, and in spite of Jill 2.0 causing me issues with creation– last year was no exception.  This year is another story.  Sure, I am still buck nutty for taking a drunken […]

  2. […] First things first:  I do not own a gun, because guns are expensive to purchase for a law abiding citizen.  That does not mean, if given the means, I wouldn’t have a few sundry shotties, rifles, etc– because I happen to be a decent shot, and enjoy going to ranges to pop targets.  That also doesn’t mean, if given the means, I wouldn’t immediately go buy a Thompson because it’s a historical piece of badassery that is relevant to Italian-American history— and makes a damn sweet Zombie Sweeper. […]

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