Would I survive the zombie apocalypse: Irrational 101

Sorry I haven’t written a post in forever. I have quite frankly been up my own arse hole with procrastination. There has just been no time at all between sobbing at YouTube videos of a lovely deaf guy from Istanbul, becoming unreasonably violent at Facebook with god botherer comments against the LGBT community, AND trying to blag the fact that my little book is worth your time. (I have actually just read this back and I’m kinda sorry but not sorry!)

Last night in bed… on my own… with nothing but my night light for company… I spent a whole 37 minutes trying to forge a plan of what I would do if a zombie apocalypse kicked off. It’s the same type of deep existential thinking you may adopt when you’re convinced you will win the lotto that week. A lottery jackpot you truly believe you are entitled to because you paid that 2 quid like every other schmuck in Europe. "I deserve €100 million!" you shout. "I pay my bloody taxes!" you scream at innocent passersby, just as your delusions of grandeur explode into yachting trips with the Jolie-Pitts and a house with a bookcase that swings into a secret room. But I digress...

So whilst re-enacting a zombie scenario in my head... and according to my calculations... I concluded that I would be absolutely fucked. And this isn’t because I would die a most horrific but valiant death (with genius weapons such as my tub of cocoa butter, an emery board and tampon hand grenade) oh no no… I would die because I’m rubbish in a situation. Throw in the fact that I can’t see shit without my glasses and ‘the rule’ that the weird looking black chick always dies first… I would last approximately 21 seconds (Tut-Tut- Tut!)

You see, my bedroom has practically floor to ceiling windows and so I imagine a zombie would crash through the glass because that would be super dramatic. (I’m also under the impression that zombies are sassy and love drama!) Like they’re not gonna knock on the door and politely ask to eat my brain. Zombie bitches are gonna get wild, smash shit up and smear my blood across the walls. However I kinda think this would be my own fault as I lie in bed refusing to move out of fear… but also because I just got really warm and comfortable and don’t fancy getting up.

One of my fave movies of all time is Shaun of the Dead. I HATE horror and gore but this film is a giant piss take at the zombie genre and hilarious.

If I had to pick a character who I felt akin to, it would be Ed. Largely because he can’t be arsed with zombies and sees them as an inconvenience. I too would like to just kick back and eat a Cornetto when Z-Day goes down in Dublin 15! I also enjoy the fact that Ed is fully aware that shit has got very real, but he can be found multi-tasking and texting his mates at the same time. My Twitter newsfeed would be hopping with updates!

 None of this panicking nonsense and trying to save people. Nah love!

Now don’t think this post is about a soul searching “what would you do if you knew you were going to die tomorrow…” jive because it really isn’t. It’s just me sharing a little brain burp with you because I'm very tired and I think I need a hug. (Or a dirty burger. Or both) Tonight I think I’m going to mull over the theme for my funeral post zombie attack. I‘m thinking some sort of flash mob, drag queens in glitter stilettos and a gospel choir. 

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