Who’s to Blame, Really?

They’re dead… and I guess it’s not their fault. I mean we get older and we get slower, we die and then things rot and fall off. So, you really can’t blame them for not keeping up with their cardio. It’s not like they’re quitters, they’re just… well, really gross. And thank God for that, because if they were the newly dead I’d be in a lot of trouble… or I’d become one of them.

To be honest, I’m not sure which one is worse. Being eaten alive or being the one who eats the living… and then the thought of turning gross like these guys some day does not suit me. Yeah, that’s worse. I mean look at that one fucking guy. His guts are sorta hanging out and he smells like bad pork and piss and, come on, to top it off he’s wearing a dirty wife beater. Fuck it… I’m settling it here and now. I’m not going out like that. When I go, I’m going out with style. I’m not sure how yet, but it’s going to be something special. *Ugh!*

Shit! Get it together Ali, daydreaming and running is a bad combo especially while running through low hanging tree branches. Yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark.

 

 

Okay, So this is me. No not the dead guy taking a selfie. I’m the guy in the bushes behind him. I set the timer and before it went off this dumbass shambled into the shot. And so I settled in and made a nice comfy spot in those bushes behind him for about 45 minutes while he stared into the camera. I have no idea why he stared at it. Maybe he was trying to get another shot of his ugly mug to send home to mom, or maybe he was just waiting for it to make that clicking sound again. Either way, now I have ant bites and a stupid picture of a zombie. Enjoy.

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