#literally the only thing i can produce from my shambles of a brain right now

[shiftycatstudios]

Vent sketches of some favs with some new neon pastel markers.

[takemedancingmaine]

40

I gather my BlackBerry, massive padfolio, and a bottle of water from my desk.

“Good to see you're feeling better,” James says as he holds the conference room door open for me and Philip. We both slip inside and as I take my seat I blush.

“Just glad to be well enough to work,” I say. It's the truth. When I looked at my BlackBerry last night on the train home from Jack’s I was unsurprised to see how much I'd missed in just a day of being gone.

I am glad to be back though because it means I am well enough to be here doing something that gives me a sense of purpose, something that drives me forward. I'm already working on pitching a story idea, centric to the shambles regarding Brexit.

We all know how awful it is economically and politically for Britain at the moment, with no one knowing how to handle it. My story would be about the nonexistent plans and promises of grandeur that caused the vote to swing toward it in the first place.

Did those who wanted to leave the EU have a game plan or were they just throwing out ideas? To me, and to a lot of people, it seems to be the second: haphazard ideas and sloppy plans with how to separate ourselves that we're now being forced to struggle with. It honestly seemed like even they thought that they would lose the vote so why even bother with proper planning.

Those leading the charge to exit need to be held accountable for the turmoil our country is currently facing.

I don't know if I should pitch it today though, I'm thinking the outline and my own game plan need to be sketched out further and more completely before I bring it to James or Seamus.

Philip launches into a story about school children all around the country and how it's looking like school boards locally and nationally are looking into better, more nutritious school lunches after a mishap at some food processing and distribution centre.

This not only calls to question the low current standards but it also forces the hand of the public to recognize that either the lunches get more expensive or school taxes will increase.

I take notes just so I'm informed if I'm asked to join on a project, but I'm feeling the exhaustion in my bones from my weekend. My brain is starting to fire at a more normal pace now and I'm not so tired mentally, not really at least, but my body feels overrun with exhaustion only two hours into the day.

After the rundown meeting, I set my sights on my story, researching, reaching out to sources, and endlessly reading. I've got two on the opposing side of Brexit and one with another in the works on the side for.

It's after I help Philip film an interview that will be aired tonight that I breach the topic with him.

He's sorting through his notes and compiling his things to head to the video room to start editing and rendering the clip when I stop him.

“Philip, can I run a story by you really quickly?” I ask, my voice quiet. I think that's what makes him look at me curiously. I haven't been that quiet around him since I started.

“What’ve you got?” He asks, leaning against the anchor desk as he looks me up and down, almost as if he’s trying to figure it out before I tell him.

“Brexit,” I say and I know immediately by the look in his eyes, the change in his posture that he's not on board.

Before he can open his mouth to say as much I cut him off. “I know it's been covered for over a year now, but I think there's an angle I can work.”

He gestures for me to keep going, but he still looks sceptical. I bite my lip, take a deep breath, and then launch into my pitch for it, all the research I’d done, and the sources I'd already gotten that were willing to discuss both on and off the record.

By the time I'm finished Philip doesn't look as sceptical, but he doesn't look excited either. I don't know what he's thinking until he opens his mouth.

“You're doing good work,” he tells me. “But I want you to dig deeper. What you've got is great, really. I just think you've got more there that you can really get into. Once you've dug deeper, bring it back to me and we can run it by James and Seamus.”

My heart stops and then picks up speed. He's going to let me keep going with this. This is massive.

I've done segment pieces before and helped produce interviews and smaller things, but this would be a whole show dedicated to my story if it's up to scruff. It frightens me and excites me at the same time.

I can feel myself locking up, all the nerves just firing in my body all at once, unsure of what to do. But then Philip gives me an expectant look with those dark green eyes he has and I shake myself.

“Oh my god,” I tell him, my own eyes wide as he gives me a small smile. “Thank you! I just… thank you.” I turn to leave, realize I've forgotten everything on the desk, and then turn back in a series of very disjointed movements.

Philip is smirking at me, waiting for me to leave before he goes to the editing room. Probably expecting me to pass out or something equally as ridiculous.

“Wren?” He asks when I’ve almost made it to the door. I turn to see him still leaning on the desk.

“Yes?”

“Your phone?”

I look down at my hands. There's no phone. I left my phone. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before walking all the way back.

“Take your time with this, Wren,” he says now that I'm beside him again. “You're bright and driven. Just take some time, make this as good as it can be. And if you need help, ask.”

“Thank you,” I say again, my cheeks flushing with colour before I grab my phone and scuttle off.

I really appreciate Philip. As the senior producer it's his job to help us, I know that, but his patience is second to none. He has a short fuse when it comes to ignorance or lack of trying. He loathes complacency and apathy, but he's always here trying to help us, the associate producers.

I think it's because he's young. He’s twenty-nine and was embedded in Afghanistan for three years. He literally had a trial by fire when he was offered the job to go over. Most twenty-four-year-olds would baulk and take the safer route, but Philip trusted James.

The two of them as a team have an enviable partnership and work chemistry that makes our newsroom flow with almost unprecedented efficiency.

I never knew I wanted to be in broadcast media, I always thought I was more efficient in print, but it turns out my background in print makes it easy for me to write copy for the show.

I never expected to be in broadcast, but now that I'm here, disseminating news to more than I could ever have imagined in such an efficient environment I can't look back on any other path for myself. I mean, this has opened so much up for me career-wise and personally, I've learned so much about myself.

So with Philip’s blessing, I get back to work once I'm at my desk.

“Hey, Liz?” I look up and across the mini barrier of our desk clump.

She nods and lets me know she's heard me. I wait until she looks up before I breach the subject.

“Your sister-in-law works in the Conservative party as a strategist, right?”

She nods. “She does.”

“I'm working on digging deeper into Brexit and I want to really dissect the planning and strategies and not just comment on the obvious. Do you think she'd be willing to talk to me about the 12-point plan?”

“If you put it to her like that, she might be,” Liz tells me. “I can give you her information and you can reach out to try. I won't guarantee anything though.”

“Thank you so much,” I give her an appreciative smile. “I promise I'm not trying to make her look like a monster. I just want to really cover the story wholly and get all sides instead of just having people shouting at each other as they do on other networks.”

“That's not going to be easy, but I do hope it works out,” she gives me a smile before a news alert beeps onto all of our computers and she turns to read it.

Her scepticism about the ability to pull it off is warranted. I'm about to start watching news clips of Brexit coverage so far when Liz slips a piece of paper onto my desk with her sister-in-law’s information scribbled onto it.

I give her a smile back before turning towards my monitor where I'm sure my brain will melt with misinformation and combust with the arrogance that will be showcased.

41

“You are unbelievable you know that, right?”

“And you are being dramatic,” I roll my eyes and pick up my drink.

“I think I have a right,” he says and flicks my knee as I sit on his countertop and decompress after a week of long nights at work.

I sip the beer in my hand and look over at him. He's cutting little tomatoes in half and drinking beer while we listen to a Simon & Garfunkel song.

He doesn't look up at me, but I know that he can feel my gaze on him, so I bring my beer back up and slurp my next sip. He cringes, slams the knife down on the counter and points at me, eyes narrowed.

“You are the fucking worst.”

I let out a laugh and bite my bottom lip to keep my smile from spreading too large.

“What happens if Charlie wakes up?” he glares before turning back to the tomatoes. “Think of that? Having to explain a boyfriend to your nephew might be awkward.”

“He's the heaviest sleeper this world has ever seen,” I shake my head. “He's not woken up at night since he was a baby.”

My brother just continues with the knife, dicing up a red pepper. His jaw is set tight, no give or leeway in his facial expression.

“C’mon, Liam,” I lean over, my face closer to his. “You know you're secretly rejoicing that you get to torment him.”

Liam scoffs and takes a swig of beer. “I'd feel better if I'd run a background check first,” he mumbles.

I laugh at my pouting big brother.

“Li,” I put a hand on his shoulder as I gesture vaguely with my other hand, the beer sloshing a bit in the bottle as I do so. “You're very intimidating. You don't need a background check to bolster your plan of attack.”

“It would've helped,” he shoots me a look, but there's a lot less force behind this one than his earlier ones. I drop my hand from his shoulder and poke his nose before letting it fall to my side. “You couldn't invite Piper to break the tension a bit?”

“I did.”

“Did she bail just to torture me?” He asks, false despair seeping into his tone. My older brother is a child.

“Of course,” I nod. “You know her. Demented as she is,” I roll my eyes before moving my left leg sideways to kick his hip. “No. She had an event at the gallery and has to be there late.”

“Ouch,” he complains. “And is there anything of hers up? Should we have gone as support?” He asks.

“Do you think if my best friend had artwork up at a gallery event that I'd be here?” I ask rhetorically.

He answers anyway. Of course.

“Of course you’d be here,” he scoffs. “You'd be watching Charlie while I attend the event,” he grins.

I pick up a piece of chopped pepper and throw it at his face. “Get an au pair, you miserable muppet!”

“I don't want Charlie to think it's a new mum or something,” he lifts both hands in exasperation, done with my bringing this up.

“One: they have male au pairs,” I sip my beer, realizing I'm already almost done with it. “Two: he's six, Liam. He understands more than you think he does.”

“Having a guy in the house would be weird,” he makes a face. “And also, I don't care,” he adds as a response to my second point. That's that apparently.

I raise my eyebrows at his attitude. I pause and as he starts gathering the rest of the ingredients I listen to the new song.

“Were you on drugs when you made this playlist?”

Liam groans. He closes his eyes and stops in place and groans again.

I smirk. I'm always teasing him for his music choices. I knew it would be enough to get his mind off the touchy subject.

“Seriously, we’ve gone from Simon and Garfunkel to Yellowcard, to I'm sorry was that Genesis?, and now we’re on Khalid.”

He opens his eyes and then his mouth to protest and I cut him off. “There wasn't even a theme to the songs, either. It’s like musical whiplash, but in an uncomfortable way and not a cool oh-my-god-this-actually-works kind of way. More in an oh-my-god-my-ears-are-bleeding kind of way.”

Liam picks up the piece of pepper from the floor and throws it back at my face. I don't dodge it in time. It bounces off my cheek.

“You cock,” I flip him off.

“You started it, you little fuck,” he points out as I pick the offending piece of vegetable off the counter and throw it into the sink with the garbage disposal.

We’re in comfortable silence for a minute, only a minute, before he breaks it, unable to restrain his mouth, hold back his curiosity.

“So how did you two meet? You've never even told me that,” he asks.

“Liam,” I close my eyes and lean my head back against the cupboards. “You will get your fill of questions answered if you just-” the sound of knocking interrupts me.

Before I can move, Liam laughs. “Well, he has good timing at least,” in reference to what I was saying when Jack knocked. “Thanks for getting him to knock, by the way. The bell’d definitely have woken Charlie.”

“Despite your belief, brothermine, I'm not a numpty,” I complain. “I'll be right back,” I slip down off the counter and pad barefoot toward Liam's foyer.

“Could've fooled me!” He calls out.

The lights are dimmed in the front of the house as usual and when I reach the door I peek behind me, he's not hovering over my shoulder. When I hear him clanging through a kitchen drawer I open the front door and I'm greeted by Jack.

He looks tense. I can tell by his shoulders and eyes, but his eyes when he sees my face shift a bit and some of the tension releases. I step back a bit and allow him to enter.

“Hi,” I give him a smile.

“Hi,” he attempts a grin. I try not to laugh at him. I can hear the kitchen sink running and so quickly I step forward and reach up to my tiptoes and give him a quick kiss. He does react, he does manage to kiss me back for a moment before pulling back and looking over my shoulder to make sure Liam isn't there glaring him down.

He's not.

“C’mon then, laddie, let’s do this,” I grab his hand and wait while he kicks his shoes off at the front door and then guide him back through the house to the kitchen.

I can tell that Jack is a bit in awe of the house, but he doesn't say anything as he passes through the hallway, glancing into the living room and then into the kitchen,

“Will you have a beer?” I ask as we step over the threshold. I let go of his hand and he nods.

“Please,” he nods and I watch as his eyes dart from me to Liam who’s just looked up from the counter in front of him.

As I pull a beer from the fridge and open it I try to judge Liam's initial reaction.

I've grown up with my brother my whole life. I've been able to push his buttons and read him better than anyone in this world, aside from his late wife. I've never had a problem knowing his thoughts, even after he'd been taught how to rein them in. It's a constant source of annoyance it is for him to have me always knowing what's going on in his mind, unable to hide anything from me.

Now though, I have no idea what he's thinking and that's odd and foreign for me, so I step back up to Jack, his beer in my hand before I turn to Liam and will him to look at me. When he finally does he's still blank and I still can't tell what he's thinking.

I squirm on the spot but train my brown eyes on my brothers, on eyes that mirror mine, and take a deep breath.

“Liam, this is Jack,” I say as if neither of them has already met the other. “And Jack,” I glance up quickly to see the tension has returned to his blue eyes, “this is my older brother Liam.”

Jack, for his part, steps forward a bit and extends his hand toward my brother. “Good to see you, Liam,” he says, not ignoring the fact that they know one another.

Liam shakes himself of whatever had come over him when he realized who was standing in his kitchen and, after wiping his hands on a dish towel, extends one hand out, grasping Jack’s in a handshake.

“It's all making sense now,” Liam nods in return. His voice isn't unfriendly but I watch as he scans Jack up and down in a way I'm sure he's never done before during any of their other meetings. “Wren,” my brother opens his mouth to speak again and I know that tone.

“Hmm?” I hum.

“Would you mind grabbing the cheese from the fridge while you're over by it?”

I would give a million pounds to know what my brother is thinking at this exact moment.

“Sure,” I nod and hand Jack his beer before I pop open the fridge and grab the cheese for the pizza. Once I'm beside Liam I look over at Jack who's still tense but thankfully doesn't look like he's going to bolt.

I watch as he meets my gaze before taking a sip of his beer. I knock my hip into Liam.

“So you met at school then, yeah?” Liam's eyes are on me as he finishes putting the sauce on the pizza. He's going back to the question he asked me just before Jack arrived.

“Brilliant deduction there, Sherlock,” I mock. I sneak a glance at Jack and although his shoulders are still tight he's hiding a smirk with the bottle in his hand.

“Every day you test me more and more,” Liam sighs as he picks up the spinach and starts spreading it over the pizzas that are starting to look like pizzas, finally. His eyes are a mixture of humour and annoyance.

“And every day you get further and further away from the Neanderthal you were before I was born,” I pat his shoulder. “You're welcome.”

“I was three when you were born,” he rolls his eyes.

“That's no excuse,” I fake a sigh. “You are so lucky to have me,” I shrug and then move to grab my beer. When I realize there’s only a sip left I place it down beside Liam, who quickly drains it as I grab a new one for each of us.

Liam knows I have this quirk where I never drink the last sip of beer from a bottle. From a glass, sure. From a bottle? No, thank you. He's used to finishing off my beers.

This time I stop beside Jack on the opposite of the island from Liam. I slide my brother's beer across to him.

“So,” Liam hedges, “Jack.”

“Hmm?” Jack hums as he looks up from his hands to my brother.

“Tell me a bit about yourself,” Liam’s trying to be casual. I know what he's going for though, trying to open Pandora's box. A lawyer tactic is to have your witness just talk and talk until they admit something they didn't intend to.

He's trying to get a reason to make him squirm. He's going to have a hard time though. He knows that Jack has been good with me, with my mental health, but he also knows that his own son often sings his teacher’s praises.

“What would you like to know?” Jack counters.

Liam glances up from the food and his eyes flick from me to Jack and then back to me. He's more than upset I didn't tell him. I also know he doesn't like that his witness just asked him a question. That's not how it works.

“Well, I already know you're a primary school teacher,” Liam shrugs. “But what else should I know about you now that you're dating my sister and not just teaching my son?”

I want to bite my tongue, believe me, I want to. However, since last weekend I've been getting stronger emotionally, back to normal pretty much, and after the numbness I experienced I was kind of edgy and raring to get into it with my brother, or anyone in general.

“Don't mind his vagueness,” I place a hand on Jack’s shoulder and throw an over the top smile my brother’s way. “He's just upset he's been kept out of the loop so he's trying to play lawyer mind games with you.”

Liam flips me the off and Jack actually lets out a small laugh at that.

“No, no,” Jack shakes his head at me and gives Liam a look that conveys understanding. “I play the same mind games when I'm out with Lily and her boyfriend Sam.”

“You have a sister?” Liam asks, some of his rigidity leaving subconsciously.

“I do,” Jack nods. “She's three years older than I am,” he adds. “And she decided the best time for me to meet her new beau would be my birthday dinner last month.”

Liam glances at me with an all too knowing look in his eye.

“It's like they think we’ll enjoy the meeting, either of us,” Liam shakes his head.

“Oi,” I look between them. “Don't even act like you haven't been asking me about Jack from the moment you coaxed it out of me that I was seeing someone.” I turn on Jack as Liam glares at me for being right. “And I know for a fact that you would rather meet anyone in Lily’s life than be left in the dark.”

“It doesn't mean I wanted that meeting to be on my birthday, love,” he gives me a smirk.

I roll my eyes. “You're both ridiculous,” I shake my head and Jack bites his tongue as he smirks at me. Liam has raised an eyebrow in confusion. “You get what you want, sorry it's not perfect.”

“It's two against one at the moment,” Liam points out. He raises his beer and extends it to Jack, who gives me a well-he’s-not-wrong look and he lifts his own beer and the two of them cheers.

42

After that initial bit of awkwardness, Liam and Jack actually ease into a pretty smooth flowing conversation.

The three of us talked uni courses, football, best and worst pubs in certain areas of London, and more. My brother and boyfriend-would I call Jack my boyfriend?-are actually getting along. I know I shouldn't be surprised. They're both reasonable people.

However, I spent my time being surprised by it, by them and just trying to engage with the conversations they were shifting between. It feels good. Liam's still mad at me, I can tell, but he's honestly eased his entire demeanour around Jack and I don't think he did it purposefully. I think he and Jack just get along

We’re sitting down at the table eating the pizza, each of us on our second or third beer when Liam gives me a look.

“So wait, at the school carnival…” he pauses as he looks pointedly between me and Jack who are sat across the table from him. “You two were seeing each other then?”

“Yep,” I nod as beside me, Jack shrugs and goes, “Aye.”

“And that was the night I interrupted,” Liam sorts through the timeline a bit more in his head. I can see the concentration on his face as he tries to sort through everything.

“Mhm,” I hum.

Liam gives me a look. “Sorry about that,” he says to Jack as I reach for another slice of pizza. Liam and I make really good pizza. Liam rolls his eyes at me before looking back at Jack.

“Nah, mate,” Jack shakes his head. “Family things happen. No need to apologize.”

Liam makes a face but doesn't say anything.

“Have you invited everyone to Friendsgiving yet?” I ask Liam now.

“Well you know that Piper is charged with sous chef duty and you're my cleaning crew, so I guess you both can come if you'd like…” his smirk turns to a laugh when I throw my napkin at his face. “And I talked to Graham, Ed and Mike, they're all coming with their partners. What about Molly and Bernie?”

“Bernie is visiting her mother, who just moved to Crete, that weekend, but Molly will be here,” I smile.

I'm so excited to see his friends from Uni. They were there for my first year and I absolutely love them. They're like additional big brothers but goofier and also give me stories of my idiot actual brother.

“Is she still with that girl…” he trails off.

“Which one?” I ask. “The one who kicked your ass or the American one?”

Liam glowers at me and I giggle.

“The first one,” he tells me, his voice low.

“Nah,” I shake my head and pick up my pizza slice. “They broke it off maybe six months ago. She's with a baker, now.”

“Wait, I'm sorry,” Jack interrupts. “Did I miss something? The one who kicked your ass?”

I laugh.

Liam glares at me again.

“Last year, my uni roommate Molly’s date kicked Liam’s ass at literally any competition he could think of. Chess, FIFA, press ups, holding their breath, literally kicking his butt when they wrestled.”

“God, I hate you,” Liam groans.

“D'you think Lily and Sam would like to join?” I ask Jack.

“I can ask,” he nods. “I'm pretty sure they'd love to, though.”

“Yeah?” I ask.

Liam nods. “Yeah, we’d love to have them,” he says.

I almost do a spit take with my beer. Liam and Jack must've really gotten on as we ate. Liam is starting to throw me off a bit with his responses.

“Do we need to bring anything?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “So the first time we did it I researched what Americans eat on Thanksgiving and we always eat traditional food. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole, pumpkin pie-”

“What the hell is green bean casserole?” Jack cuts me off.

“It's better to just eat it and then ask instead of the other way round,” Liam advises.

Jack still looks confused, but he nods anyway. “Will I even know what to make if I'm tasked to bring something?”

“I've already got you down for something,” I tell him.

“What's that?” He asks with concern and curiosity flitting across his face.

“Apple crumble,” I smirk.

“I think I can handle that,” he laughs to himself.

“Wait…” Liam glances between the two of us. “Those apple scones we had. Did you make those?” He looks at Jack.

“No. Your sister did.”

“But he did make those apple muffins,” I add.

“Mate,” Liam looks at Jack. “Those were so good. D’you bake often?”

“When I have the time,” Jack nods. “I find it relaxing.”

“I mean I read to relax, but whatever works for you, mate,” Liam chuckles.

“Shit,” I whisper when over Liam’s shoulder I see the clock that's telling me it's half one in the morning. “Liam, how dare you let me stay up this late!”

“How the bloody hell is it my fault?” He reacts with indignation.

“It just is,” I groan and slump my head down onto the table.

“You're so dramatic,” Liam chuckles. “D’you need me to drive you home, then?”

“I think I can handle that task,” Jack says from beside me.

I lift my head and smirk at Liam. He's glaring at me some more. I know exactly why, too. He wanted to drive me so that he could talk to me, maybe also be a bit cross with me and it would be more than just taking.

“Let me just go grab my things then,” I slump away from the table, leaving Liam and Jack, to go grab my things from upstairs where I stashed them when I'd said goodnight to Charlie.

By the time I come back downstairs wrapped up in my coat and pulling a hat on, Liam and Jack are in the foyer where Jack is slipping his jacket back on, laughing at something Liam has said.

I just quietly watch for a moment before either of them realizes I'm there. I don't know how they've not realised I'm here, the stairs are in clear view to the second floor. There's no hiding, but whatever.

They seem much calmer than they were before, no anxiety and nervous glances in my direction, no tapping of fingers anxiously on beer bottles, nothing out of the ordinary. If I didn't know any better, the scene I just walked into could be Liam and one of his mates from uni.

“Ready?” Jack turns to me once I'm beside him.

“I am,” I nod. He gives me a smile and I melt into his blue eyes, the comfort of them slipping around me like a weighted blanket. The sense of calm that envelops me is surreal.

“Night, Liam,” I turn to him and wrap my arms around him as he pulls me close as well. My older brother was waiting for his goodnight.

Sometimes I think his longer hugs are because he genuinely just wants to feel human contact with someone other than his six-year-old. Other times I think his hugs are a result of just feeling alone and overwhelmed. Holding another body close serving as his reminder that he's not alone and that we’d be there for him if he ever was feeling overwhelmed.

“Love you, Wren,” he whispers to me. “I'll see you Sunday, right?” He asks.

“You will,” I nod against him. As I pull away I run a hand through my hair. “And I love you too, Liam.”

He gives me a smile and then he and Jack shake hands before Jack and I are out the door and getting into Jack’s car.

[puttingfingerstokeys]

the shambling deceased

Nanowrimo day 23 Featuring an unnamed narrator Post-apocalyptic setting, zombies Zombies, death, body horror Finished and unedited

Human olfactory senses are not meant to become accustomed to the sweet stink of death. I don’t care how many television programs you have consumed over the years, where the heroes don’t notice the shambling threat until it is far too late. If the noises these revenants make are not enough to alert the characters in the show, surely the stench of rot and decay would catch their attention, right? Depending on the dramatic needs of the program, it may or it may not. But I am here to tell you, point blank, that the dead—they stink. They stink bad. They stink worse than the ugliest most odious smell you have ever experienced, bar none. A skunk cannot compare to the smell of death, though it certainly tries. The smell permeates, sticks, clings, and drags on you until you are well away from it.

And if the dead are the pursuing kind, rather than the sort who lays on the ground like a corpse really ought to do? Well, you do the math. They are not what anyone might call “quick”, but if the wind is right, the smell will do you in but good. It is rot, decay, and wrong. The smell is actually alarming, if you can believe that. Trust me when I say this: you never want to experience it if it is at all avoidable. Most people, in their lifetimes, smell death once or twice, usually when an animal has gotten itself up under their home and done the indecent thing, dying there to stink up the house and the surrounding area. They always seem to do this on hot days, too—it’s in rather poor form. Regardless, this stench only mimics what the shambling dead bring with them when they rove through an area.

That they move in herds is something the old shows used to get right, at least. I genuinely have no idea what, precisely, attracts them, though I think it might be sound. The dead, you see, don’t have lung capacity; their vocal flaps are generally decayed beyond use as it is soft tissue and, as a result, are unable to produce sounds like the groans you might think they would make.

I guess that might be one thing the television would have had right, about not being able to hear them, except those ambulating corpses would always moan and snarl and make all kinds of animalistic sounds. It was as if they were begging to be discovered. Real ones are hardly apex predators, but at the very least, they do not alert their prey of an incoming attack via audible means. It would really be embarrassing to be killed by a loud, stinky corpse.

It is still incredibly unclear what exactly animates these things. They do not appear to have normal blood flow or brain function; nothing beats or moves and they are decidedly lukewarm. Something is still firing up in their rotten noggins, but it certainly is not what you would call “proper” function. It seems to drive them toward the base urge to feed. I don’t think their bodies process the flesh they consume, however. The stuff probably sits in their guts and ferments—that’s where you get the explosive ones. We haven’t really bothered naming them anything fancy or cutesy. They’re shambling, bloated corpses and honestly, flippant as this commentary has been, there is absolutely jack shit all that’s funny about seeing once-living humans reduced to … that.

They cannot help it. There is no malice in them. There is nothing in them. They are husks, which is as good a name as any. Zombie has always sounded kind of silly to me, even if the implications are always fairly dark and dire. Husks better describes the hollowness of them, I think. So “the undead” or “the infected” work, but “husk” is a better term, given that we do not actually know if they are infected with anything or how they got that way and when you call something undead, it makes the thing somehow spookier than it has to be, lending it some sort of power. We should not fear these things. We need to dispose of them quickly; it is the absolute least we can do.

As far as corpses go, they are just as brittle and easily-perforated as what you might expect a half-decayed corpse to be. The hardest part, to be perfectly honest, is the clothing. Most people did not turn whilst also happening to be nude, unfortunately. Piercing clothes with a stick or any other blunt instrument is a lot tougher than the television shows always made it seem. You are best off with a machete or even a bat. Cutting off brain function stops ambulation. I… do not know if it stops brain function entirely unless the brain is vaporized. No one seems inclined to hang around husk-infested areas long enough to find out.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I was (partially) wrong about the events of a so-called “zombie apocalypse”. I had always theorized (during slow times at my job, mostly) that no society with known zombie-based media could fall victim to the idiotic happenings of your average zombie show, that the zombies could not last much longer than a few months, at most in, for example, a densely populated city, but that in the country, the problem would be solved within a week. There is simply more space way out in the boonies to see things like that coming—people are more armed, too, and not necessarily even with firearms. I am referring, of course, to basic farm implements: pitchforks, shovels, a literal tractor, splitting mauls, axes, actual logs—I could go on.

I was foolish, thinking it would be easy to simply go out and strike down things which had formerly been human, because I would know that they were not. What they don’t usually show in zombie shows—or didn’t; I doubt anyone will ever produce another, assuming we get to that point—is that when someone is freshly dead, they still look… human. Not just humanoid, mind you, but like a sick human being.

Okay, so remember when I said the husks don’t make noise? The old ones don’t, that’s true. But the fresh ones… sometimes it feels as if they are trying to communicate in some way. It definitely is not the growling-hissing sound you get from a movie or whatever. It feels like speaking to a person with a severe speech impediment, who is also deaf, and has some combination of Alzheimer’s and dementia. That is to say, you are not speaking with them, so much as listening. I have no idea what they are trying to say and I have only seen a fresh one a few times; thankfully, by the time they reach our home base, they have deteriorated thoroughly enough that there isn’t any more of that half-talking thing. It gives me the shivers even considering it. Do they consider what they are doing? Can they feel it? What part of them is left—if any?

I am one of those people who hopes that whatever they feel is rudimentary, pure instinct, that there is nothing of the soul who was once occupying the body—yet another decent reason to call them “husks”, rather than zombies.

They are chilling to behold, more than any George Romero film could attempt to portray. As a matter of course, anyone who has ever owned a zombie film or series has tossed it summarily out into the gutter, so to speak—though in some cases, literally. I have genuinely witnessed people with whole collections, tossing them out into our now-defunct trash bins. The gesture seems more symbolic than anything else; the only garbage truck I have seen in the area is the one the former “rogue garbage man” (a story for another time) had used to make his living, except this thing was ass-over-teakettle in a swamp. Whether it was a group of husks or just some of the run-to-riot wildlife in the area that drove him off the road, I guess I’ll never know.

The village I call home is a small place, a five-by-five mile square with probably five hundred people, total. The cop shop doubles as the library and town hall, if that gives you any idea of the scale of things. We have a four-way which is the biggest attraction in town and isn’t even a stop—traffic on the old highway zooms right on through. We have the essentials, a bar, a hardware, a convenience store and two churches, one Catholic, the other non-denominational, the church equivalent of “Original” and “Spicy”. I’m not entirely sure which one is which, but since the Catholics serve wine, I’m going with Original Recipe—they’re the ones who own the one graveyard in town, which I am pleased to say has expelled none of its residents. It probably isn’t feasible to rise from your grave when you are encased in cement and filled with formaldehyde. Who knew that our uncomfortably Egyptian burial practices would come in handy? There are a few cross streets here and there, but they either lead to dead-ends or a twisted mass of nonsense roads that curve and twist and transform into other roads as they hit county lines.

Everything that is not a house or trailer is a field, woods, a swamp, or some combination of the two.

For having so much farmland, however, there are very few farms. In recent years, times have been tough on anything that is not a massive, factory farm and, needless to say, anything called a “village” does not have the consumer base or, likely, the location to support such a thing. The government has been doing what it does best: making it hard on the little guy. I wish I could tell you it was because of this regime or that, red or blue, but to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure the agenda changes much across the aisle—not where regulatory licensure is concerned, anyway. Farmers just cannot keep up with government subsidization if they aren’t an approved recipient and then they lose their farms, plain and simple. It isn’t the best explanation, nor is it a terribly sympathetic one; don’t think me cold for this, but I recognize that there is plenty about the world I cannot change and, when the dead are walking, you quickly learn which battles to fight, which passions to chase, and which issues to leave behind in the dust of a previous age. I’ve shaken that particular blend of mud from my shoes.

My family is one of the fortunate few who had a “hobby” farm before this whole thing went down. I don’t know who decided to call it that, but this thing is no hobby. It is absolutely, without question, a full-time job taking care of the animals. We have the staples, chickens and hogs, like you would expect in the rural Midwest, but rather than cows, my family long ago elected to raise, breed, milk, and butcher goats. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, my friend; goat is good eating. The milk is creamy, the cheese is exquisite, and they are friendly, mid-sized beasts who can be pushed and pulled where you need them to go. Sometimes, we lament not having at least one cow, but upon reflection, the sheer size of any bovine is enough to stop that thought quickly; they eat a ton and if they do not want to cooperate, they simply won’t. There is little a human can do without a cattle prod (or dogs) and we’re fresh out.

We are fresh out of cattle prods, that is, not dogs. We have dogs. Everyone around here has at least one dog. It’s just something you do in the country. You have dogs. We have four, actually, and right now, they make for excellent guards, alerting us to the presence of the undead with quiet barks—we call them “low-commitment”, because it isn’t a full-on bark, but it’s loud enough to let us know something is up. It’s as if the dogs understand that the dead are attracted to sounds. Now, if a human being wanders by the fence, the dogs go all out. They’re really the epitome of “a bark worse than their bite”, but nobody else knows that, so they keep the riff-raff out. By riff-raff, I mean drifters, thieves, those who are not committed to survival by hard work, but by capitalizing on the work of others. Around here, there are plenty—or there were. Needless to say, that behavior does not win you many friends during a crisis like this one. My family is generous, but we are not soft, nor stupid. Telling the good from the bad has never been difficult for us… or the dogs, actually.

So there you have it… “hobby” farm with doggy security system. We have ham, goat, and chicken a-plenty; we have eggs, milk, and cheese. We are very well-outfitted for this “apocalypse”, if you want to call it that. I think it might be a bit overblown, but nobody asked me, did they? There are plenty of people and families out there who were not so fortunate. It did not take long to realize how well-positioned we were (and still are) to survive and even to thrive in these new dark ages. Oh, but I guess I got ahead of myself again—or maybe behind… again. You probably aren’t here for logistics or whatever. You probably saw the opening monologue and thought “shit, she’s going to spill it all; we’re going to get a real juicy story”. You want to know how it started, or at the very least, how it started for me, don’t you? Well, strap in. This is a long one.

[allofbeercom]

‘Are You The One?’ Recap: Murder On The AYTO Express

HELLO AND WELCOME to without a doubt the most lit episode in history with the most fucking braindead bunch of degenerate fuckpoles you’ve ever seen. Seriously, the casting this season is A-1. And by A-1, I mean that half of these castmates will probably end up in jail one day.

As someone who thrives on the drama of others appreciates good reality TV, this episode brought me more joy than I could have hoped, and I actually learned a thing or two in the process. For instance, did you know that behind the creatures that live on Geles’ eyelashes, there is actually a genuinely fucking insane monster-woman?

Also, in exciting news and by request, my betchy Jewish mom has decided to return the world of and I’ll be featuring some of her commentary. This show is such a great bonding experience for us because I can consistently say “see mom, I at least I’m not throwing bananas at people on National TV” and honestly, I think that’s all a parent really wants to hear from their kid <3

AFTER THE MATCH UP CEREMONY

They got 4 beams and party like crazy, because nothing is more exciting than being drastically behind in life.

Keith celebrates by lifting weights in overalls, and watching him do so is as close as I’ll ever get to the Midwest. He’s talking to Alexis about how the best way to handle not being a perfect match is to have a threesome with whomever their perfect match actually is. Alexis is like “seems like a legit solution” and this kids, is why our country is in shambles. 

They both eventually promise not to hook up with their perfect match. Psh, sure, Jan.

Kareem and Alivia are considering pulling their heads out of their asses and accepting the fact that they are almost certainly a no-match. Alivia is like “Keith is literally what I asked for in this game” and it’s like, soooooooo, wanna tell us what you’re doing with poor man’s mobster over there?

THE CHALLENGE

Keyana apparently got way too lit while celebrating and sprained her foot. Because it’s Keyana and the only athletic thing she’s ever done in her life is run in whatever direction Michael is in, she is in crutches with a full fucking cast. *cough, cough* pussy *cough*

It’s officially the best challenge of the year: The exes are hereeeeee! And hey, there is Taylor from last season? Hun, if you wanted another 15 minutes of fame, shoot for the stars and audition for . 

Apparently she’s Joe’s ex and color me shocked. I honestly never pegged Taylor as Joe’s type (and vice-versa) but I think it’s so cute that they can cut costs and share hair products. Lord knows everyone from season five needs to save as much money as possible.

The game is speed dating like and the castmates have to hang out with their ex while other castmates come and interview them. One time my boyfriend and I saw my ex at a bagel shop and I legit hid behind a trashcan, so honestly I’m cringing forever.

Here’s a couple things about the exes (sorry, you’re not safe from this either):

UCHE’S EX: My mom and I both agree that either she met him at Church or she helped him when he had fallen and couldn’t get up. Seriously, how old is this dude?

SHAD’S EX: If Shad was as good of a boyfriend as she said he was, he should have kindly pointed her to the nearest hair salon.

CLINTON’S EX: Poor girl got the fucking FBI shakedown from Uche, but I don’t trust anyone who calls fooling around “sexual encounters.” Who let the narc on this show?

DD’S EX: Is from her junior year of high school. Damn, the desperation levels are strong with this one.

MICHAEL’S EX: Looks like she probably has the personality of cardboard. So very obviously still into Michael, which makes me think she probably has the brain cells to match her shining personality.

MALCOLM’S EX: “Well… she’s not what I expected.” – Mom. That’s putting it kindly.

MY FACE LOOKING AT MALCOLM’S EX:

ANYWAYS, Geles and Taylor seem to be hitting it off in the way only two fame-hungry, moderately hot girls can: fucking screaming at each other over a dude with a man bun and chipmunk teeth. It’s not a good look for Taylor, but as the professional drama expert here at Betches (please see my LinkedIn for more), I’m putting my money down that Geles probably came in more crooked than her left eyelash atm.

As they continue to insult each other, I realize this might be the fight I never knew I needed? TBH watching people sink to their low really has got me thriving. Either way, putting on my expert hat again, editing is a fickle bitch and I’m going to explore the ever-loving fuck out of Twitter (or employ the detectives on the AYTO subreddit) to find out EXACTLY what happened.

Oh also, I forgot to mention that Shad apparently lasts for like, three seconds in bed. Just a heads up!

Overall, Keith and Alexis win the challenge. Say what you will about these redneck trash bags, but those fuckers know how to win. Take notes, Democratic Party. Anyways, Keith picks Alivia. Alexis, in a form of petty that is honestly inspiring, picks Kareem.

MOM: Alexis and Kareem need to reroute their date to the nearest asylum. 

BACK AT THE HOUSE

Anthony decides DD might be his match and wants to get to know her better. Cute, stupid Anthony. Anyways, he sets up a drinking/20 questions game on the balcony of the boom boom room.

Malcolm, the perpetual cheater, gets super mad that they even looked in the direction of the boom boom room and is like “WE ALL KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IN THE BOOM BOOM ROOM!” Of course, in a move that MTV def made happen was exceptionally dramatic, he runs and tells Geles too.

Geles is like “DD is easy and I want to throw her down a flight of stairs.” Well that’s not cause for alarm. Maybe Kareem and Geles should give love a shot. Also, that’s pretty tough talk coming from a girl who is like 85% silicone. DD would beat some ass, so I’m pretty excited about this possibility.

What’s even worse is that this game Anthony and DD are playing is totally innocent. He even asks her if he can kiss her and she says that “she has too much respect for Malcolm to do that.”

Meanwhile, in probable-domestic-violence land, Alivia tells Keith that Kareem is like pushing her away by being the most controlling and shitty human ever. Huh, what a weird concept.

She tells Keith that she’s afraid of Kareem and Keith’s like “I’m not afraid of Kareem.” Okay, so suddenly the whole fanbase (me, the subreddit and six teenage girls in Brazil) want to fuck Keith. This episode has so many twists.

Keith and Alivia start kissing and Alivia immediately does what she ALWAYS does and runs her ass to Kareem to tell him. She’s like “I’m sorry, I wanted to be honest.” Whoever told you honesty is the best policy was seriously disturbed. Of course, Kareem feels so betrayed, which is crazy because I didn’t know psychopaths could feel any emotion.

When DD leaves the date with Anthony, Malcolm immediately calls her a “dick rider.” Which would be okay if you were starring in a superhero porno, but otherwise it’s like, the most insulting shit I have ever heard. DD rightfully flips out because that’s just like, the rules of feminism.

MOM: Well, this explains his ex. — That’s like, way harsh Tai. REAL PIC OF MY MOM AND I:

THE DATE

They go to a palm reading and tarot cards reading date. Really MTV, y’all take Kareem’s and Alexis’ crazy asses into a witch shop? This is the lamest episode of ever.

Alexis is like “I’m super into witchcraft” and I’m honestly afraid for Keith rn. She’s got little white bread voodoo dolls in her eyes.

Alivia and Keith have a pretty real chemistry so they start making out again, obviously. Nothing gets Keith’s dick harder than the fact it’s probably going to be chopped off by Alexis within the next few hours.

Kareem and Alexis, meanwhile, are bonding over their shared mental instability. Kareem decides to tell Alexis about Keith and Alivia’s kiss and they rile each other up faster than a Disney Channel movie basketball team hearing an inspiring speech in the locker room at halftime.

They are like “just because we fucked up and did the same thing doesn’t mean that anyone else can!” Republicans have the weirdest logic.

Alexis and Kareem do the mature thing and confront Keith and Alivia on their date. Alexis yells at Keith for not telling her and how they agreed not to hook up with their matches. Keith is stuck in the age-old predicament where he tries to decipher what “hooking up” means.

Alexis thinks it’s a kiss and Keith thinks it’s anal. Tale as old as time.

If you think Alexis is crazy, Kareem is like, hold my beer. He’s hitting shit and yelling at Alivia while Keith stares on, wondering how this dude escaped his padded cell. Of course, Kareem has to fucking throw a table at Alivia and now MTV brings in producers, because maybe, just they have a problem here.

BACK AT THE HOUSE

The only thing I have seen Geles do in this house is shit talk, apply makeup and pine over a very average-looking dude named Anthony. Geles is basically every sorority sister I have ever had.

Geles and Malcolm team up to belittle DD for doing nothing wrong, and DD is not having it. She and Audrey start yelling back at Malcolm/Geles and it’s a mess.

TYLER: I hate this place, but it’s great.


ME AND MY MOM: #tru

TRUTH BOOTH

DD and Anthony explain exactly what happened and Malcolm is like “everyone knows what happens in the boom boom room.” Everyone knows there is money in the banana stand.

Terrence J is like, “you know the boom boom room is like, the only room with a door, right? Maybe they just wanted to get away for a second.” Malcolm acts like someone just explained quantum physics to him.

This show should just be called “twentysomethings considering basic concepts.”

Nurys and DD, bonded over the fact that Malcolm ain’t shit, make up and become friends. There is no stronger friendship than one bonded through mutual hate. That’s like, the only friends I have.

Keith word vomits that he and Alivia kissed again and of course Alexis and Kareem flip the fuck out.

Alexis tells Keith “to go die” and is two seconds away from asking her murderer cousin for a repeat performance. Terrence J is like “damn that’s harsh”, which is a weird way of saying “YOU ARE A FUCKING CRAZY PERSON.”

Alivia calls out the hypocrisy of this whole thing and tells the house about Kareem throwing a table and everyone in the house is like “what, Kareem?! No way!”

Shad’s like “hey, if I was a girl I would not want him to be my perfect match.” As a girl I also want sex to last longer than two seconds, but sometimes dreams are meant for when we are sleeping.

Zoe is like “I thought Kareem was my match but he’s getting a little too domestic violence-y for me.” Oh, did you not tell the matchmakers you wanted that?

MY MOM: You know poor Alivia’s mother is somewhere praying on her rosary that Kareem is not her match.

Kareem stands up, starts yelling, and leaves the room. He swears that Keith and Alivia are not a match and now he hates Alivia and is going to start the smallest chapter of the He-Man-Woman-Haters Club in the boom boom room.

Of course, Keith and Alivia go to the Truth Booth. They like, want this to help them win the money, but more importantly they want this so they can tell Kareem to take his perfectly sculpted facial hair and fuck right off.

The episode is about to end, and if it ends on a cliffhanger I will throw my laptop across the room. Kareem is obviously affecting me.

Because there is no such thing as happiness on reality TV, they are a NO MATCH. Gotta say, this bummed me out.

Kareem and Alexis start laughing their asses off, while Alivia and Keith make their walk of shame towards two people who legit want to murder them.

MY MOM: Is this going to turn into a murder mystery show? I actually really like that angle. — Your move, MTV.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/are-you-the-one-recap-murder-on-the-ayto-express/