Signs of Zombies and My New Zombie Defense Strategy

Yesterday, Austin, Texas news reported that construction signs along one highway began to flash warnings of a zombie outbreak. They're currently blaming hackers, but honestly... Didn't we all know this was coming sometime?

Could the hacker story not, in fact, be a clever cover-up conspiracy for the truth of the situation? Just to prevent mass panic?

I mean, at the first sign of a few snowflakes, we all run off to the store to stock up on milk and bread. As if dry toast and 2% are the keystones to quality survivalist living...

And at any sort of big sports triumph, fans take to the streets, knock over trashcans and set things on fire. Because celebration requires conflagration.

This is the logic of the masses.

So you can see where news about the zombie hoards coming... well, that would have to be suppressed for a while for the safety of the public, first to save people from themselves.

I mean, they might be undead, but zombies should only have to take so much blame.

Now, you may not know this, but I live just on the cusp of Zombie Central.

No, no, not in Austin. But our Monroeville Mall, right outside Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, is famous-- not only for being a key scene in George A. Romero's Dawn of the Dead...

And an annual Zombie Walk which benefits the Greater Pittsburgh Food Bank (savor the irony)...

But it is also home to The Monroeville Zombies Museum, Gallery and Attraction-- the perfect place for stocking up on all your critical Zombie Defense paraphanalia.

And that is where I purchased the one item that should help me with my latest zombie defense strategy.

My cunning "Monroeville Zombies" t-shirt disguise....


See, I'd previously detailed some preliminary plans for myself to deal with zombie defense, but much of that involved zombie-proofing my home.

This t-shirt, I believe, gives me an added dimension of protection in that, should I run out of supplies like milk and bread, I could possibly make it to the store by showing my solidarity for the zombie cause. By clearly saying, "Hey, I'm one of you." Also, by drooling a bit, walking slowly, and looking vacant...

So basically, how things are before I have my morning coffee.

I'm practicing my shuffle and groan now. And I already have dark circles under my eyes, so that's a plus. And now I have my nifty Monroeville Zombies t-shirt-- so I can be fashionable and possibly not gnawed upon. I might still need to invest in some fake blood or possibly just dip into the Heinz ketchup in my fridge. But I'll deal with that detail when the time comes.

What do you think? Here, I'll show you the general look I'm considering...


Do I stand a chance?

Oh, and because I care about you guys and would hate to think all of my nice readers got eaten by the undead and stuff, you might also want to check out the following Cabbages zombie defense-related posts...

• Zombie Situation Anti-Cliche Specialist for Hire
• Zombie Defensive Tactics, Part I
• The Z-Word

Be careful out there!

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UPDATE!!- Well, there have been some folks who felt I didn't look zombiefied enough. So my friend Jaffer was kind enough to use his Mad Photoshop Skillz and make me a little more assimilated to the zombie hoards. It's a good look for me...


Sorta like I've just enjoyed a really nice pasta marinara... Or a neighbor.
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Wiperman to the Rescue!

"Would you like me to install those for you? I can do that; it's free," said the man.

"Install" and "free." Possibly the two most beautiful words a girl has ever heard uttered!

I was at the register of the Advance Auto Parts store, new windshield wipers in hand. The current set on my car had once had big aspirations toward spic-and-span visibility and world domination.

But now the rubber was coming away from the blade... The blade was coming away from the wiper arm... And instead of clarity and precision, I'd flip 'em on and they'd just stand there and shimmy like a hoochie dancer: "Hey, baby...How you like somma this?"

Well, fine on form and poise, but the wipe? Gone. Seriously, no wipe. Leaving me with "-ers."

And "-ers", a shiny windshield do not make. "Quit the hip-wiggling, Gypsy Rose. You're making me seasick."

Part of the reason the wipers were in the shape they were, was because I'd had the bright idea to install them myself. Because I had been under the impression that a moderately non-stupid, slightly mechanical person could do it in a jiff.

The calculated measurement of "jiff," in case you were wondering, is about 45 minutes. Jiff must be done on a freezing cold day, but requires the manual dexterity of glove-free hands. Jiff requires the posterior region to sit at length upon an ice-cold car hood.

Jiff may require a hairdrier on "high" to free said posterior from the aforementioned ice-cold hood, depending on humidity levels.

It may also involve Oscar-award-worthy weeping-- though that, I understand, is optional.

But even once installed fresh and new, the one wiper had displayed a nervous twitch when asked to do its duty. Some kind of Wiper Performance Anxiety, I guess... But at that point I was too busy doing the hoochie dance myself in celebration of just having the things relatively where they should be.

Like not rattling around in the trunk.

So would I like this nice man to install these wipers for me for free?

Why, yes-- yes, I would!

Two seconds, and he had the new wiper blades on and working beautifully. And all this while I started to wonder about this marvel in modern customer service.

How had this happened? How had Advance Auto Parts somehow been bypassed by whatever mouse-in-a-maze psychological testing seems to plague my gas company? The gas company who reroutes me through six countries and five siloed service systems, only to ask me for my account number yet another time?...

Or the grocery store visit where cashiers talk around me like I'm InvisibleGirl?...

What Bizzarro World had I entered?

And then-- then he really did it:

"Would you like me to throw away your old wipers for you? Here, let me take that and the empty packaging."

I have to say, I narrowly-resisted smooching him up in a very undignified away right there in the parking lot.

Fortunately, I got control of my better faculties and simply dabbed away my tears of joy-- which froze immediately to my hand because of, well, again, the weather criteria for changing windshield wipers.

Yes, I thanked him... thanked him with gladness and admiration filling my heart... smiled and waved good-bye. Good-bye, you gleaming white knight of auto parts installation... I love you.

He smiled and waved back, said he was just doing his duty, ma'am, and flew off in a mechanic jumpsuited blur.

My faith in customer service... it has been restored. Oh, thank you, Wiperman! My hero!

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