F is for Flee FOOL!

While running a classic zig zag pattern and mentally critiquing my fellow survivors pastel polyester ass(B- tops), I heard something that only could be described as a rebel yell. Perhaps it was the screeching made by the proverbial “bat out of Hell”. Before I had more than a moment to be bewildered, an object that resembled nothing so much as the twisted offspring of a Sherman tank, a bigwheel, and a grocery cart came hurtling from the darkness behind me.

Whatever it was started life as a wheelchair, and in it was the remainder of what was once a very large man. He bristled with massive projectile weaponry that discharged an inordinate amount of ordnance and decimated the undead around us. He screamed with joy and abandon, “DIEZOMBIESUMBITCHEZZZZ!”

Just then it occurred to me that in the abstract, even better then a dude from a minority, a guy in a wheelchair would be awesome to have around in the event of zombie attack. A well armed kamikaze dude in a mutant tank wheelchair… well that was priceless…

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