Left 4 Disappointment 2

I've been playing a lot of Left 4 Dead 2 lately. A lot. Purchasing this game in no way helped calm my preexisting addiction to all things zombie; since its arrival, my dependency on the living dead has only grown stronger. Like some kind of super villain or something.

I finally got around to installing my drawing program on my netbook, hence this drawing and my fucking awesome new banner.

I was playing earlier today(no surprise, to be honest), and my parents were conveniently not home. See, since my netbook can barely handle Minesweeper, I'm unable to play games on here; this means I'm using my parent's desktop to play L4D2. If you're not familiar with my gripes over the desktop, either because your memory is horrible and you should be ashamed or because you haven't been reading my blog very long(which is also horrible and worthy of shame), then let me rehash this topic.

It's roughly three, three and a half years old. It hardly has anything installed, something like 80% of its original memory is still intact. The processor is somewhat above average, I can't remember exactly what it is, but I know it's around 2.6ghz or so. There is no reason for this computer to run slowly. The reality of this situation? It behaves like we've had it for 10+ years. So you might see where my frustrations lie when I try to play my wonderfully modern zombie game.

The game runs, you see; the desktop meets at least the minimum requirements to play it. I checked before I bought it. The problem is that, for some inexplicable reason, the computer decided it would be fun one day to give us the middle finger and run as slowly as it damn well pleases.

So as I was saying before I got sidetracked, I was playing by myself with the volume turned up relatively high because, if you're not familiar with zombie games, it's fun to scare the shit out of yourself when a screaming zombie comes running around a corner and then you begin to wildly fire your gun in any direction. I transition from shrieks of terror to maniacal laughter on a very consistent basis, and I'm sure any person within earshot of my cackles is under the assumption that my family is housing some kind of disturbed mental patient.

Up until this point, I've somehow managed to avoid my parents discovering the sheer brutality within the game, such as when you start throwing your chainsaw around and blood and zombie limbs fly everywhere; I kind of screwed up today in that regard. My parents walked in the house to the sound of the dying screams of zombies, which sent my mother into a state of sheer panic. Before I have a chance to react, they're both standing in the doorway, mouths agape at the on-screen carnage, with my mom asking an eerily calm tone when I decided to become evil.


Now, I've never considered myself to be evil, and in my mind, ridding the world of flesh-craved zombies is anything but evil; I'm pretty sure the Boy Scouts of America give a badge for zombie extermination. And if they don't, they should, because it's nothing short of an exemplary public service. My parents will be happy one day when the world is thrust into a zombie apocalypse and the extensive time I spent sitting behind a screen, hacking at would-be zombies, is what saves our lives. 


I think behind his shock, my dad thought the game looked fun. He kind of stood there and watched me play for a little bit, asking questions about what gun I was using or what the bile jars do(makes one zombie the target of the others, just in case you were wondering), sometimes cringing when my axe(Uh, spellcheck is telling me that 'axe' is not a word. What the hell.) managed to behead the occasional unlucky zombie. Maybe I can convince him to play.


My mom, on the other hand, will continue to wonder where she went wrong with me; a question that started around the time I bit my sister in the stomach. My question to her is, since when is wanting to kill zombies a bad thing? I would understand if the game was called Puppies and Kitties: Total Destruction and consisted of murdering innocent baby animals. That's pretty sadistic. But zombies? Really? Maybe she's infected, and as a zombie, is against the slaughter of her kind.


I'll be keeping my eye on her.

So happy together.

Sometimes, you find things that are super cool. And then you find other things that are super cool. Then, every once in a while, you get the idea that these two super cool things should be one super cool thing. If you're me, however, then you get these ideas constantly. Here's some stuff that I think should be considered package deals.

Cake and cake

Cake is awesome on its own. Moist and delicious with creamy frosting, there's almost nothing better on this earth. The only way to improve cake? More cake. "More cake" should be our national motto; everybody would be happier, and think of all the problems we could fix. The answer to war? More cake! The answer to hunger? More cake! The answer to eliminating dangerous drug cartels? More cake! The answer to unwed, teenage mothers? More cake! And condoms! Hurray!

Sleep and exercise

Since "more cake" probably isn't the answer to obesity, this is the perfect solution. If scientists or nutritionists or personal trainers or something can find some way to get our bodies to exercise while we're asleep, BAM, problem solved. I understand there might be difficulties in making this dream a reality, and I'm willing to wait for science to catch up to the inner mechanics of my mind. I'll learn to be patient, I really will. Seriously, Stephen Hawking, call me up. I'm sure this is probably outside your typical realm of interest, but maybe we can work on something together. I'm an idea guy.

Microwaves and television

Sometimes, when I'm microwaving something, I think, "You know, I hate waiting, but I don't want to walk away and have the microwave beep before I can stop it when there's one second left. I wish there was some way to entertain myself rather than pace back and forth in the kitchen, looking at food because I'm bored, then remembering that I'm waiting for food to finish cooking." One day, it dawned on me; we need a TV installed in the microwave. Then I would never have to stop staring at a screen. My life would be complete.

Zombies and dinosaurs

Two of my favorite things. There needs to be a movie or TV show or book or something about these two subjects. Think of all the zombie movies that would have been improved with the inclusion of dinosaurs: 28 Days Later, Day of the Dead, Zombieland, the list goes on. Just imagine, Mark Zuckerberg and Abigail Breslin fight off a horde of zombies, only to turn around and see a velociraptor staring them down. Lord help them if they come across zombie dinosaurs. Facebook would never be the same.

My Contribution To The End Of The World

I used at least three water bottles today. They try to guilt me into feeling bad about it, too. No, not "they," that ever-mysterious group of people that seems to do, say, and think everything that has ever been done, said, or thought. By the way, where do they find the time? I have no life and I barely manage to contribute anything to society. 


I wonder if they have one of those time turner things from the third Harry Potter book. I totally think that was a deus ex machina. Hermione suddenly has a device that can turn back time and stop all the bad things that happened from happening? Don't even try to convince me otherwise, saying oh, it was just a coincidence! There are no coincidences in British literature. Go find a major coincidence in a book written by someone from England and prove me wrong. The only rule is that you can't read "Oliver Twist" by Charles Dickens, because I know of a major coincidence in that book and bringing it up would just prove me wrong. And that's not fair, because proving me wrong is actually against the second rule that says it's against the rules to prove me wrong. Or, oh, JK Rowling had that planned all along! She had all those classes at the same times, so she needed it to get to them, and they just happened to need what is basically a time machine the same school year. I will bet big money(lol) that JK Rowling added that necklace at the end and went back through the book, looking for a way to make it seem like it fit in with the storyline so that someone on a blog years later wouldn't call her out for it.


But I digress.


It is not "they" who are trying to make me feel guilty, it is the water bottle. It has the recycling emblem on it; you know, the three arrows that make some kind of triangular shape. Right below that, it says "CA Refund!" in big, bold letters, as if to say, "Recycle me! I'll reward you with five cents for momentarily casting aside your ever-present laziness!"


You can't fool me, water bottle. If it so much as takes up six cents of gas to drive to and from the recycling center closest to my house, then your trickery is wasted on me and a landfill somewhere will be glad to have you. My anger subsides quickly, though, because I feel a kinship with you, water bottle. Your stubbornness in the face of good sense is something I can relate to, as evidenced by your inability and unwillingness to break down for countless decades. 


We have so many commonalities, water bottle. Why do you guilt trip me into abandoning the laziness that has worked so well for me, for so long? And why do you make me realize that laziness has been counterproductive rather than helpful? You must be some kind of psychiatrist disguised as a water bottle. If this was a zombie apocalypse, I would keep you safe because you could help me cope with losing everything and everyone I loved, not to mention accepting the fact that all society has crumbled and we must rebuild everything, pending we live long enough to do so. I'd miss the internet. And my family. Assuming they would die. It's hard to say, because you can tell yourself you're prepared for a zombie outbreak, but I think if it were to actually happen, I would end up dying really quickly. The whole thing would catch me off guard and I'd end up getting eaten. I had a dream about the zombie apocalypse not too long ago, it was actually pretty awesome.


I was with this random group of people trying to board up a house, and all the zombies could see us but they didn't really care, which was weird. Anyway, we boarded up the main floor of the house and hid out in the basement, but the zombies broke in anyway and we destroyed the staircase. It would have been a good idea if we were on the second floor, but instead all the zombies fell into the basement like the yodeling mountain climber guy on The Price is Right when you go too high.

Go to about 1:10 to see what I'm talking about. That music is freaking sweet.

So we're sitting in this basement with a bunch of dead zombies, and I'm voted as the person to climb out a window and go get food or badgers or something. As I'm walking down the street, a zombie comes up and bites me. Instead of dying one of those horribly bloody deaths, I am IMMEDIATELY a zombie. I didn't even feel any pain. The best part is that zombies are totally lucid and have some kind of functioning society that consists of breaking into houses and playing video games. On top of that, they don't even need to eat human flesh, they just do it because they think it's funny to scare people. What my dream taught me is that my life would only minutely change if I turned into a zombie, and that maybe the zombie apocalypse would be something we as collective human beings should get behind.

My Cloven Hoof Problem

Everyone has at least one thing they struggle with. For many, it's smoking or overeating. For others, it's an addiction to zombie dinosaur fan fiction or living in a gas station bathroom because you found a spider in your apartment and it disappeared, and there's no way you can go back there until you know that thing is dead and isn't breeding thousands of children that are going to crawl on you when you fall asleep.. Whatever the severity of your problem is, we all wake up and face a certain challenge every day.


While I have a whole host of issues to choose from, my most crippling debilitation is writing zombie dinosaur fan fiction social anxiety. For those of you that don't suffer from this delightful condition, let me paint you a picture. Imagine everything you do in your daily life, such as talking to people or leaving your house, and then add a thick layer of lipid fear to those scenarios. Think you're gonna go to the store today? HA, no, there's someone there waiting to judge you for walking around in penguin pajamas because taking a shower requires too much effort, and the towels are all the way over there.

That phone's ringing? Well, it's about to go to voice mail, because the moment you answer, you're going to start babbling like an idiot, sputtering one incoherent sentence after another, until the person on the other line realizes they've just reached some sort of invalid who should not be allowed to answer the phone. 

Personally, the main things that I find terrifying are phones and jobs. Which is not exactly what I would consider convenient things to be afraid of. You need a job to afford things like food and new computers, and phones to communicate with the world outside of your four-walled safety blanket.

Why are phones scary? I have no clue. There's something about answering a phone and talking to a total stranger that gives me a combination of indigestion and flop sweat. Caller ID helps, but if the number is blocked or I don't recognize it, I go through a complete and total rundown of every possible outcome as I decide whether or not to answer the phone. What if it's a Nigerian prince calling to tell me I just inherited millions of dollars? Then I should probably answer it, I've always wanted millions of dollars. But on the other hand, what if it's someone just waiting on the other line to insult and judge me for daring to answer the phone?

In my mind, it's usually the latter. In reality, it's never the former. My aversion to phones might be explained when I realize that answering it is in no way beneficial to me, and in an attempt to keep my 20-year laziness streak running, I have now formed a spine-chilling fear of doing anything I don't absolutely have to do.

At 20 years old, I have only had one job. I worked at a grocery store called Trader Joe's for about nine months, and while I plan on dedicating at least one post to the things I encountered there, it deserves mention in this post in particular.

Have you noticed a lot of alliteration so far? It's bothering me, but not enough to go back and change anything. Laziness has defeated my self criticism this round.

So while I worked there, I had what I would call daily panic attacks as I woke up and realized I had work that day. I would spend hours hyperventilating and sweating profusely as I mentally prepared myself for customers asking if the corned beef had any pork in it, and in case you're wondering, no, it did not. 

Something about working with a combination of managers potentially judging me for not working hard enough and customers judging me for trying my hardest to appear unafraid of them, even though my uncontrollable nervousness and deer-in-the-headlights look every time one of them approached me probably gave it away, had me in a state of panic on a regular basis.

If that poorly drawn deer does not permanently welcome me into your heart out of adoration and sympathy, then I don't know what will.

I won't get into the details of what led to my quitting that job, since I might be saving that for a future post, but the above is a very detailed reenactment of what happened on an almost daily basis. Now that I no longer have a job, I'm left with a very small amount of constantly-dwindling funds in my bank account. Finding another job terrifies me more than I'm comfortable to admit, but it has allowed me to waste even more time doodling for you.

So now, I'm left with either living a life of dependency and hoboism, or facing my fears and finding a new job at some point. For the time being, I'm trying to find ways to get paid for being a recluse. I'm wondering if it's possible to put "hermit" on a job application. It would most likely hurt me more than help me, because I doubt a potential employer would find me very appealing once I started to explain the likenesses between myself and Boo Radley, minus the dendrophilia and penchant for children.