Killing the fuck out of Zombies.

Kurt Ford loved killing zombies.  More than a refreshing walk in the woods.  More than a relaxing shower.  He loved killing the fuck out of some zombies.  It was pretty much the greatest thing in the world.  He started out using firearms, naturally.  When you’re new to killing you have to start with the novice methods, relatively speaking.  Shotguns were his favorite in the beginning because of the high damage and the reduced need for accuracy.  He’ll be the first to admit he used more than his fair share of ammunition in those days, but everything has a learning curve.  Even zombie killing.  He of course went on to practice with hunting rifles, assault rifles, and all manner of handguns but just when he was starting to get a little bored with killing the fuck out of zombies, he picked up a baseball bat.

Holy shit.

Hand-held weapons opened up a whole new world to Kurt.  Breaking, bludgeoning, slicing, shattering, splitting, and gutting zombies were often referred to as “my jam” by this one-man whirlwind of zombie destruction.  Zombies would amble, crawl, stumble, even scamper before him, but all of them would eventually wind up with more of their insides on the outside than there was left on the inside.  Kurt’s clothing was constantly soaked through with blood, meat, and other semi-solid remains of the zombies he was perpetually killing the fuck out of.  Sometimes he found himself sporting a massive erection during his slaughter sprees, but could never quite figure out if it was because of the zombies or the killing.  Either way, he would usually grope it with one hand while using the other to kill the fuck out of zombies.  Everywhere he went he found zombies.  None of them could hide from him.  Kurt was a natural goddamn disaster to zombies.  When he was killing the fuck out of zombies he felt like a God.  He rained his judgment down upon every zombie he came across, ignoring their cries and screams while drowning out the noise with his own howls of ecstasy.  Yes, life was good when Kurt was standing knee-deep in squishy, oozing zombies that had recently had the fuck killed out of them.  Life was bloody, smelly, and glorious.

Now, go back and read that story again, but in your head replace every instance of the word “zombie” with the word “baby.”  Now you’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?  Why do you think that is?  Did you identify with Kurt?  Are you feeling guilty for that now?

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