After this post, Classic Brian will be a blog consisting of 620 published posts, 100 of which are tagged with my name, Eliot.
While it is unknown as to whether Nick or I have accumulated more blog posts over CB's existence (it's certainly turned into a two-man game of late), let's just pretend that I own the lion's share. If you were wondering whether I would mention this being Eliot post No. 100, I'm sorry to potentially disappoint you.
Today, just now in fact, I was at an ATM. The ATM has become a depressing place for me recently, as my lack of employment rings in louder and louder harmony to my dwindling funds. But I was taking out money today so that I could go to St. Louis and see The Dark Knight Rises in OMNImax, which I feel is the best way to format that word. As 6 o' clock approached and the store wherein I made my withdrawal reached its close, I staggered up to the ATM behind a middle-aged black lady.
She was sensibly dressed, wearing something of a gray and maroon full-length floral outfit. She was even wearing a sunhat. It suited her. As I stood behind her in line, she turned around and met my gaze for just nearly a brief second before turning back to the ATM, whether she bore a stern face or not, I did not know.
ATM etiquette is one of the most nominal and silly social norms of today. It's right up there with male bathroom etiquette in terms of unnecessary caution. But I am not fully educated on ATM etiquette, and began to question myself as to my standing position — was I too close? Did she distrust me? I don't know how to take advantage of a PIN number, unless I follow that person around until they inadvertently lose their debit card where I can easily retrieve it. Even then, she's a woman. Someone somewhere would probably track me down before too long if I was using a card belonging to Linda Johnson. Just like in the bathroom, if some guy sees your penis, keep in mind, he is still miles away from sucking that thing. You don't have to file assault charges quite yet.
Anyway, I was unsure if our gaze had been a infinitesimal signal of "back off" or merely an intersection of two careless people taking money out of their accounts to spend it and bring their net worth to a new, regrettable low. I stood back, and pretended to focus on a bronze floorpiece that commemorated the University of Illinois on "Agriculture and Science." The two subjects were imprinted in the circle on opposite pages of an open book. Agriculture was hyphenated, because it would be unrealistic if the word went across both pages. There were symbols surrounding the book, one a spade tucked into the earth, another a microscope, and a third appeared to be a agricultural AND scientific object, but I could make no mental connection as to what the piece actually was. I decided the bit of bronze floor was a shabby artifact, not vital to the University.
As I came to this conclusion, the black lady in front of me pulled away from the ATM muttering utterances I could not understand. Whether she was condemning me in a foreign language or rapping Lil Wayne lyrics under her breath, I could not tell. Then I looked at her hands, she had a lot of cash, and was organizing it. One of her bills had an approximate third of it torn off. She was talking about it, but again, I didn't know if she was inviting conversation or if she was ticked off at my intrusion. If she was mad, I feared, she would present me with of some of that patented black-lady sass (patented black-lady sass is preferable to stereotypical black-lady sass, I am hoping).
I resorted to my only plausibly safe recourse: the nervous but entirely audible laugh. She looked at me and, in agreement, shook her head. We were on the same team, I was almost sure of it.
"What?" I said, realizing that I hadn't heard her legitimately.
"One of my bills is torn in half," she said, content to have her complaint heard.
"Man."
And there it had went, by far the most efforted social interaction I had all day. For some reason, this felt like enough. Like just talking to that alone, middle-aged black lady was satisfactory to think "I talked to someone at the ATM today." For what it's worth, I think her 20 was still usable. I didn't mention that, however, because now she got to go inside the store and talk to a clerk about it, and that would be two conversations on this ever-wilder ATM quest. Tired, hot and full of a Buffalo Chicken footlong from Subway, I stepped up to the ATM, when it hit me.
I turned my head in her direction as she faded into the store.
"That's quite literally a rip-off," I said.
She stopped. "What?"
"I said, 'That's quite literally a rip-off.'"
"Ha ha ye-es," she replied with on-the-go humored enthusiasm.
I grinned alone in that lobby even as I threw away my receipt with depressing figure-based reality imprinted upon it. Out the door with $30 I went, and headed toward my still un-air-conditioned apartment. To tell the world of my brave adventure.
This glamorous life I have.
Here's to going for it when there's no reason not to, and in return receiving modest-but-positive results; the very essence of Classic Brian itself.
--Eliot Sill
Showing posts with label classic brian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classic brian. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
Nick - Stats!
Robert
HP - 55
Attack - 65
Defense - 80
Special Attack - 55
Special Defense - 40
Speed - 89
Type: Ghost
Nick
HP - 80
Attack - 60
Defense - 50
Special Attack - 80
Special Defense - 95
Speed - 70
Type: Bug
Mada
HP - 45
Attack - 70
Defense - 50
Special Attack - 90
Special Defense - 60
Speed - 92
Type: Electric
Eliot
HP - 50
Attack - 60
Defense - 70
Special Attack - 60
Special Defense - 70
Speed - 99
Type: Ground
Brendan
HP - 65
Attack - 50
Defense - 90
Special Attack - 50
Special Defense - 90
Speed - 40
Type: Rock
Conor
HP - 100
Attack - 70
Defense - 90
Special Attack - 30
Special Defense - 30
Speed: 71
Type: Fighting
Classic Brian
HP - 55
Attack - 95
Defense - 60
Special Attack - 65
Special Defense - 45
Speed - 50
Type: Dragon
HP - 55
Attack - 65
Defense - 80
Special Attack - 55
Special Defense - 40
Speed - 89
Type: Ghost
Nick
HP - 80
Attack - 60
Defense - 50
Special Attack - 80
Special Defense - 95
Speed - 70
Type: Bug
Mada
HP - 45
Attack - 70
Defense - 50
Special Attack - 90
Special Defense - 60
Speed - 92
Type: Electric
Eliot
HP - 50
Attack - 60
Defense - 70
Special Attack - 60
Special Defense - 70
Speed - 99
Type: Ground
Brendan
HP - 65
Attack - 50
Defense - 90
Special Attack - 50
Special Defense - 90
Speed - 40
Type: Rock
Conor
HP - 100
Attack - 70
Defense - 90
Special Attack - 30
Special Defense - 30
Speed: 71
Type: Fighting
Classic Brian
HP - 55
Attack - 95
Defense - 60
Special Attack - 65
Special Defense - 45
Speed - 50
Type: Dragon
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Why it's important to read this blog
Here are reasons:
1. It's a good source of reading materials.
2. It's fun for us to think that people are reading this blog.
3. It's a totally competent and unrivaled source of news about our lives.
4. We are: Robert, Nick, Mada, Eliot, Brendan, Conor and Brian. Those are good names.
5. "Classic" is something you associate with good things, much like a great basketball game, original flavored things that are better than flavored versions of that same thing, or an action that a friend does that fits to a comfortable and sometimes humorous degree with their past actions and current ideologies. Also something of pop-culture that is out-of-date but is still good enough to go back to and experience, because it has not lost its enjoyment with the passage of time.
6. "Brian" is a name of fair simplicity and commonality. It might be your name! It represents the common man with boring accuracy, and is something we can all relate to. We can all imagine what life would be like if we were a person named "Brian." We do this with more ease than we would imagine what life would be like if we were named "Bludneious" or something of a similar nature.
7. The person who this blog was named after is endearing, despite his biting sarcasm and witty insults. You may see yourself dating or being friends with this person. He is also in shape.
8. To not read this blog is to cast it out as unoriginal and uninteresting. In doing this, you imply that the seven writers of Classic Brian are unoriginal, in itself an abhorring accusation, and uninteresting, which is not true in the general public's opinion.
9. We have or have had jobs. Really!
10. The writers of Classic Brian have experienced a wide array of experiences, such as: growing up in a moderately sized city in a state that possesses both bigger and smaller cities, playing sports as children, thinking about their own mortality, making up a fun game.
11. A young person's perspective is easier to get behind than an old person's. We all consider ourselves young people. You can get behind us.
12. Writer's block is bound to happen to the writers of Classic Brian. It's interesting to see what we produce on those days.
13. Sometimes, videos and/or pictures are included in posts.
14. Not all people close in age to the writers of Classic Brian write for blogs. Of the ones that do, ours is the one you should be reading.
15, We won't be mad at you if you read the blog.
16. We are constantly trying to think of interesting points to make.
17.
We are not radicals. We are not entirely innocent. We are not entirely corrupt. We are the fading hope that in the zenith of our lives we can figure out something substantial, deconstruct and understand it, and possess in ourselves the knowledge of how to live life without the cost of having lived it. We are the attempt for perfection.
18. Generally speaking, we all have a relative appreciation of the arts.
19. We're all currently enrolled in major universities.
20. Sometimes, we have guest-writers post on the blog, which provides an interesting alternative perspective on a particular issue or subject.
21. Reading this blog is not "counterproductive," it is better described as "hip."
22. Like all things you experience that will die before you do, you will miss us when we're gone.
23. We will miss us when we're gone, too -- that is to say, we have compassion for ourselves.
24. Each post individually is not a narrative, but every post, over the course of a period of time, is a narrative.
25. With the growing popularity of the internet, we are a good way to spend time.
26. You will be dying and think, probably, "I wonder what was in the rest of those Classic Brian posts" and realize: you'll never fucking know.
27. How long does it take to read a blog post? How much does it cost to do so? Compare these results with that of getting pulled over for speeding.
28. What if one of us writes a post about something you're interested in. Wouldn't that be a fun read?
29. We're not perfect, as writers. We could get better. You could help.
30. We'll read all your comments and take them too seriously.
31. If once a day you have someone do a favor for you, you will likely have time to read the day's post as they are doing that favor for you.
32. There's the slight, slight chance that one of us becomes well-known, and in this scenario you could say "I read that guy's (or Mada's) early stuff when he (or Mada) was just starting a blog with his (or Mada's) friends." People will hopefully be impressed.
33. Whenever the weather's bad, and you're inside because whatever you would be doing outside is an inconvenience because of the weather being bad, you will feel better if you spend that time reading a Classic Brian post you would otherwise not have read.
34. We will not be outdated. If a revolution occurs, we will not write from a pre-revolution perspective.
35. If a writer on Classic Brian quits or dies, the best item on your resume for being that lucky replacement writer would be to say "I have read all your guys's posts."
36. Eventually, this could turn into a website that competes with other websites. In such a case, we'd want you on OUR side.
37. If you are doing something on the computer, and partake in a distraction that won't leave you feeling like you've completely wasted your time, we're your man.
38. There are things along the side of the blog, such as the "Who we are:" section and the "A list: of" section that are enjoyable and made up by members of Classic Brian.
39. We could really use your support.
40. Classic Brian is a diary. And diaries should be read. You don't even have to tell us you read it.
Good job, you read all those! Here's a treat: two pictures of bears. They have similarities and differences.
An aside: it's Thanksgiving break and I don't have a working cell phone until Sunday when I get back to college. I'm okay with this. People who won't see me because of this slight inconvenience, consider our friendships Darwinized. I'm excited to see my brothers and parents. I'm hopeful to get rest and be ready for these last two weeks of the semester.
It's unfortunate that it's about to get so darn wintery. It's as if it were slightly chilly outside and yet you, hot from overexerting yourself in an activity, decide to jump into an unheated pool. Hold your breath, because when you hit the water, it's going to be cold and it's going to stay cold for a long while.
I wish I had written more in my last post, "S[t]imulation." There were things I left out. To think, not only will I not finish everything I want to, I won't even finish thinking of everything I want to finish! What a problem we have today.
--Eliot Sill
1. It's a good source of reading materials.
2. It's fun for us to think that people are reading this blog.
3. It's a totally competent and unrivaled source of news about our lives.
4. We are: Robert, Nick, Mada, Eliot, Brendan, Conor and Brian. Those are good names.
5. "Classic" is something you associate with good things, much like a great basketball game, original flavored things that are better than flavored versions of that same thing, or an action that a friend does that fits to a comfortable and sometimes humorous degree with their past actions and current ideologies. Also something of pop-culture that is out-of-date but is still good enough to go back to and experience, because it has not lost its enjoyment with the passage of time.
6. "Brian" is a name of fair simplicity and commonality. It might be your name! It represents the common man with boring accuracy, and is something we can all relate to. We can all imagine what life would be like if we were a person named "Brian." We do this with more ease than we would imagine what life would be like if we were named "Bludneious" or something of a similar nature.
7. The person who this blog was named after is endearing, despite his biting sarcasm and witty insults. You may see yourself dating or being friends with this person. He is also in shape.
8. To not read this blog is to cast it out as unoriginal and uninteresting. In doing this, you imply that the seven writers of Classic Brian are unoriginal, in itself an abhorring accusation, and uninteresting, which is not true in the general public's opinion.
9. We have or have had jobs. Really!
10. The writers of Classic Brian have experienced a wide array of experiences, such as: growing up in a moderately sized city in a state that possesses both bigger and smaller cities, playing sports as children, thinking about their own mortality, making up a fun game.
11. A young person's perspective is easier to get behind than an old person's. We all consider ourselves young people. You can get behind us.
12. Writer's block is bound to happen to the writers of Classic Brian. It's interesting to see what we produce on those days.
13. Sometimes, videos and/or pictures are included in posts.
14. Not all people close in age to the writers of Classic Brian write for blogs. Of the ones that do, ours is the one you should be reading.
15, We won't be mad at you if you read the blog.
16. We are constantly trying to think of interesting points to make.
17.
We are not radicals. We are not entirely innocent. We are not entirely corrupt. We are the fading hope that in the zenith of our lives we can figure out something substantial, deconstruct and understand it, and possess in ourselves the knowledge of how to live life without the cost of having lived it. We are the attempt for perfection.
18. Generally speaking, we all have a relative appreciation of the arts.
19. We're all currently enrolled in major universities.
20. Sometimes, we have guest-writers post on the blog, which provides an interesting alternative perspective on a particular issue or subject.
21. Reading this blog is not "counterproductive," it is better described as "hip."
22. Like all things you experience that will die before you do, you will miss us when we're gone.
23. We will miss us when we're gone, too -- that is to say, we have compassion for ourselves.
24. Each post individually is not a narrative, but every post, over the course of a period of time, is a narrative.
25. With the growing popularity of the internet, we are a good way to spend time.
26. You will be dying and think, probably, "I wonder what was in the rest of those Classic Brian posts" and realize: you'll never fucking know.
27. How long does it take to read a blog post? How much does it cost to do so? Compare these results with that of getting pulled over for speeding.
28. What if one of us writes a post about something you're interested in. Wouldn't that be a fun read?
29. We're not perfect, as writers. We could get better. You could help.
30. We'll read all your comments and take them too seriously.
31. If once a day you have someone do a favor for you, you will likely have time to read the day's post as they are doing that favor for you.
32. There's the slight, slight chance that one of us becomes well-known, and in this scenario you could say "I read that guy's (or Mada's) early stuff when he (or Mada) was just starting a blog with his (or Mada's) friends." People will hopefully be impressed.
33. Whenever the weather's bad, and you're inside because whatever you would be doing outside is an inconvenience because of the weather being bad, you will feel better if you spend that time reading a Classic Brian post you would otherwise not have read.
34. We will not be outdated. If a revolution occurs, we will not write from a pre-revolution perspective.
35. If a writer on Classic Brian quits or dies, the best item on your resume for being that lucky replacement writer would be to say "I have read all your guys's posts."
36. Eventually, this could turn into a website that competes with other websites. In such a case, we'd want you on OUR side.
37. If you are doing something on the computer, and partake in a distraction that won't leave you feeling like you've completely wasted your time, we're your man.
38. There are things along the side of the blog, such as the "Who we are:" section and the "A list: of" section that are enjoyable and made up by members of Classic Brian.
39. We could really use your support.
40. Classic Brian is a diary. And diaries should be read. You don't even have to tell us you read it.
Good job, you read all those! Here's a treat: two pictures of bears. They have similarities and differences.
An aside: it's Thanksgiving break and I don't have a working cell phone until Sunday when I get back to college. I'm okay with this. People who won't see me because of this slight inconvenience, consider our friendships Darwinized. I'm excited to see my brothers and parents. I'm hopeful to get rest and be ready for these last two weeks of the semester.
It's unfortunate that it's about to get so darn wintery. It's as if it were slightly chilly outside and yet you, hot from overexerting yourself in an activity, decide to jump into an unheated pool. Hold your breath, because when you hit the water, it's going to be cold and it's going to stay cold for a long while.
I wish I had written more in my last post, "S[t]imulation." There were things I left out. To think, not only will I not finish everything I want to, I won't even finish thinking of everything I want to finish! What a problem we have today.
--Eliot Sill
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Conor - Happy Birthday, Classic
Classic Brian is many things.
Classic Brian is a blog that is waaaay less funny than I originally intended, but as it turns out, it's really hard to write a funny blog post every week and it's also really hard to do that when you have so much to tell your friends who are suddenly so far away.
Classic Brian is sometimes a bother. That's why I went to bed last night at 3 AM when I got back home and set an alarm for 6:30 AM. Which explains why an alarm went off at 6:30 AM that really pissed me off and forced me into an unpleasant state of consciousness for around 10 seconds. Which explains why I woke up around 7:30 AM and went back to sleep before I could comprehend the feeling of guilt and responsibility that had managed to wake me up. Which explains why I'm up right now, laying in bed at 8:45 right now, red-eyed and ready.
Classic Brian was conceived sloppily backstage at a community theater in Springfield, IL. Days later it would be hastily birthed in the attic of Brian Malone's house by Brian, Eliot and I. Blood was everywhere.
Classic Brian, as it turns out, is an excellent way to stay in touch with your friends. Every week we have to make a statement and we have to present it to the folks back home.c Sometimes it's an update or a status report, sometimes it's a joke or a rant, and sometimes it's whatever the fuck Brian's post was last week.
Classic Brian makes it okay that Robert quit facebook, because hey, I still see him once a week, at the very least. I get to hear what he has to say, whether that be something worth my time, or a vivid description of squirrel rape.
Classic Brian is the metaphorical kid our group of friends is staying together for. It gives us something to bicker and complain about, which is good, because our relationship lost its spark years ago.
Classic Brian is read by a surprising amount of people, which is funny and surprising. We have 338 pageviews from Denmark (whaaaaaaaat?) and 80 from wherever Slovenia is. Now that I know we have such a sizable Slovenian audience, I will start pandering to that demographic.
Classic Brian is a blog that is waaaay less funny than I originally intended, but as it turns out, it's really hard to write a funny blog post every week and it's also really hard to do that when you have so much to tell your friends who are suddenly so far away.
Classic Brian is sometimes a bother. That's why I went to bed last night at 3 AM when I got back home and set an alarm for 6:30 AM. Which explains why an alarm went off at 6:30 AM that really pissed me off and forced me into an unpleasant state of consciousness for around 10 seconds. Which explains why I woke up around 7:30 AM and went back to sleep before I could comprehend the feeling of guilt and responsibility that had managed to wake me up. Which explains why I'm up right now, laying in bed at 8:45 right now, red-eyed and ready.
Classic Brian was conceived sloppily backstage at a community theater in Springfield, IL. Days later it would be hastily birthed in the attic of Brian Malone's house by Brian, Eliot and I. Blood was everywhere.
Classic Brian, as it turns out, is an excellent way to stay in touch with your friends. Every week we have to make a statement and we have to present it to the folks back home.c Sometimes it's an update or a status report, sometimes it's a joke or a rant, and sometimes it's whatever the fuck Brian's post was last week.
Classic Brian makes it okay that Robert quit facebook, because hey, I still see him once a week, at the very least. I get to hear what he has to say, whether that be something worth my time, or a vivid description of squirrel rape.
Classic Brian is the metaphorical kid our group of friends is staying together for. It gives us something to bicker and complain about, which is good, because our relationship lost its spark years ago.
Classic Brian is read by a surprising amount of people, which is funny and surprising. We have 338 pageviews from Denmark (whaaaaaaaat?) and 80 from wherever Slovenia is. Now that I know we have such a sizable Slovenian audience, I will start pandering to that demographic.
Anybody else excited for that music festival Tuesday? It's being put on by the Students Club of the Municipality of Koper! Call ++386 5 663 42 20 for details, or visit this new helpful website.
Classic Brian should be more interactive, somehow. We should encourage discussion and feedback. These new super obnoxious "HAHAHAHA" or ":-[" options underneath every post are a good start. Hopefully that reference will become dated very quickly. Vote ":-D" though.
Classic Brian is a site that could stand to be made prettier. uuhhhhhh yeah someone get on that. We should also take a picture soon. Also I'm just going to go ahead and declare this the beginning of Season 3. We should do half years as seasons, yes, no?
Classic Brian is a great thing, and something I'm thankful for, and it's a year old now. That's amazing. It feels like we've been doing it longer than that.
Happy Birthday, Classic Brian.
I wish I had photoshop skillz. I would've made a picture that like, shows all of the members of Classic Brian each doing a crazy thing and like across the top it would've said in bold print "Happy Birthday!"
That would've been the perfect ending to this post.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
...And the Livin's Easy
It's four in the morning; this is not a problem. I'm typing this on my house PC. I just came back from a run, I went shirtless. I'm following the it's-not-tomorrow-until-I-go-to-sleep rule in posting this now. My close friends are at my fingertips, and my family a shout away. It is positively summertime.
So here we are, back where it all began. Classic Brian is nearing its one-year anniversary, and as someone who has put a hefty bit o' work into this thing (approximately a post's work more than Sunday Robert), to me I kind of think of CB's birth as the mark of a changed era. When I look through my slow-glass mirror to see myself a year ago, I see someone of a completely different mindset; feeling undisciplined, but not quite free. I see someone who had yet to recognize life itself as authority and proclaimed himself untamed. I see someone ogling, wishing the mirror would show the future and not the present. Summer 2010 changed that reflection. It created an over-the-hill sentimentality in me that I didn't think I would find. It left me more equipped but less ready for the future, and it left me coming off a high that I still fear I'll never be able to replicate.
Yet here we are, stepping up to the plate for at-bat No. 2. After a couple practice hacks, I've come to realize I'm swinging a different bat. That is to say, things are different now than they were a year ago. This year there's going to be no Robert. Not to gush, but I can't put into words (and I'm a WRITER! lol!) how much that sucks. He's not the only one of my friends who I'm going to have to learn to be without. For instance, Old Conor. It's just weird, how throughout the year there was the desire to "get back" to summer. Well I'm back, but it's different from how I left it, and I'm just going to have to be okay with that.
We rolled into last summer riding a wave of graduation festivities and caught between an ending and a beginning, at a point where there was truly nothing to lose. Here we come in staggered, waiting for all the troops to come home, wishing they wouldn't go to summer school so you could retain them for a while, wishing that Conor would've come to Robert's cookout so we could take another Classic Brian picture before the opportunity was lost pretty much forever. Also we're in the middle of college. We came from it, we're going back, there's four years to be had there too, and did we not just learn our lesson to make the most of them?
But I can't shove Summer 2011 off a cliff. First off, we're in Illinois and that would be far from practical, given the landscape. Secondly, it's different, man. Like that second child who has maybe a 6% genetic difference from the one before it; you can't raise it the same way as you did the last one. Summers, much like kids, cannot be crafted on an assembly line. You have to take into consideration your circumstances. I've voiced this thought before, I'll voice it again: I want to do big stuff. I want to travel a bit. I want to be in new situations. I want to get close to some people, and catch up with others that I've strayed from (Side note: the term "people" as used in the current sentence may or may not also include Final Fantasy characters).
I don't really think there's a wrong way to live out your summer, unless you decide to see how many children of family friends you can get away with murdering or something like that. As long as you make your time worthwhile and remember to make each day count for something, you can accept the fact that it's not as great as last year. Maybe this summer will be for you, hell, maybe it will be for me. But it's here, so take it by its brain and make it do your bidding. Summer comes, passes, and is passed in the blink of an eye, and when it's gone it isn't there anymore. If you wanna make stupid decisions, now is the time. Growing up sucks, but fortunately it's summer, and you aren't graded on acting your age.
--Eliot Sill
So here we are, back where it all began. Classic Brian is nearing its one-year anniversary, and as someone who has put a hefty bit o' work into this thing (approximately a post's work more than Sunday Robert), to me I kind of think of CB's birth as the mark of a changed era. When I look through my slow-glass mirror to see myself a year ago, I see someone of a completely different mindset; feeling undisciplined, but not quite free. I see someone who had yet to recognize life itself as authority and proclaimed himself untamed. I see someone ogling, wishing the mirror would show the future and not the present. Summer 2010 changed that reflection. It created an over-the-hill sentimentality in me that I didn't think I would find. It left me more equipped but less ready for the future, and it left me coming off a high that I still fear I'll never be able to replicate.
Yet here we are, stepping up to the plate for at-bat No. 2. After a couple practice hacks, I've come to realize I'm swinging a different bat. That is to say, things are different now than they were a year ago. This year there's going to be no Robert. Not to gush, but I can't put into words (and I'm a WRITER! lol!) how much that sucks. He's not the only one of my friends who I'm going to have to learn to be without. For instance, Old Conor. It's just weird, how throughout the year there was the desire to "get back" to summer. Well I'm back, but it's different from how I left it, and I'm just going to have to be okay with that.
We rolled into last summer riding a wave of graduation festivities and caught between an ending and a beginning, at a point where there was truly nothing to lose. Here we come in staggered, waiting for all the troops to come home, wishing they wouldn't go to summer school so you could retain them for a while, wishing that Conor would've come to Robert's cookout so we could take another Classic Brian picture before the opportunity was lost pretty much forever. Also we're in the middle of college. We came from it, we're going back, there's four years to be had there too, and did we not just learn our lesson to make the most of them?
But I can't shove Summer 2011 off a cliff. First off, we're in Illinois and that would be far from practical, given the landscape. Secondly, it's different, man. Like that second child who has maybe a 6% genetic difference from the one before it; you can't raise it the same way as you did the last one. Summers, much like kids, cannot be crafted on an assembly line. You have to take into consideration your circumstances. I've voiced this thought before, I'll voice it again: I want to do big stuff. I want to travel a bit. I want to be in new situations. I want to get close to some people, and catch up with others that I've strayed from (Side note: the term "people" as used in the current sentence may or may not also include Final Fantasy characters).
I don't really think there's a wrong way to live out your summer, unless you decide to see how many children of family friends you can get away with murdering or something like that. As long as you make your time worthwhile and remember to make each day count for something, you can accept the fact that it's not as great as last year. Maybe this summer will be for you, hell, maybe it will be for me. But it's here, so take it by its brain and make it do your bidding. Summer comes, passes, and is passed in the blink of an eye, and when it's gone it isn't there anymore. If you wanna make stupid decisions, now is the time. Growing up sucks, but fortunately it's summer, and you aren't graded on acting your age.
--Eliot Sill
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Zombie Snowpocalypse Part VI: The Darkness and The Dawn
Robert: Tomorrow, many of you die. Your futures have been determined. Will you survive?
Conor: One of the scariest texts I’ve ever received, yeah, sure. I’ve prepared for all possibilities. Do not worry about me. I will succeed.
Mada: My guess is yes.
Eliot: Save me buddy. I’m already bleeding to death man.
Brendan: I’m cool either way, I just enjoy reading different people’s interpretations of my character/ability to survive.
Nick: I suspect I will do nothing plot-wise regardless of my fate. Please just leave me somebody to finish the story with on Monday.
Brian: I’m not counting on it.
The group eyed Robert with some concern.
"Ok then...guess we should get goi-"
But before Eliot could finish that sentence, Robert had pulled out a knife and go-to-sleeped him for real, right in the neck, just like he promised he would if he ever went psycho. Committed to the end. The group stood there, mouths agape, speechless.
"Ok then...guess we should get goi-"
But before Eliot could finish that sentence, Robert had pulled out a knife and go-to-sleeped him for real, right in the neck, just like he promised he would if he ever went psycho. Committed to the end. The group stood there, mouths agape, speechless.
A dooming silence descended upon the group. Nobody moved as Eliot fell to the ground, tears forming in his eyes as he looked up at the fading paint on Robert’s face. The blood poured out from his neck, dripping down his shoulder blade and coming to rest in a pool by his gasping chest. Eliot lay quiet, eyes blinking, then whimpered suddenly, and the spell was broken. All rushed to his side, crowding him in to comfort his final moments.
All, except two. Robert slashed off his leash with the knife and began to circle the group menacingly, his eyes fixed on a single back. There was purpose in his step, but no one could see that. The roar of the dropped chainsaw allowed his footprints to fall in silence. ‘There will be no more spite,’ he said to himself. ‘It ends here, you bastard; here, I take exactly what is mine.’ With that, Nick turned his head around just in time to see Robert plant the knife deep into the back of Brian, just to the left of his spinal column. Brian fell, face-first, upon Eliot’s.
“Hey look, I lowered both of their ratios,” Robert said with a laugh, but no one could hear him over the screaming. Mada chuckled. Robert gave her one of those chin thrusts that acknowledges appreciation while still asserting dominance.
“Where is Brendan?” Nick said suddenly, lost in the din of chaos.
The two bodies were pulled from each other. Brian, unconscious, was laid face-down while Semas wound a tourniquet out of her gladiator sandals. Eliot lay face-up, coughing, with Mada strewn over him, matching him tear-for-blood-drop.
Eliot whimpered again. His coming end had dawned on him. He began to cry. Brendan’s bandana was tied around his neck.
“I wish,” Eliot choked. “I wish…” he coughed again. “I kind of wish…that…I had.”
“Had what?” Mada said frantically. “I will get you anything.”
“A shirt,” he said feebly. He’d lost over a quart of blood. “It’s freezing, Mada. Hold me.” His lips puckered and he grunted in anticipation.
“Where the hell is a shirt?” Mada said. She looked around frantically. There were few shirts to be found among the group. “There’s no god damned shirts!”
“You can thank Brian for that,” Robert said coolly from the corner of the room, his right leg on the ground and his left leg forming a triangle with the wall he leaned against. Inexplicably he’d found a t-shirt and something to button up partially on top of it. Everything was tucked in sort of halfway, as if done casually and nonchalantly. His aviators were back on and a toothpick danced around his mouth. He looked dangerous again.
All attention shifted to Robert, the homicidal sociopath. Robert, the crazed loner. Robert, the spiteful killer. Robert, the figurehead of survival throughout the journey.
“You’re a monster!” Mada screamed.
“No, Mada, I’m afraid I’m not,” Robert said, casually getting up and strolling across the room as he spoke with occasional hand gestures. “Let’s review, shall we? Was it not I who swore a pact to put someone to sleep by literally stabbing them the moment I went crazy? Was it not also Brian? Was it not also Eliot and Conor?”
“I don’t know!” Mada said. “We have different social groups!”
“Well we did. Ask Brian.” Robert snickered. “Anyway, I’m not your problem, Mada. Your bleeding-out boyfriend is,” he said with a point and an eyebrow gesture. “Neither is Brian. You can thank me for that.” Robert snickered again at his turning-around of the ‘you can thank…’ joke. Robert’s jokes were always good.
“Where’s Brendan?” Nick said again.
“What are you talking about, Robert??” Mada said, exasperated. Her time with her dying lover was short.
“You last saw us at the old chapel,” Robert said. “Brian couldn’t handle my lifestyle. He simply couldn’t. He went insane. He became a dictator, forcing our shirts off at his whim. At rest one night he leashed me, and I’ve been biding my time since. He probably should have taken away my knife.”
At this Mada looked around. Neither Nick nor the new girl were making any move to reprimand Robert. Brian and Eliot were incapacitated. Robert had reassumed his position as leader.
“What do you mean he couldn’t handle your lifestyle?” she asked.
“It’s all a game,” Robert responded. “This is all a game. He couldn’t play.”
“We picked up another,” Robert continued. “Her name is Semas. The poor girl doesn’t speak. We think Brian forced drugs on her; she thinks she’s a warrior princess with Brian as her prince. She’s pretty good with broadswords, though.”
“Ma,” whispered Eliot. His voice was coarse. His lips unpuckered. “Ma.”
Attention shifted again, to the dying Eliot. “I’m sorry,” said Robert as he rushed nonchalantly to his side. “I needed to distract Brian. Knives are shorter than chainsaws. I had to make him drop it first. I tried to aim for a nonlethal area. So, the neck.”
“Ma,” he croaked. “I’m leaving the game. I’m done playing. Take this.” A tiny notebook slipped from his chest pocket into the pool of blood. Mada quickly snatched it up.
“No one…can survive,” Eliot coughed. His eyes were clouding and growing dim. “A knife bite.”
With that he was still. Mada, almost blinded by tears, promised to carry on his memory and thumbed through the notebook.
“It’s a journal,” she said after a minute. “It’s short. ‘…I shot Brendan out of the sky…’ What is this?” she asked, almost pleadingly, before answering her own question. “Oh, God. God, he transcribed his entire acid trip into this notebook.”
“You guys found time for acid?”
“…Birdndan….Chief Illiniwek…Zombie Brian…Conor…” she excerpted. “Knife…knives…‘No one can survive a knife bite.’…You guys, I don’t like this.”
Robert took the journal from Mada, and the remaining group began to read through the contents of the disjointed dream. It was quiet and dark as Robert read the journal like an epitaph or a will; the sun had long since set upon Champaign. Nobody stirred after horrific nightmare after horrific nightmare unfolded. The dream was creepy and haunting, almost prophetic, for the group in its present traumatic state, but it was pure coincidence Eliot had been killed by the knife. It had to be. Besides, Brian was killed by a knife. Conor was already dead. It was simply too unrealistic.
Robert finished. Silence. Everyone was numbed by the recent chaos.
Nick spoke for the third time since arriving at the dorm. “Where. Is. Brendan?”
This time he was heard. All heads turned to face him. One by one, those heads became wide-eyed as an apparently minor fact dawned on them. They had all rescued Brendan at the chapel under the assumption that Nick was dead. They had taken him into the helicopter and brought him to safety. They had traveled with him miles and miles to Champaign. They had become as close with him as friends could be. Not once did Brendan ever mention that Nick was alive. Not once.
“Uh…” stumbled Robert. For once, he was at a loss for words.
“Give me a gun,” demanded Nick. He was cold. Prepared.
The group checked its inventory. Brendan’s machine gun had run out of ammo. Eliot’s was missing. Brian carried a chainsaw and Semas a broadsword. Robert was unarmed but for his stained and rusted knife.
“Here,” Mada said, hands trembling and eyes welling again with tears. She handed him the revolver from the chapel. “There’s one bullet left. Go get him.” With that she slumped down against the wall and stared into nothing.
Nick assumed a military cover position outside Mada’s door. Everyone watched in amazement as the gentle man who once stayed out of the way prepared to put a bullet into his friend. Nick bounced slightly on his heels a couple times while taking a deep breath, and made as if about to spring around the corner and take the life of whatever might be in the room, if anything.
“I’m here, Nick,” said a voice. Nick froze. “Mada’s room. I’ve been listening. You have one shot. Are you calm enough to hit? Are you even cold enough to shoot? Has the weather really changed you so much? A little snow enough to turn a friend into a killer? I’ve been watching, Nick. You homeschooled little prick. Everyone thinks you’re smart. Everyone thinks you’re funny. Intellectual humor? Bah! I play with language barriers, Nick. What game do you play? Quips on social networking media? Distant observations on social trends? Observe me now, Nick!”
Two shots from Eliot’s machine gun blasted through the baseboards and into Nick’s left leg. Immediately Nick fell to the ground, the back of his head just above the new holes in the wall.
“It’s my turn for jokes! I’ve tricked you, Nick. Haven’t you seen my Classic Brian posts about my college classmates? I’m observant too. I observed you drop the car into reverse and hit my leg, wounding me just in time for a zombie outbreak. I observed you steal my idea to radio in help. I observed you abandon me for higher ground when the zombies reached the chapel. And I’m observing you come to terms with your final minute of life. How does the leg feel, Nick? Is it cold? Because it’s damn cold outside, and damn it if it isn’t going to be colder in hell!”
Brendan open fired. Nick rolled to the right behind the cinderblock walls and kicked the revolver in front of the open doorway by accident. A flat ray of sunlight peaked over the ruins of Champaign and slipped through Mada’s window into her room. Brendan peered back momentarily to see the sun one final time. At that moment, Mada sprang up from the wall, rolled across the revolver, and shot Brendan right out of the sky. Right in the back of the head.
Ten minutes passed without a word. Everyone silently hoped that if no one moved, nothing else could go wrong. No one else would perish. The dorm was somber and dead. Nothing stirred.
At long last, Robert stood up from his crouch. He peered around the hallway and touched Nick on the shoulder. He walked over and touched Mada as well. Robert was unused to emotions, and his comforting was awkward and really only helpful due to the direness of the situation.
“Feel better, please,” he said.
After allowing a moment for his request to sink in, Robert reinstated order.
“Alright, first we’re going to need some shirts. It’s really cold out and we don’t really need to impress anyone, because, Nick, we’re really the only choices Mada and Semas have at this point. And I really don’t have a preference because you’re both beautiful, ladies.” Robert winked.
Mada pulled shirts for her and Semas out of her closet, while Nick scoured the girl’s dorm for something large enough for him. In fulfilling his final wish, Mada found a shirt size women’s medium and slipped it over Eliot’s head and onto his body. It fit perfectly. She covered him with a sheet and knew with confidence that her time for mourning would come eventually.
Nick returned, dressed in large girls’ clothes and snow boots. Robert retook inventory: a machine gun, two knives, a broadsword, a chainsaw, an iPod taken from Brendan’s body, bite serum, a leash, and Brian’s Oakleys. Robert awarded Nick the Oakleys for finally becoming an important character, as well as in apology for shooting his left hand at the chapel. Semas held onto her mysteriously-acquired broadsword, Mada took the machine gun and a knife, Nick took the serum and the other knife, and Robert wielded the chainsaw and the iPod.
Nick went over to the body of Brian to see if there was anything he had carried besides the cool new Oakleys Nick was sporting.
“You know, I never could get into The Band,” Robert said, quietly judging Brendan through his iPod. “And what are all these Grateful Dead CDs? They’re a fucking jam band, all you need is one album and you’ve got their whole sound.”
“Oh crap.” Mada was neurotically rooting through the complicated math books on her bed. “I still have all this homework here I forgot to do. Fuck I need to do this.” She stopped, realizing the opportunity for a rebirth among the ruins. “No. Fuck this. No more homework. I’m done with old Mada.” Robert looked up from the iPod and smiled at her, remembering his own recent renewal. “I’m doing what I want now,” she said. “Starting after a quick nap. I’m really tired.”
“No sleeping. Sleeping is giving in,” said Robert citing indie music. “We need a game plan. Do we stay in Champaign? Is it safe enough here? Is it safe enough anywhere? How are we going to eat if we leave?” He barked his orders with authority, and the group started to come to attention. “We need water. We need ammunition and a sniper rifle for longer distance killing. We’re going to need warmer clothes than this; most of our jeans are ruined and we need coats. Most of all, we need a purpose. We all have a reason to stay alive, but we can’t live like this forever, so we need something to—”
“Uhm, Robert,” interrupted Nick. “I think I found something important.” Kneeling next to Brian, he handed Robert a folded, crinkled, worn scrap of paper.
Robert unfolded it slowly. The crinkling of the paper was the only audible noise. He began to read:
“Brian, this is my fault. I messed up. I caused this, and I can’t turn it off. It’s up to you now. I’m not a monster, though; that’s the worst part. I’m not. I just got carried away. They can be stopped, yes, I swear. Your answers lie in Norman. Go there. Save my face. If I could only take it back…. –Conor”
Robert looked at the others. “PS — In the morning when the sun comes up, you’ll know.”
Robert looked back out the window at the rising sun. For the first time, they had a reason to fight. Finally, a purpose. As Robert began folding the paper back up, a small red dot appeared in his matted, unwashed hair. A shot fired, and Robert slumped to the ground, dead.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Zombie Snowpocalypse Part II: Back to School!
“This is bad on purpose,” Eliot proclaimed. “The government is indelibly behind this.”
Mada and Eliot's situation had worsened. Since flying away on the chopper, they had made it back to Springfield, which was a desolate wasteland, but one with enough safezones to keep them alive. Tribes were popping all over town, different survival groups. The conglomerate of them couldn't match the amount of zombies, but they could overpower them.
Thanks to Springfield's recent illogical influx of machine guns, zombies are less threatening than they once were. But Mada and Eliot foresee terrible events. They decide it is again time to move. This time they will get far out of Springfield and head back to Champaign. They are set on venturing alone, but they decide to give Brendan, who had joined one of the tribes with less followers and a more unique sound, a call.
He agrees to come with them, much to their surprise.
“That tribe used to be really cool, but the new stuff they do is boring and repetitive, I need a new purpose,” Brendan reasoned.
The three set off, machine guns in hand, and did some boring traveling scenes, but as they pass Sherman, Illinois, they realize that the entire town has turned into a united zombie front! The town charges, and Mada Eliot and Brendan mow them down. Eventually a small gaggle of the zombies overpower Brendan, though and it seems he's about to be taken out when just then, a mysterious figure attacks the pack with a knife, severing all six of their heads before giving the gang a cheerful, “long time no see, guys!”
“CORY!” the three exclaim in unison.
Cory doesn't have a gun, so he takes over the role of commando medic, with his awesome knife and his serum that he claims once healed a zombie bite that he received, months ago. He had the scars to prove it. For once, there was hope.
Also remember, it's still really cold. We have coats and gloves on and when we talk you see our breath.
Boring traveling scenes, reminiscing about things, introducing Cory and Brendan (awkward at first, but the two gain a respect for one another, or so it seems). Then, zombie cows! A whole herd of cattle rushes at the gang, and they take multiple bullets to hunt down. In the back is their psychopathic cannibal farmer leader, who has a rifle of his own and sics them on passersby. Mada is bit and takes a bullet to the arm. After refusing Eliot's insistent mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and getting Cory's serum, she appears to be okay, but she can no longer handle a gun. She passes the torch to Cory, and Cory gives her the duties of doctor.
Oh by the way they killed everyone else in the scene above, so no worries there. More traveling scenes. Then, Decatur!
As the gang fights off zombies upon zombies, literally racking up kills in the hundreds, someone makes a bad joke. Brendan sees this as an opportune time, and steps away from the rest of the crew.
“I will no longer be the bearer of bad jokes, because I've just played a mighty prank on you!”
Then he pulls out a sort of syringe and injects himself with something. Almost instantly he sprouts wings and his feet grow talons. His arms turn into machine guns and he takes to the skies. Eliot, realizing immediately Brendan's treacherous intentions, starts shooting the Brenda-beast wildly.
Mada then makes a stark realization. “Where the hell is Cory!?!?”
Eliot, still in a firefight with Birdndan, looks around, no Cory in sight. The fight continues, Brendan has suddenly become really bad at aiming at things. Eliot, however keeps hitting, because that's how good guys role.
After a lengthy battle that takes pretty much all of Brendan's life-bar, the Bird tumbles to the ground, Eliot and Mada do not think twice, and make a move for the highway.
A couple boring traveling scenes, talking about the terrible things they had just witnessed.
Some more traveling, only this time Cory's there for some reason.
“Where the hell were you?”
“Oh, I figured you guys wouldn't need me.”
“Get out of here!” Then we left his ass just outside Decatur.
Some boring, but unbearably awkward scenes of traveling. But you notice an increasing frequency of smiles with each progressing scene.
Finally Mada and Eliot reach Champaign, and Eliot sure looks badass. Dual-wielding machine guns, Mada fawning at his sheer awesomeness, he soaks in the moment as he soaks the zombies in lead.
Then, as they reach the Union, behind it comes a giant zombie with knives for fingers! And a headdress with knives where the feathers should be. It is he, Chief Illiniwek! And He's out for BLOOD. Because he's NATIVE AMERICAN.
While this is happening, a swarm of zombies pop out, and to the horror of our two survivors, among them is none other than Brian. But this isn't the Classic Brian we all know and love, this is Zombie Brian. And he is bearing down on the two at a speed which all other zombies simply lack.
Eliot fears that Brian will attack him, but the Chief is also bearing down on him, and while Eliot knows he can survive a zombie bite thanks to Cory's mystical serum, he knows that NO ONE, not even he, can survive a knife bite. He continues firing at the Chief. The Chief closes in on Eliot and the brave young but cut hero runs up the Chief's arms and kicks him in the chin.
Just as Eliot fells the Chief, he turns to see that Brian wasn't going for him all along. He had Mada pinned on the ground and was going for her sumptuous neck. Mada squirms free and grabs the gun that Eliot dropped while kicking the Chief. As she picks the gun up she notices a shadow emerge behind her. She looks to Brian and yells “I always loved Eliot and not you!” and then starts shooting the shit out of him. Eliot meanwhile picks up the other gun and shoots the risen Chief standing behind Mada.
The two, facing eachother, shooting things at the other's back, begin to makeout wildly and awesomely. This goes on for twenty minutes.
After the two run out of bullets, (as in, all their bullets. They were shooting for twenty minutes. They had to reload a lot.) They begin the trip to Eliot's dorm in silence. The unspoken plan to hole up and wait for this whole thing to blow over.
The amount of zombies is sparse in Chambana, but the two are both crazy agile and manage to avoid all would-be attackers. They get to Eliot's dorm, PAR. As they enter Eliot's hallway, they hear a menacing laugh. “No, it can't be him, we both thought he was dead!” They exclaimed in unison, which is impressive as it was the first thing either had said the whole time. The shock of this simultaneous statement made the two join eyes, but only for like half a second. And standing there, in PAR's main lounge was the one they never considered they would see.
Conor O'Brien.
“But I shot you in the back of the fucking head!” Mada exclaimed.
“Yeah. That.. that hurt pretty bad.”
“You died, I saw your brain and stuff!”
“Yep, I was unconscious for like four days. It seems you only hit the part of my brain that operates daytime Conor.”
“Then how are you alive!?”
“2 AM Conor is feelin' fine. Well actually I'm pretty tired. But just shut up, Mada. I know you only have negative things to say to me.”
Conor pulls out two katanas, presumably the ones from his house.
Mada finds a katana, Eliot goes to pick up another katana, but Mada stops him.
“No Eliot, this is my battle to fight. I have to finish this.”
After a long sword fight in which the whole time it looks like Mada is going to lose, she stabs Conor in the stomach.
“You know this won't kill me, Mada.”
“I know one way that will do the trick!” Mada retorted. And she bit him in the neck. And then again. And then she invited Eliot over.
Both of them were there for two hours. Full as fuck, eating, crying, sweating, and going through the struggle that is ingesting Conor O'Brien. As they finish crunching the last bits of his dry ass knuckles, they turn to see a group of zombies behind them, standing still, mouths agape.
Eliot turns to Mada, “I guess we were the zombies after all...” Mada rolls her eyes. They hug anyway. CREDITS.
--Eliot Sill
Zombie Snowpocalypse- Mada
Alright, here's the deal. As I'm sure all of you have noticed, today has begun the snowpocalypse. What a lot of you might not realize is that not all of us are going to come out of this alive. Or dead...
What I'm getting at is that we are almost certainly going to have a zombie outbreak on our hands. Shit like this doesn't happen without a zombie outbreak. Fact. Because this fact is inevitable it has got me thinking about who I know that would survive this type of tragedy. Specifically, who I know in Classic Brian that would survive this type of tragedy.
Let's look at our cast of characters (ordered as they appear in our picture):
Robert, Nick, Me, Eliot, Brendan, Conor, and Classic Brian.
So obviously the zombie snowpocalypse is happening and it's fucked up. My whole family has disappeared, presumably dead, and the midwest is one big ghost town. The only people I can find anywhere are Robert, Eliot, Conor and Brian. We're most likely all trapped at the local YMCA and we're confused and worried. All the power is out and our only technology is the hand crank radio I brought from my house.
We sit there for days and wonder where everyone is, specifically Nick and Brendan since they make up two-sevenths of our gang. Until one day we hear a familiar voice while running the dials and it's Nick. He's broadcasting from a "safe" base a couple towns over. He's there with Brendan, who's been injured. They can't leave. Someone needs to come rescue them. PURPOSE.
Obviously we all realize this is completely up to the five of us and we set off. Conor has somehow fallen into the role of Leader. He makes a plan for us to head out of Springfield, but before we are even out of the city limits there's confusion! and disaster! and zombies! and child zombies! We have to fight CHILD zombies! That sucks! It's our first taste of battle but we make it. Except then we notice – Robert's missing. Lost to the fray. It's real to us now.
Fast forward through some boring traveling scenes. Suddenly, we're knee deep in action. We encountered a couple zombies, but always alone and easy to take down. A pack (herd? gaggle?) of 5 or 6 comes sprinting at us. Using our minimal fighting power and luck we manage to fight them all off and find a safe clearing in the woods. Relieved and beaten up and tired we're all bent over with exhaustion. Conor stands up and declares we can't stay here. We start to stand up, but we freeze. All of our eyes fall on Conor's shoulder. He's been bitten. He looks down, then back at us. We all know what this means. Conor must die. Slowly, every head turns towards me, and I realize- I must kill Conor. Conor will die by MY hand. I walk around him and begin to talk to him about video games and frisbee. I tell him to remember the first day he mastered the back hand throw. Then I shoot him in the back of the head.
Fast forward more traveling scenes where we're all soooo sad about Conor. We've reached a little town, and naturally we go poking around some zombie hangout and we're surrounded. Certain death. When suddenly, a figure bursts in and takes them all out in one of the better ass-kicking scenes of the zombie snowpocalypse. It's Robert. Holy shit. He tells us to follow him. QUICKLY. Back at his fortress, we see he sports face paint, torn clothes, and a rock-and-roll attitude. He's wild. We ask him how he's survived and he says "This ain't no war. This a goddam' plague. I seen things I cain't un-see and I done things I cain't un-do. Yo friends ain't alive, and even if they is, whatchoo you savin' them fo'?" Alright, he's creepy now, plus it's only been like, eight days since we lost him, but it looks like he's the one who's figured out how to survive.
We tell Robert about the radio and he immediately agrees to go with us. Fast forward more traveling scenes (seriously, this movie could be so much shorter) and we're camping in the woods. I turn on my radio and we hear Nick's voice. We're getting closer and Nick is talking about a helicopter. If we can just make it to the base we can get Get Nick and Brendan out of there and get picked up. The nightmare will be over. Suddenly, screaming from the other side of the connection. We hear shouts and growls and silence. Nick is dead.
In the morning I begin to say something about giving up or going back to Robert's safe house. Eliot stops me, "I know he's alive" he says. "I just know Brendan's alive and we've got to save him". Brian (our designated "nice guy") nods solemnly. Eliot brushes my hair off my face. Whaaaat?
We make it to the base. But it's clear that it is no longer "safe." It's scary and grey and dilapidated. The movie is reaching that point where it's almost in black and white. There is a tower at the top of the building, and hanging from the window, a white sheet. Brendan. But, upon getting up there, the hundreds of zombies trapping him inside have discovered us. We run through the long corridors of this building, a full zombie mob behind us. Every door is locked and there's nowhere to hide. The drone of the zombies is getting louder. Robert stops. We all stop. "We're not going to make it! Not all of us. I can buy you guys some time, but not much." We try to fight him but the zombies are getting closer. "Go!" he yells. "Go! GO!". We begin running again but after a few steps Brian stops. He puts his hand on Eliot's shoulder and looks back at Robert. They nod at each other. Brian looks back to Eliot as if to say "I can't let him do this alone." (What an idiotttttt) He runs back and grabs a gun. He and Robert turn to face the oncoming horde. Robert smiles.
Eliot and I find Brendan in his tower barricade. (It's clear now that Eliot and I had the least character development because we were the ones that would make it this far. This also means that we are required to end up together. Inevitable.) He is badly injured, probably in the leg region, but we manage to get him to the roof just as the helicopter arrives. Somewhat triumphant and eerie music plays as the it touches down and we lay Brendan inside. Eliot and I climb in after him and sit together in the back. We look into each other's eyes and then out separate windows. CREDITS.
So there it is. My almost guaranteed accurate prediction. Sorry everybody except Eliot and Brendan. =(
Oh, also it was cold the whole time. Snowpocalypse.
What I'm getting at is that we are almost certainly going to have a zombie outbreak on our hands. Shit like this doesn't happen without a zombie outbreak. Fact. Because this fact is inevitable it has got me thinking about who I know that would survive this type of tragedy. Specifically, who I know in Classic Brian that would survive this type of tragedy.
Let's look at our cast of characters (ordered as they appear in our picture):
Robert, Nick, Me, Eliot, Brendan, Conor, and Classic Brian.
So obviously the zombie snowpocalypse is happening and it's fucked up. My whole family has disappeared, presumably dead, and the midwest is one big ghost town. The only people I can find anywhere are Robert, Eliot, Conor and Brian. We're most likely all trapped at the local YMCA and we're confused and worried. All the power is out and our only technology is the hand crank radio I brought from my house.
We sit there for days and wonder where everyone is, specifically Nick and Brendan since they make up two-sevenths of our gang. Until one day we hear a familiar voice while running the dials and it's Nick. He's broadcasting from a "safe" base a couple towns over. He's there with Brendan, who's been injured. They can't leave. Someone needs to come rescue them. PURPOSE.
Obviously we all realize this is completely up to the five of us and we set off. Conor has somehow fallen into the role of Leader. He makes a plan for us to head out of Springfield, but before we are even out of the city limits there's confusion! and disaster! and zombies! and child zombies! We have to fight CHILD zombies! That sucks! It's our first taste of battle but we make it. Except then we notice – Robert's missing. Lost to the fray. It's real to us now.
Fast forward through some boring traveling scenes. Suddenly, we're knee deep in action. We encountered a couple zombies, but always alone and easy to take down. A pack (herd? gaggle?) of 5 or 6 comes sprinting at us. Using our minimal fighting power and luck we manage to fight them all off and find a safe clearing in the woods. Relieved and beaten up and tired we're all bent over with exhaustion. Conor stands up and declares we can't stay here. We start to stand up, but we freeze. All of our eyes fall on Conor's shoulder. He's been bitten. He looks down, then back at us. We all know what this means. Conor must die. Slowly, every head turns towards me, and I realize- I must kill Conor. Conor will die by MY hand. I walk around him and begin to talk to him about video games and frisbee. I tell him to remember the first day he mastered the back hand throw. Then I shoot him in the back of the head.
Fast forward more traveling scenes where we're all soooo sad about Conor. We've reached a little town, and naturally we go poking around some zombie hangout and we're surrounded. Certain death. When suddenly, a figure bursts in and takes them all out in one of the better ass-kicking scenes of the zombie snowpocalypse. It's Robert. Holy shit. He tells us to follow him. QUICKLY. Back at his fortress, we see he sports face paint, torn clothes, and a rock-and-roll attitude. He's wild. We ask him how he's survived and he says "This ain't no war. This a goddam' plague. I seen things I cain't un-see and I done things I cain't un-do. Yo friends ain't alive, and even if they is, whatchoo you savin' them fo'?" Alright, he's creepy now, plus it's only been like, eight days since we lost him, but it looks like he's the one who's figured out how to survive.
We tell Robert about the radio and he immediately agrees to go with us. Fast forward more traveling scenes (seriously, this movie could be so much shorter) and we're camping in the woods. I turn on my radio and we hear Nick's voice. We're getting closer and Nick is talking about a helicopter. If we can just make it to the base we can get Get Nick and Brendan out of there and get picked up. The nightmare will be over. Suddenly, screaming from the other side of the connection. We hear shouts and growls and silence. Nick is dead.
In the morning I begin to say something about giving up or going back to Robert's safe house. Eliot stops me, "I know he's alive" he says. "I just know Brendan's alive and we've got to save him". Brian (our designated "nice guy") nods solemnly. Eliot brushes my hair off my face. Whaaaat?
We make it to the base. But it's clear that it is no longer "safe." It's scary and grey and dilapidated. The movie is reaching that point where it's almost in black and white. There is a tower at the top of the building, and hanging from the window, a white sheet. Brendan. But, upon getting up there, the hundreds of zombies trapping him inside have discovered us. We run through the long corridors of this building, a full zombie mob behind us. Every door is locked and there's nowhere to hide. The drone of the zombies is getting louder. Robert stops. We all stop. "We're not going to make it! Not all of us. I can buy you guys some time, but not much." We try to fight him but the zombies are getting closer. "Go!" he yells. "Go! GO!". We begin running again but after a few steps Brian stops. He puts his hand on Eliot's shoulder and looks back at Robert. They nod at each other. Brian looks back to Eliot as if to say "I can't let him do this alone." (What an idiotttttt) He runs back and grabs a gun. He and Robert turn to face the oncoming horde. Robert smiles.
Eliot and I find Brendan in his tower barricade. (It's clear now that Eliot and I had the least character development because we were the ones that would make it this far. This also means that we are required to end up together. Inevitable.) He is badly injured, probably in the leg region, but we manage to get him to the roof just as the helicopter arrives. Somewhat triumphant and eerie music plays as the it touches down and we lay Brendan inside. Eliot and I climb in after him and sit together in the back. We look into each other's eyes and then out separate windows. CREDITS.
So there it is. My almost guaranteed accurate prediction. Sorry everybody except Eliot and Brendan. =(
Oh, also it was cold the whole time. Snowpocalypse.
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