A Borderline Sociopathic blogger’s work is never done.

I preach from the great pulpit in the church of stripped and rusty bolts and tablesaws with the guards removed. I go forth into the multitude and sing the praises of driving at night with the lights off. The coffee table has gun oil stains on it, the local kids stay off my lawn without being asked — er, told.

But some people don’t listen. They go to their mother’s beauty parlor to get their hair cut, then go to the gym to pack on five pounds of feminine-looking muscle. Then they fashion weapons they saw on an episode of My Little Pony and growl at the world like a kitten.

One thing I’ve noticed about people ready for a zombie horde: they aren’t ready for anyone that’s not dead yet.