Attack of the Zombie Bum

Through all the years of my life, I have come to the conclusion that I am good for two things: Getting myself into awful situations, and living to tell about it. Some of these involve alcohol, some involve medications, but ALL of them include my general dumbassery which, far outweighs the effects of anything else. These are the stories. Don’t judge me.

Not My Proudest Moment: Attack of the Zombie Bum

Back when I was a teenager, there were roughly three options for you as a teenager looking to have some fun. You could get high and drunk, find a fuck buddy, or smash the ever loving shit out of stuff. Considering that my dad would literally kill me if I even thought about consuming his beer or…pharmeceuticals, and I didn’t really learn to talk to girls until they were legally drunk at a bar and I was blurry enough to be seen with, I chose to spend my free time breaking shit.

I started out like every other mischievous youth. TP’ing friends houses, egging random cars (and people) and knocking over the occasional port-a-potty. On Halloween we would collect pumpkins, hang out the passenger side of the moving car and smash them into people’s mailboxes, typically sending the box spinning on its axis before finding its final resting place on the lawn. Hell, I think even one time we lifted a couple of toilets from the back of a plumbing house and left them on the front porch of a couple of girls’ house that we knew (complete with TP and reading material). But where most boys got their fill of trouble there, me and my friends were simply dining on the appetizers in preparation of the main course.

We tended to take things a little too far at times. From finding The Tool (more on that some other time), to doing donuts on freshly laid grass of model homes, we quickly escalated our harmless misdemeanors into glorious felonies. We were young, stupid, and unhumbled by what could possibly happen to us. We figured that the authorities would most likely turn us over to our parents, and after serving a brief grounding sentence, we would be reunited for more “smashing,” and other related hijinks.

That is of course, until we met the zombie bum.

Every time the four of us went out (Brian, Tim, Eric and I), we knew we wouldn’t get in trouble. We had been doing this sort of shit for years, and we knew how to hide, where to hide and what to say to any authority figure that may impede our path of destruction temporarily. The problems occurred, once we extended our reach beyond the four. Every now and then our friend Mike would tag along, drop a car battery through a rear car window and the cops would be all over us like flies on shit. Or we would force Chip to throw one rock at a window and a madmen with a god damned shotgun would be chasing us down the hill. In short, bad things happened when others came along.

One night, we found ourselves hanging out with a guy named Steve Roe. Steve was a fun guy, but rarely hung out with us on Friday nights (he chose the “fuck a bunch of girls” option, typically). But he had heard of what did and after successfully stealing two Christmas trees for his house the last time we all hung out, he was game to head out and stir it up.

With no real plan in place, we decided to start the night off by going to the store and picking up some potatoes to throw at cars. There was nothing I liked more than connecting with a side mirror of a Beamer and watching as the potato kersploded into a million pieces…along with the mirror. After a couple of round of potato ball, we figured it was time to grab some crowbars and other assorted melee weapons and hit the new homes that were being built. It was late, we were sober and windows were hung, and soon to be broken.

As we made our way up the hillside, Steve happened to look down and saw something slumped over on the other side of the hill. He stopped and squinted. “Hey, what the hell is that?”

We trekked over to where Steve was, and after a brief discussion, we realized that we were staring at a body.

A dead deer body.

Now, having never really been exposed to dead bodies of any kind out in the wilderness (other than Stand By Me), we weren’t really sure what to do. Well, at least most of us didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t long before Eric picked up a rock and chucked it at the dead animal. And after about 10 seconds of contemplating what the hell he was doing, we all found ourselves doing the exact same thing. The medium size rocks were raining down on this poor innocent deer’s carcass, when all of a sudden, Steve picked up, what can only be described as a mini boulder and waddled to the top of the hill, prepared to heave the mountain at the creature.

“Dude, you are going to destroy that thing.”

Steve responded, “who cares? it is just a dead deer.”

And with that, Steve chucked the rock with all of his might and we watched as the thing tumbled down the hill, chewing up the ground in front of it, and headed straight for the deer. With a loud thud, the rock crashed right into the top of the heap. The only thing that interrupted our laughter was a loud, painful groan that came from the bottom of the hill. We looked down and saw that the dead deer wasn’t exactly dead.

And it also wasn’t exactly a deer.

“Holy shit, it’s a bum! It’s a fucking zombie bum! Run!”

We turned around, and hauled ass back to Eric’s car, the sound of a cursing, angry, drunken bum making his way up the hill after us seemed to make us run faster. It also made us forget that we were on a construction site, filled with all sorts of fun obstacles. Before too long, Steve tripped over a piece of rebar and fell down, Tim turned to laugh at him and ended up in the same predicament. Brian stopped to try to help his twin brother up, but ended up on the ground himself as I pushed him down to get him the fuck out of my way.

Zombie Hobo staking his claim on the park bench

Hey screw them, if the zombie bum was gonna eat us, I figured having at least three of my friends behind me for him to feast on would save my ass. We all made it back to the car, jumped in, and got the hell out of Dodge. Once we were a safe distance away, and had finally started to catch our breath, the silence was broken.

Steve: “Holy shit what the hell just happened?”

Brian: “You just killed someone.”

Me: “Nah, if anything he made him come back to life.”

Eric: “It was so funny when you guys fell.”

Brian: “Sam, did you push me down on the way to the car? Dick.”

Sam: “THERE WAS A ZOMBIE CHASING ME! SORRY I WASN’T CONSIDERATE TO YOUR NEEDS.”

Steve: “Fuck this, why am I hanging out with you guys again? I could be getting laid right now.”

Tim: “I’m pretty sure that bum would F you in the A if you really want to go back…”

Steve: “Screw that shit, take me home.”

we never did find out what happened to the zombie bum. We assume he was fine.

Either that or I just admitted to Manslaughter II and brought four of my friends down with me…

 

/Tigerclaw

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