From season 1, episode 2, "Guts". And my husband abruptly pointed out to me that Glenn's car was not a Mustang but a Camaro so I fixed it. Ahem. Okay.
Yesterday, geek guts were smeared all over me, and the smell was horrendous, like a truckload of alley cats and my mom's lasagna compacted in a garbage truck at the back of a meat plant. Worse than that, even. Oh man. I'm still nauseous and the putrid smell is burned into my nostrils. Maybe I'll get used to all of this rotting flesh smell-o-rama, and I sort of want to. It's almost imperative that I do or carry a bucket on my hip so I can retch on the go.
Okay, so I was covered in geek guts and what did I think about? Getting laid. Why? Puppies and kittens weren't cutting it. My only problem: she was a geek rocker chic in a french maid outfit and growled, "Fluff your pillows" to me over and over. It's stupid of me to record such a personal thing, but it seems like we should all put our dirty laundry out there. Less chance of being injured or killed, I think! Say, for instance: I'm being chased by geeks in french maid outfits. Now, Dale will know my weakness and he'll make sure I'm okay. Wouldn't want to be cornered by those suckers!
... I'm a glass half full kind of person. A guy's gotta find some chuckles in a terrible situation, right?
Speaking of a terrible situation: a cop named Rick Grimes locked himself in a tank surrounded by geeks, or walkers whichever you prefer, ready to split him open and suck out his insides. I watched the poor bastard dig himself deeper and deeper into a hole, and I couldn't let it go. I was alone and had the perfect opportunity to help him. Across the walkie, he gave the impression of a guy who expected me to have all the answers, and I only had one: make a run for it.
"That's it? Make a run for it?" His voice lacked confidence in me. I'm not a magic eight ball, but I had eyes and made a plan for him: get your bullets ready, make them count, run from the right side of the tank, and meet me at fifty yards in an alley. He wanted to grab a duffel bag on the street, but Charging Charlie and his groupies were guarding it; they didn't get to chow down on the horse. Maybe the walkers have cliques, too. I didn't have time to care or point at them and laugh.
In his shining Clint Eastwood glory, Rick Grimes magnificently shot several walkers... and almost shot me turning down our alley. "Not dead!" I shouted and sort of wiggled my hands in the air. We booked to it a fire escape, and he wanted to keep shooting but he had NO chance with a shit ton of walkers flocking towards us! I admit: I thought of kicking him in the face and dropping him into the grinder if the worst happened, but we made it to the top and exchanged names. I still called him a dumbass regardless that he was a cop. What was he going to do? Arrest me? I guess he could have pushed me into the walker pit. I'm glad he didn't.
Even though Charging Charlie didn't get to munch on the horse, he did try to climb the freaking ladder! Sayonara, Charlie! We had no choice but to continue climbing up the building. Good thing I'm not afraid of heights. When I was eight, a childhood bully challenged me to stay on my roof on a chilly October night and I beat him! I might have whimpered and shivered but he didn't have to know. I gained the upper hand by remembering the goofy legend of the Pogo Stick Coyotes that scared him many times so I howled all night and frightened him enough to go back in the house. Booyah.
Rick and I made small, fast talk as we hunkered into the building and raced back to my team. They weren't too happy about Rick's gun popping off in the alley. Mostly Andrea was ticked, and I had NEVER seen her so angry. It scared the crap out of me. That's almost silly to read, I'm sure, since the dead are returning, but we've managed to stay out of trouble for a while and now it blew up in our faces. Tension sky-rocketed, and Morales pretty much gave the scoop to Rick about scavenging quietly while showing him what happens when you don't: walkers tearing down the doors. As Andrea said, "You just rang the dinner bell."
And then Merle happened.
I guess Rick's gun got Merle all excited and he wanted to join the firing range. I trailed behind everyone cursing the very muddy waters Merle crawled from all the way to the top. The optimistic part of me wishes I could say the intervention went smoothly, but it went as south as Merle's accent. He wasn't giving up his gun or his fun time. He called Morales a taco bender, the N word at T-Dog, and I might have been called Fried Rice if I had spoken up but dealing with my sisters and mother taught me when to open and shut my mouth. And I cued Rick not to jump in either. The best way to handle Merle is to walk away. I would have left him on that damn roof and drove back to the camp!
...I probably would have chickened out on that, too.
It was pretty cool of Rick to open up some whoop-ass on Merle and handcuffed Merle to a pipe on that scorching roof. That shut the redneck up. And he used my arresting line, too! I thought of it first. Lame.
The next half of this tale goes into All Guts-No Glory, and I'm well aware that I wrote the phrase wrong but I'll get to that part. Oh, man.
First, we needed a ride out of that death trap of a city. Morales and I tried the sewer tunnel but that wasn't a bright idea since we ran into a walker dining on a fat juicy rat. Also, I fully meant what I said to the others that things go to shit when everybody tags along for scavenging. Look at this mess! You can read it! People get too emotional and it goes down the sinker. Geez...
Plan A didn't work, obviously. We hustled back to the roof and took some time to come up with Plan B. I called it Plan Z because it was the last thing I ever wanted to do! Walkers are drawn to us lives ones or fresh meat, or whatever they collectively think of us as, by sight, sound, and smell. We needed a diversion, like how lucky Rick got with the horse (unlucky for the horse though...). One moment I was on the roof with a walkie talkie and the next, I was suiting up for the "Plan Z": everyone, minus Mighty Merle, took turns chopping up a walker, or actually, we had a visitation with Wayne Dunlap. I get what Rick was trying to do, but it didn't make chopping the guy up any easier. I wussied out and barfed in the corner. I mean seriously, I puked at school one time because I touched a booger under the desk. My stomach is very sensitive.
And then, I had to dress in the raunchy, blood-twisted final performance of the evening: acting like a walker, stumbling through the masses, and getting to the service truck. That was the closest I ever got to one of "my geeks": Charging Charlie and Dumbo, and they don't look any better up close. I think Dumbo was on to me; his bloodshot eyes were locked and loaded. My best walker impression was Rick's worst; I was never good at theater.
Did Plan Z work? Fine and dandy - until it effin' rained! Then we hauled ass to the truck with all of the street block galloping after us! I get nervous NOW thinking back to it. The walkers even CLIMBED the fence; good ol' Charging Charlie was at it again. He must have been promoted to herd leader.
This has a somewhat cool ending. We found our distraction: a sweet ass Camaro with an alarm blaring into forever, and guess who got to drive it?! It sure wasn't Merle.
And in all of the frenzy, we forgot Merle on the roof, too. I'm told that we're going back this morning for him. I still need to eat breakfast and wash my hat. And my kickass ride!