Nothing can slice off your arm. Your adamantium skeleton prevents it.
Sheet of Paper
If you rub your finger on it just right, it’s the sharpest cutting surface on earth.
Literally death by a thousand cuts.
Machete
Great for strong, swift blows.
Messy. Stock up on stain remover.
Chainsaw
Fast.
Will attract zombies with noise and splatter.
Industrial Cutting Laser
The closest you’ll come in real life to getting your hand chopped off by a lightsaber.
Needs electricity. Good luck finding enough AA batteries.
Clamshell Packaging
Has cut off countless fingers in vain attempts to open it.
Your profuse bleeding will ruin whatever’s inside.
THE MOMENT AFTER
So let’s say you’ve been bitten. The first thing you need to do is eliminate the zombie threat. If there’s only one zombie that snuck up on you, kill it as quickly as possible. It’s hard to perform life-saving surgery if there’s still a monster actively eating you. If there are a bunch of zombies, on the other hand, retreat to a safe location. Resist the urge to stay put and make a heroic last stand. You have kids to think of. They’re the perfect excuse for cowardice.
Once you’re out of immediate danger, assess the wound. If it’s in one of the areas you can’t live without, settle in for a painful death. You might have a day or two to kill. I hope you brought snacks and board games. Trivial Pursuit is a good choice. It’ll make dying seem great by comparison.
If the bite is in a zone you deem expendable, however, it’s time to pick a surgeon. This is something you can’t prepare for in advance because you have no idea who will be with you at the time. Given that this is the zombie apocalypse, your odds of an actual doctor being there are negligible. Even if there is one, I don’t recommend using them. They’ll expect some kind of compensation in the new barter economy. Living is hardly worth it if you have to part with your last pack of diapers.
If you’re like most parents, you don’t have time for friends. That narrows down who might be with you if you get bitten. Realistically, there are three possibilities: (1) your spouse; (2) your kids; (3) no one. Each situation comes with its own perils.
If you choose your spouse, you’ll have someone with strong, competent hands to guide the cutting tool. If you’ve argued with them in the last twenty-four hours, you’ll also have someone with the right incentive. Just make sure they’re not angry enough to want you dead. A good marriage walks the fine line between mild annoyance and homicidal intent.
How to Have Your Spouse Cut Off Your Arm
1.Verify your spouse is mad enough to wound but not to kill.
2.Ask nicely.
3.Tie a tourniquet around the part you want cut off.
4.Remind them that if you die, they’ll have to raise all the kids by themselves.
5.Close your eyes.
6.Open them.
7.Count how many body parts you have left.
Letting your kids perform the amputation has its own perils. You’ve seen how much damage they can cause with safety scissors. Now imagine a kindergartner with a battle ax. That’s why I have nightmares. If your children are a little older, however, they might be able to pull it off. Ideally, pick a kid who’s too old to hate you for early bedtimes but too young to hate you for early curfews. The age of twelve is about perfect. They still care enough to try to impress you, but they don’t understand how life insurance policies work yet.
How to Have Your Child Cut Off Your Arm
1.Hand them the cutting tool.
2.Explain that you cut them out of your will, but you’ll put them back in it if you survive this.
3.Hope this isn’t a repeat of the time you let them carve the turkey and spent the rest of the day cleaning shredded meat off the ceiling.
The final option is to cut off your own arm. Before you attempt this, you’ll be filled with self-doubt. This is justified. You know all your own faults. It’s a good thing you’ve never had to write yourself a letter of recommendation.
Cutting off your own arm is not for the faint of heart. Actually, it might be. A weak heart pumps blood slower, so it’ll take you longer to bleed out. Although that’s not necessarily a good thing. It means if you fail, you’ll suffer in agony for longer before you die and become a zombie. Only cut off an arm or a leg if you’re seriously committed to living through it. If you die anyway, you’ve doomed yourself to an eternity as a one-armed zombie. Good luck being taken seriously as a predator.
How to Cut Off Your Own Arm
1.Take a swig of the strongest alcohol you can find.
2.Take another swig.
3.Finish the bottle.
4.Finish several other bottles.
5.Pass out.
6.Wake up as a zombie.
Clearly that didn’t go as planned. Cutting off your own arm is a lot harder than it sounds.
Adjust the amount of alcohol you consume until you hit the sweet spot where you can’t feel anything but you’re still awake. This will take a lot of preparation beforehand. Practice drinking weeks or months in advance. If your spouse disapproves, tell them to back off. This isn’t alcoholism; it’s advanced first aid.
Whatever you do, don’t try to outdo that one guy who famously cut off his own arm after a boulder fell on it. He was young and fit. You’re a parent. Physical pain is easy to cope with if it’s not accompanied by the overwhelming emotional trauma of raising tiny people you created. Besides, zombies weren’t around back then. If that guy had died, he would have stayed dead, not turned into a walking corpse. Talk about no pressure.
No matter who you choose as your amateur surgeon, before anyone starts cutting, keep these pointers in mind:
Do conduct the amputation outside to reduce cleanup. Carpet stains are a pain to get out.
Don’t scream too loudly. Put something in your mouth to sink your teeth into. Make sure it isn’t someone else’s arm. That’s how misunderstandings happen.
Do keep the amputated limb for a while. When you meet someone new, act like it’s still attached. Shake their hand. Pretend to freak out when they pull off your arm.
Don’t keep it forever. The smell will attract hungry mouths, both living and dead. Zombies will be the least of your problems if you’re surrounded by the world’s last bears.
Do keep a positive attitude. Kids learn by example. If they see you complain, they’ll whine even more than they do now. You’ll wish you’d died on the operating table.
Don’t get frustrated if you can’t do everything you used to do. Outside pursuits are for childless people. If an amputation didn’t destroy your hobbies, your kids would’ve anyway.
Do milk the situation for everything it’s worth. You don’t get very many legitimate excuses to get out of housework. For once, you have very clear-cut evidence you’re not faking it.
Don’t expect it to work. You still have one working arm. Pick up after yourself, you worthless slob.
THE ROAD TO RECOVERY
The next steps will depend on what got cut off. If you lost an arm, walk it off. If you lost a leg, hop it off. That’s the best medical care you can hope for at this point. If you’re lucky, you can stop the bleeding with gauze or maybe some duct tape. Whatever you do, don’t cauterize the wound. You’ll set yourself on fire. The zombie apocalypse is hard enough without also having your entire body covered in third-degree burns. Then again, zombies might leave you alone. They’ll smell from a distance that you’re overcooked.
Keep in mind the amputation might not have been enough and you could still die from infection. Or it might have been too much and the amputation itself could kill you. Either way, you’ll come back as a zombie. Be sure to have someone standing nearby to bash in your head if necessary. That’s what family is for.
A HELPING CUT
Amputations are sort of like Christmas presents: It’s better
to give than to receive. If someone near you is bitten, be prepared to chop off their limbs. It’s the neighborly thing to do. For your spouse, the process should be easy enough. Switch the roles listed in the steps above. You’ll say you feel their pain, but that’s a lie. Real pain hurts a hell of a lot more than empathy.
Conversely, amputating a child’s limb will require substantial adjustments to the plan. Kids get sentimental about things like a beloved blanket or a favorite arm or leg. Cutting something off might prove traumatic. Sit the child down. Look them squarely in the eye. Then lie. Lie like you’ve never lied before. Lie like their little life depends on it, because it does. Tell them to close their eyes because you’re giving them a present, you’re playing hide and go seek, or there’s an ugly naked person you don’t want them to see. If they’ve ever seen you undress, they’ll know the last one might not be a bluff. Whatever the excuse, the second they close their eyes, hack off the infected part. It’s best to use a machete or ax so you can do it in one swift, concise motion. That way they won’t be tipped off. It’s hard to surprise someone with a weed whacker.
Afterward, there will be a few tears. Okay, maybe more than a few. But if you’ve been a parent for any length of time, you should be immune to them by now. Kids cry about nothing and everything and all the stuff in between. I’ve been dealing with it for so long that I almost forgot desperate sobbing isn’t a normal reaction to having a sandwich cut into triangles. Apparently rectangles taste better. This time, your kid will have something worth crying about. But tell them to put a sock in it so they don’t attract the undead. Then give them a sock to bite on. Just tell them not to clamp down too hard. In the barter economy, goods will be scarce, and saving a life won’t be worth ruining a perfectly wearable pair of socks.
WE CAN REBUILD HIM
An amputation doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Don’t look at it as losing a limb; look at it as gaining a slot for accessories. Chopping off a hand is a great chance to build a tool directly into your wrist. The classic choice is a metal hook. It’s great for stabbing things, but it’s less than ideal if you need to hold a baby. Then again, you’ll probably be off diaper duty for life.
There are plenty of other ways to trick out a new stump. The goal is to permanently graft something to your body that’s equally useful for zombie murder and daily family life.
Best Attachments for an Arm Stump
Attachment
Pro
Con
Hook
Great for terrifying teenagers at Makeout Point.
Fatal if your nose itches.
Closed Metal Fist
Great for fist bumping.
Subpar for high-fives.
Nunchuck
Looks good with every outfit.
100 percent chance of hitting yourself in vital reproductive areas.
Megaphone
Great for yelling at kids.
Even better at attracting zombies.
Dagger
Great if you need to dice a salad.
Awkward if you need to shake hands.
Handgun
No one will ask you to babysit.
High likelihood of an accident when playing “pull my finger.”
Flamethrower
Roasted marshmallows anytime you want.
Having fuel tanks strapped to your back is bad for your posture and love life.
Snack Cup
Snacks.
Corn chip supply not guaranteed.
Best Attachment for a Leg Stump
Attachment
Pro
Con
No Replacement, Just Crutches
You can sword-fight whenever you want.
Everyone will feel bad and talk about how brave you are.
Standard Prosthetic Leg
Toes can’t be stubbed.
One of your kids will inevitably steal it and make you kick your own butt.
Peg Leg
You’ll look like a pirate.
Vulnerable to beavers. Like you need another predator to worry about.
Pogo Stick
You’ll finally be able to dunk.
Haven’t existed outside cartoons since 1952.
Giant Exercise Ball
You’ll have a strong core.
To fit it, you’ll have to cut off both legs and attach it directly to your torso.
Novelty Lamp That Looks Like a Woman’s Leg
It will be mildly funny the first time you use it.
It will immediately shatter, causing massive lacerations. Probably still worth it.
Machine Gun
They did it in a movie, so it must be possible.
Accidental firings are hard on wood floors.
Wheels
Great for going down hills.
You’ll look like a Segway, eliminating any chance of ever getting laid again.
LESS IS MORE
Honestly, losing a limb might be the best thing that could happen to you. Use your new attachments to achieve your full potential as a parent/ zombie-killing warrior. That’s the coolest you’ll ever be. And when your new replacement limb is detached, you might finally hit your goal weight. Amputation isn’t just about surviving. It’s about being fashion forward. Enjoy the new you.
CHAPTER 12
DRIVING OFF INTO THE SUNSET
There’s one secret about the zombie apocalypse I’ve saved till the end. I wanted to make sure you were ready. For the past eleven chapters, you’ve learned how to slowly and arduously survive the daily grind of the zombie apocalypse. Now here’s how to tackle it in easy mode.
Warning: Extreme hype ahead. If you have a heart condition, this section might kill you. Read it anyway. Some things are worth dying for. This is one of them.
So it’s the zombie apocalypse and you’re tired of walking. Get a minivan. You heard me right. You can hoof it forever like a poor person or you can ride to Valhalla on a unicorn. Yes, I called a minivan a unicorn. It can be whatever it wants to be. It’s the chariot of the gods. Humans asked Prometheus for fire, and he said, “Screw that.” Then he went back up to Mount Olympus and stole a minivan. People were so psyched they didn’t even notice they still had no way to cook their food. They watched Finding Nemo on the built-in DVD player until they all starved to death. And it was good.
But a minivan can’t be a unicorn all the time. It’s too busy being a four-wheeled sex machine. Everyone who drives one has been laid AT LEAST once. You can’t own one of these bad boys unless you have kids. It’s illegal. Sitting in the driver’s seat is like a Bat Signal that screams to the world, “MY REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS ARE IN WORKING ORDER.” I don’t care if the Bat Signal doesn’t make any noise. When you drive a minivan, you can hear light. Birds spent millions of years evolving colorful feathers to attract a mate; all you had to do was turn the key in the ignition. Vroom vroom.
“Sex machine” isn’t just a name. It will really get you laid. Like, so much so it’ll be a problem. Families are like fish: They grow to the size of their container. With an eight-passenger minivan, you upgrade from a goldfish bowl to an eighty-gallon aquarium. Expect your partner to jump on you the second you pull into your driveway. It’s pretty much going to be all sex all the time after that. After the first few days, you won’t even remember how to stand. Don’t worry about minor details like pregnancy and childbirth. With a minivan, new kids just kind of materialize in their car seats like they beamed down from the Enterprise. This is true even if you’re in a relationship in which kids should be impossible. When you own a minivan, life finds a way. Your ride will be filled to capacity in no time. Then you can get back to surviving. Just don’t get a van that holds more than eight passengers. You don’t have time for that much sex. There’s an apocalypse going on.
The sex isn’t even the best reason to own a minivan. Hell, it doesn’t make the top ten. I’d put it at around number twelve or thirteen, depending on how I feel at any given moment about stow-and-go seating. Driving a minivan is better
than sex. When married couples have really good sex, they say, “That was ALMOST as good as a minivan.” The only thing better than driving a minivan is driving it some more. Or maybe driving two minivans at once. I don’t think that’s even possible, but it should be. Get on it, scientists.
If you’re a non-minivan driver, right now you’re shaking your head in confusion. “But I test-drove a minivan once,” you say to yourself. “It wasn’t that great.” Wrong. YOU weren’t that great. The wand chooses the wizard, Harry. If you drove a minivan and you didn’t enjoy it, you were not worthy. You didn’t reject the minivan. The minivan rejected you. Have fun being a muggle.
To enjoy a minivan, you have to be dead inside. Not sort of sad or discouraged, but all the way dead. Like the doctor slaps the defibrillator on your soul and shouts “CLEAR!” but instead of coming back to life your soul catches fire like dried balsa wood. Then some jaded nurse flushes the ashes down a toilet. THAT is how dead you have to be inside to be worthy of a minivan.
Dying on the inside isn’t a bad thing. It’s a rite of passage. You don’t become a Navy SEAL by showing up to an ice cream social and writing your name on the signup sheet. You become one by going through months and months of hellish training that weeds out all but the toughest sons of guns on the planet. Parenting works the same way. Those who can’t cut it buy crossover hatchbacks that match their antidepressant bottles. But those who can stare into the existential abyss that is child rearing without blinking, well, they’re worthy of a higher ride.
Only Dead on the Inside Page 12
