text: [Themes: horror, humor]
  
  Naturally, you don't want to risk your ass in a high-population area. If you did, you wouldn't be going to Canada. So you keep an eye out and when you spot a small shack not far down the road, you stop. There is no apparent activity, human or otherwise, in or around the shack. Cautiously, with hat rack in hand, you slide open the garage door to reveal a mess of outdoor equipment and old boxes. It smells like stagnant water. A few minutes of poking around yields a garden hose and a gas can. In an old fridge at the back, you discover a few protein shakes and warm beers that should sustain you for at least another day.
  
  For the next few hours, you drive along the back roads, encountering no living humans and only a handful of zombies, which you run over. Yee haw. You make your way into the countryside: hilly farmland where houses - and potential undead - are few and far between. Sitting there, staring at the road for so long is wearing on you. You drift off, per se, into a daydream. About tits.
  
  Suddenly, an orange light catches your eye. You're almost out of gas!
  
  You've never been in this part of the state before, so you have no idea how far down the road you might have to go to find a car you can siphon from. You might have to turn around. But it seems like forever since the last house you passed. How many miles has it been? Twenty? Thirty? And you're not even sure if there was a car at that place.
  
  > turn around
  Unsure of where the nearest gas might be, you decide to turn around and go back, where at least you know there's a house.
  
  You drive for what seems like forever, scanning the horizon for the place and seeing nothing. Finally, the car sputters to a stop. You'll have to hoof it the rest of the way. Of course, it's starting to get dark out, and, being unfamiliar with the territory, you don't know if the house is past the next hill or another five miles down the road. It may be safest to wait in the car until morning so you can see any zombies that might try to jump you. Or you could just go for it. What's the worst that can happen?
  
  > start walking
  Fuck it! Let's get out there and do some cardio. Think of how great your buns and thighs are going to look. You stuff the protein shakes in your pockets and depart with your trusty hat rack, the hose and gas can. Unfortunately, you are forced to leave the beer behind.
  
  A while later, perhaps about fifteen minutes, your destination is still out of sight, which may or may not be due solely to the fact that is is dark out. That's when you hear:
  
  Well, shit. You think the sound came from your front left... you're not sure how far away. This leaves you with only three options...
  
  Although 'only' may be the wrong choice of word, since you usually have two options.
  
  > try to run past the zombie
  You can't see well enough to fight, and you're not about to turn back now. You try to run past, sweeping along the right side of the road. But, egad! A hand from the darkness take hold of your shoulder! Quick, what do you do to save yourself?
  
  > just keep running
  You flash back to your high school biology class. Wait, now, what did they say? About the human body and proportions of things? Oh, yeah... while experiencing an adrenaline rush, an adult human male can move at a speed exceeding that of the average zombie by about 57 to 1.
  
  And you do.
  
  > At le house...
  It's an old, two-story farmhouse; the kind that might fall down if it rains too hard. It doesn't look like anyone has lived here for years, and a thorough check confirms that there is certainly no one attempting to do so now. Out back is an old International truck, but you find that the gas is far too varnished to be of any use.
  
  Although your flight to Canada has been delayed, this might be the next best thing. You're surrounded by corn, and zombies should be minimal since you're in the middle of nowhere. You decide to stay here, at least for the time being. But you wish you could have found a Funion farm instead.
  
  Wait a minute... Funions don't grow on vines! Silly me. They're secreted from the teats of the wild saltybeast.
  
  > Epilogue
  You settle down at the farmhouse, which, although not the coziest place, has everything you need. Still, life isn't what it used to be. Specifically, there is a distinct lack of internet porn. In fact, there is a lack of porn of all kinds. There aren't even any chicks here who you could hit on and/or stare at while they're not looking. For a long time, you contemplate venturing back into the world in the search for poon. Finally, you make the perilous journey on foot to the nearest town.
  
  After scouring the town, you meet a woman named Cori Lynn hiding out in the trailer park. A real, honest to goodness country girl. Sure... she may be kind of pudgy, and missing a few teeth, and one of the first things she says to you is that Obama is a "mooslum," but, uh, she might be the best you're going to get. And she feels the same about you, so you bring her back to the farm and live happily ever after.
  
  Daddy, daddy, read us another story!
  
  Not tonight, kiddies. You know daddy has to be at the courthouse early in the morning to pee in a cup.
  
  Aww. Alright.