Episode 21: What’s a Grecian Urn?
We now take a jump-we leave that little area called "Colorado" and cross an "ocean" to another "continent" to a nearly Island Nation called "Greece."
It is not the Ancient Greece of lore, though some of that still stands. This is what several groups of students from "The United States" and "Canada" learned on July 3rd and 4th. The morning of the 5th (which is the night of the 4th in "Colorado") however, all hell broke loose. But you ought to have known that already.
There was one group of Canadian students on the tour. They numbered a total of sixteen (counting chaperones), who all spoke perfect French, three spoke fluent English, two spoke fluent Esperanto, and one knew a few words in Greek. They were all Female, and they had, to this point, had nearly no contact with the United Statesian students.
There were three groups of United Statesian students, each having 15 or 16 members, counting the chaperones. One was, conveniently, from "Colorado," and loosely linked to some people we are already acquainted with. They went-past tense emphasized-to school with Baline and Delaileh. They had eight girls, five boys, and two female supervisors. They were supposed to have had 6 boys, but Baline had injured himself in such a way that he could still do things, but not fly. That was another reason for his incidentally fatal gun lessons: He needed to think about something else.
The second group was from "Idaho". They were all male. This disconcerted the other two groups just slightly: it seemed to indicate that they were either gay or a collection of louses/lice (depending on your plural preference(s)). Those who weren’t bothered by one tended to be bothered by the other, and people have a habit of assuming the worst. Actually, all thirteen of the boys had girlfriends, back home. And they treated them fairly well, most of the time. The trouble was, none of the girls that they dated liked any of the boys who weren’t theirs. Every girl besides them who could have come either didn’t like Greece or couldn’t afford it.
The third group came from "Alabama." They actually weren’t entirely one group; they were two. One group came from an all boys’ military school, General Sherman’s Institute for Arsonists and Other Felonic Youths, and the others came from an all-girls’ school, Pat Robertson’s School for Good Catholic Girls (known on the internet as "The Happiest Place on Earth.") The seven from Sherman’s Institute had been out drinking on both the nights of the third and fourth. Amazingly, and happily for the other two groups, neither group contained more than one hick. However, this did not prevent approximately half of them from being complete and total idiots. However (again) the other half were fairly intelligent (if a bit off their rockers, as shall soon be demonstrated) and actually had nice conversations. One of the boys was perfectly in between the two groups. His name was Martin.
He was the perfect hero.
But on July 5th, at 8:30 AM, only half an hour after the zombies rose, he was the first of the 62 to become zombie food.
We will jump in there, and introduce you to the other characters as we go. Primarily because in a grand, cosmic sense, they are creating themselves as they appear. This grand, cosmic sense is, of course, a literal one.
Martin had shared a room with his classmates, Joey, David, and Anthony. Anthony was one of the two hicks, but Martin was the noble type. It must be noted now that every hero (or, hero type, as Martin never got a chance to actually be a hero) and Martin’s was women. He hopped from woman to woman like a bee from flower to flower. This brought him a terrible bout of Hepatitis A, which he wasn’t aware of. Had he survived the initial zombie attack, these circumstance s(and the purely coincidental fact that his bed at the hotel was at a focal point of the magickal energies, much like Andy’s house) would have mutated the STD into a new one, that kills after two days and causes zombism. He would have spread it to some of the girls he would have encountered, who would have spread it further, thus making things oh so much worse. Generally, the death of a hero or potential hero is regarded as a bad thing. In this case, however, it made saving the world significantly more plausible. No one without trans-universal observational powers ever recognized this fact.
It should be noted that in a number of universes, magickally mutated Hepatitis A was, in fact, its own cause of a zombism crisis. One such universe is found Here. It never managed to manifest itself in this universe.
Several Hepatitis A positive girls (and other mates of these girls) would not have been disappointed over Martin’s death, though 95% of the others that he knew would have been.
Martin’s room was on the lowest floor that had rooms. It was right there in front of the staircase. Martin (and the others, but mostly Martin) had left the door open a crack, in case any of the girls wanted to come in during the night, for a little fun.
Martin’s screams proceeded rapidly from pain to death. The zombies proceeded quickly from Martin to the others. Joey was paralyzed with fear. He was the zombies next meal. As more of them flooded (trickled, actually. Zombies have trouble flooding, due to their inability to move at any sort of great speed. The trickle is, still, surprisingly powerful and frightening) into the room, David dashed for the door. The flood (trickle) enveloped him, and he fell to the ground. Anthony thought he was smart-he dashed for the balcony. Tragically (for him, not so much for his pursuers) he tripped on his way and went careening through the glass. He hit his head just hard enough to be unconscious for precisely the amount of time that it took for a zombie to reach him. Upon its touch, he woke up, to feel himself being eaten.
The screams, verging on eldritch, could have woken the dead. But the dead were already awake, so it woke the sleepers on the entire floor, and for two floors up.
In the next room over (106-Martin had been in 107) slept Three Idahoans and an Alabamanite. The Alabamanite, Grant, was the first to react to the screams.
"It’s Them!" His roommates could hear the capitalization. Since they had only met him a day and a half ago, they were briefly confused by his words. Suddenly a wave of not caring overcame them. Grant began to dig through his suitcase, grumbling loudly all the while. "Goddamn Illuminati and their satanic plots. I caught on to them, though, didn’t I? And I never go unprepared. I’ll show them. Nobody fucks with the U.S. Govt.," he managed to pronounce it as the abbreviation without it being Guhvut. , "Or U.S. Grant! Wake up, now! It’s war!"
Their puny brains had already forgotten the horrible screams (which continued) when he said this. They rolled their bodies over with those puny brains, and were then stunned into silence. Even a not so puny brain would have been by the sight.
Grant stood in the center of the room, wearing underwear, dyed red white and blue, atop his head. They had clearly once been white briefs, but were far from it now. It took the observers a moment to notice the golden cross emblazoned on them, resting on his forehead. They couldn’t, at the time, see the American Flag painted on the back of the underwear, nor that on the towel tied around his neck and draped down his back. They could only see a hint of the towel itself.
"What the fuck, man?" One of them-Abraham-mumbled.
The other two, George and Bill, attempted to nod in agreement, but being both tired and stupid, they failed. Watching a person fail to nod is unbelievably entertaining, as it is a very difficult thing to fail to do. It’s quite an indescribable failure, and is even more difficult to do intentionally than by accident. To ever properly understand a failure nod, you must see it for yourself. Regardless of how it looked, both of them managed to fail simultaneously at nodding.
Grant-now U.S. Grant, apparently-stood and stared at them as if they were completely insane. "Isn’t it obvious? The communistic Marxist Anarchist New-World Order is rising to their atheistic dictatorship! They’ve come to slaughter me and everyone I know, so that I have no power to stop their rise!" They stared at him.
Meanwhile, in room 108 slept three more Idaho boys, and the sixth Alabama boy. Though, now they weren’t sleeping. The Idahoans (Carl, Joseph, and Leo) were watching their roommate, Alabamanite Peter-Now calling himself Pyotr Petrograd-Standing commandingly in the center of the room. On his head he wore red-dyed white briefs, with a hammer and sickle, in a pale yellow, emblazoned on the front and back. His red towel bore the mark as well.
"What the fuck, man?" Leo slurred. Carl and Joseph failed to nod. Peter (Pyotr Petrograd) stared at them as if they were mad.
"Isn’t it obvious?" He asked. "The capitalist Smithian Nihilist New-World Order is rising to their theocratic dictatorship! They’ve come to slaughter me and everyone I know, so that I have no power to stop their rise!"
The three stared blankly at him.
Peter and Grant were best friends. They both liked girls, drinking, and politics. They were both also completely serious.
They both realized suddenly that no one was taking them seriously. Simultaneously, they grunted, fell to their suitcases, and lifted out plastic guns. Five each. Simultaneously, twelve eyes rose in a mixture of astonishment and what-the-fuckment in parallel with the guns. U.S. Grant and Pyotr Petrograd threw one gun to each of his roommates, keeping two for themselves. Two voices (Joseph and Bill) piped in with "They’re plastic?" and two commanding voices boomed "But they can still kill a man. Come-unless you’re them."
The "superheroes" burst from their individual hotel rooms, and began firing at what they presumed were assassins sent for them. The bullets-which would have been lethal, being made of pure silver, blessed by the pope, or pure iron, molded by the hands of the people-only tore flesh, pierced bone, and ruptured rare functional blood vessels, doing no harm.
"Paganistic Voodoo!" cried out U.S. Grant.
"Capitalistic super-soldiers!" cried out Pyotr Petrograd.
They pulled their guns in tightly to their bodies and plowed through the zombie horde. They broke through safely, nearly colliding, but turned onto the stairs in time. They flew down the stairs in parallel, to the lobby, and smashed through the glass front door, which had, in fact, been ajar.
Outside they paused, and took in the shambling corpses and crumbling city around them. They turned to each other, a knowing terror in their eyes.
And with one voice they wailed:
"Illuminati Scum!"
They were each about half right.
Previous Episode
Next Episode
It is not the Ancient Greece of lore, though some of that still stands. This is what several groups of students from "The United States" and "Canada" learned on July 3rd and 4th. The morning of the 5th (which is the night of the 4th in "Colorado") however, all hell broke loose. But you ought to have known that already.
There was one group of Canadian students on the tour. They numbered a total of sixteen (counting chaperones), who all spoke perfect French, three spoke fluent English, two spoke fluent Esperanto, and one knew a few words in Greek. They were all Female, and they had, to this point, had nearly no contact with the United Statesian students.
There were three groups of United Statesian students, each having 15 or 16 members, counting the chaperones. One was, conveniently, from "Colorado," and loosely linked to some people we are already acquainted with. They went-past tense emphasized-to school with Baline and Delaileh. They had eight girls, five boys, and two female supervisors. They were supposed to have had 6 boys, but Baline had injured himself in such a way that he could still do things, but not fly. That was another reason for his incidentally fatal gun lessons: He needed to think about something else.
The second group was from "Idaho". They were all male. This disconcerted the other two groups just slightly: it seemed to indicate that they were either gay or a collection of louses/lice (depending on your plural preference(s)). Those who weren’t bothered by one tended to be bothered by the other, and people have a habit of assuming the worst. Actually, all thirteen of the boys had girlfriends, back home. And they treated them fairly well, most of the time. The trouble was, none of the girls that they dated liked any of the boys who weren’t theirs. Every girl besides them who could have come either didn’t like Greece or couldn’t afford it.
The third group came from "Alabama." They actually weren’t entirely one group; they were two. One group came from an all boys’ military school, General Sherman’s Institute for Arsonists and Other Felonic Youths, and the others came from an all-girls’ school, Pat Robertson’s School for Good Catholic Girls (known on the internet as "The Happiest Place on Earth.") The seven from Sherman’s Institute had been out drinking on both the nights of the third and fourth. Amazingly, and happily for the other two groups, neither group contained more than one hick. However, this did not prevent approximately half of them from being complete and total idiots. However (again) the other half were fairly intelligent (if a bit off their rockers, as shall soon be demonstrated) and actually had nice conversations. One of the boys was perfectly in between the two groups. His name was Martin.
He was the perfect hero.
But on July 5th, at 8:30 AM, only half an hour after the zombies rose, he was the first of the 62 to become zombie food.
We will jump in there, and introduce you to the other characters as we go. Primarily because in a grand, cosmic sense, they are creating themselves as they appear. This grand, cosmic sense is, of course, a literal one.
Martin had shared a room with his classmates, Joey, David, and Anthony. Anthony was one of the two hicks, but Martin was the noble type. It must be noted now that every hero (or, hero type, as Martin never got a chance to actually be a hero) and Martin’s was women. He hopped from woman to woman like a bee from flower to flower. This brought him a terrible bout of Hepatitis A, which he wasn’t aware of. Had he survived the initial zombie attack, these circumstance s(and the purely coincidental fact that his bed at the hotel was at a focal point of the magickal energies, much like Andy’s house) would have mutated the STD into a new one, that kills after two days and causes zombism. He would have spread it to some of the girls he would have encountered, who would have spread it further, thus making things oh so much worse. Generally, the death of a hero or potential hero is regarded as a bad thing. In this case, however, it made saving the world significantly more plausible. No one without trans-universal observational powers ever recognized this fact.
It should be noted that in a number of universes, magickally mutated Hepatitis A was, in fact, its own cause of a zombism crisis. One such universe is found Here. It never managed to manifest itself in this universe.
Several Hepatitis A positive girls (and other mates of these girls) would not have been disappointed over Martin’s death, though 95% of the others that he knew would have been.
Martin’s room was on the lowest floor that had rooms. It was right there in front of the staircase. Martin (and the others, but mostly Martin) had left the door open a crack, in case any of the girls wanted to come in during the night, for a little fun.
Martin’s screams proceeded rapidly from pain to death. The zombies proceeded quickly from Martin to the others. Joey was paralyzed with fear. He was the zombies next meal. As more of them flooded (trickled, actually. Zombies have trouble flooding, due to their inability to move at any sort of great speed. The trickle is, still, surprisingly powerful and frightening) into the room, David dashed for the door. The flood (trickle) enveloped him, and he fell to the ground. Anthony thought he was smart-he dashed for the balcony. Tragically (for him, not so much for his pursuers) he tripped on his way and went careening through the glass. He hit his head just hard enough to be unconscious for precisely the amount of time that it took for a zombie to reach him. Upon its touch, he woke up, to feel himself being eaten.
The screams, verging on eldritch, could have woken the dead. But the dead were already awake, so it woke the sleepers on the entire floor, and for two floors up.
In the next room over (106-Martin had been in 107) slept Three Idahoans and an Alabamanite. The Alabamanite, Grant, was the first to react to the screams.
"It’s Them!" His roommates could hear the capitalization. Since they had only met him a day and a half ago, they were briefly confused by his words. Suddenly a wave of not caring overcame them. Grant began to dig through his suitcase, grumbling loudly all the while. "Goddamn Illuminati and their satanic plots. I caught on to them, though, didn’t I? And I never go unprepared. I’ll show them. Nobody fucks with the U.S. Govt.," he managed to pronounce it as the abbreviation without it being Guhvut. , "Or U.S. Grant! Wake up, now! It’s war!"
Their puny brains had already forgotten the horrible screams (which continued) when he said this. They rolled their bodies over with those puny brains, and were then stunned into silence. Even a not so puny brain would have been by the sight.
Grant stood in the center of the room, wearing underwear, dyed red white and blue, atop his head. They had clearly once been white briefs, but were far from it now. It took the observers a moment to notice the golden cross emblazoned on them, resting on his forehead. They couldn’t, at the time, see the American Flag painted on the back of the underwear, nor that on the towel tied around his neck and draped down his back. They could only see a hint of the towel itself.
"What the fuck, man?" One of them-Abraham-mumbled.
The other two, George and Bill, attempted to nod in agreement, but being both tired and stupid, they failed. Watching a person fail to nod is unbelievably entertaining, as it is a very difficult thing to fail to do. It’s quite an indescribable failure, and is even more difficult to do intentionally than by accident. To ever properly understand a failure nod, you must see it for yourself. Regardless of how it looked, both of them managed to fail simultaneously at nodding.
Grant-now U.S. Grant, apparently-stood and stared at them as if they were completely insane. "Isn’t it obvious? The communistic Marxist Anarchist New-World Order is rising to their atheistic dictatorship! They’ve come to slaughter me and everyone I know, so that I have no power to stop their rise!" They stared at him.
Meanwhile, in room 108 slept three more Idaho boys, and the sixth Alabama boy. Though, now they weren’t sleeping. The Idahoans (Carl, Joseph, and Leo) were watching their roommate, Alabamanite Peter-Now calling himself Pyotr Petrograd-Standing commandingly in the center of the room. On his head he wore red-dyed white briefs, with a hammer and sickle, in a pale yellow, emblazoned on the front and back. His red towel bore the mark as well.
"What the fuck, man?" Leo slurred. Carl and Joseph failed to nod. Peter (Pyotr Petrograd) stared at them as if they were mad.
"Isn’t it obvious?" He asked. "The capitalist Smithian Nihilist New-World Order is rising to their theocratic dictatorship! They’ve come to slaughter me and everyone I know, so that I have no power to stop their rise!"
The three stared blankly at him.
Peter and Grant were best friends. They both liked girls, drinking, and politics. They were both also completely serious.
They both realized suddenly that no one was taking them seriously. Simultaneously, they grunted, fell to their suitcases, and lifted out plastic guns. Five each. Simultaneously, twelve eyes rose in a mixture of astonishment and what-the-fuckment in parallel with the guns. U.S. Grant and Pyotr Petrograd threw one gun to each of his roommates, keeping two for themselves. Two voices (Joseph and Bill) piped in with "They’re plastic?" and two commanding voices boomed "But they can still kill a man. Come-unless you’re them."
The "superheroes" burst from their individual hotel rooms, and began firing at what they presumed were assassins sent for them. The bullets-which would have been lethal, being made of pure silver, blessed by the pope, or pure iron, molded by the hands of the people-only tore flesh, pierced bone, and ruptured rare functional blood vessels, doing no harm.
"Paganistic Voodoo!" cried out U.S. Grant.
"Capitalistic super-soldiers!" cried out Pyotr Petrograd.
They pulled their guns in tightly to their bodies and plowed through the zombie horde. They broke through safely, nearly colliding, but turned onto the stairs in time. They flew down the stairs in parallel, to the lobby, and smashed through the glass front door, which had, in fact, been ajar.
Outside they paused, and took in the shambling corpses and crumbling city around them. They turned to each other, a knowing terror in their eyes.
And with one voice they wailed:
"Illuminati Scum!"
They were each about half right.
Previous Episode
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posted by Pope Richard Corey at 9:57 PM
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