If You’re Reading This...

If you're reading this, then A) I'm super-famous and this is my Anne-Frank moment--wherein I'm dead, or B) I gave this to you as a testament of how I survived that day--today, when all this crazy shit went down.

I'm really, really hoping that it's option B, because option A seems pretty damn empty without me there to bask in the glory.  But I don't know if I'm going to survive the night, with Angie and Rob banging and scrabbling at my bathroom door.  God, they've been at it for hours!

Speaking of which, where the fuck is God in all of this, huh?  Rob never mentioned any fucking zombies in his tales of hellfire and brimstone.  Being the pastor of a church should have meant that he would have a pretty good idea of what would happen when and if the Big Clusterfuck happened, and God recalled his own.  Which, hey, big fucking surprise: He hadn't!

When all of this had started, he'd rushed over to check and see if his precious sister was okay, and he'd been talking about the beginning of the end.  I'd thought he was drunk at first, because he was slurring his words and his balance was a bit off--which was weird, because he never drank and he had the fucking balance of a ballerina, thank you high school football!

But then he'd gotten angry, and actually bit Angie on the arm!  I'd thought he'd lost his damn mind.  He'd taken a big chunk out of her bicep, and I kicked the shit out of him before dragging my girlfriend into our bedroom and locking the door.  She wasn't doing so well, so I tried to call 911, but I just got this recording that all the lines were down.  I was freaking out, because Angie was losing a lot of blood.

I was about to go and call try to flag down somebody when Angie started convulsing really bad, so I ran to her and tried to hold her so she didn't hit her head on the nightstand or something.  Then I remembered something about people swallowing their tongues while convulsing, and so I opened her mouth and stuck my fingers in her mouth, so as to hold her tongue in place.

She bit down pretty hard.  I would have lost more than just the bit of skin and meat from my knuckles if I hadn't pried her jaws open with the fingernail file from the nightstand drawer.   But she started moaning like her brother before too long, and she got that dead look in her eye that told me that maybe she wasn't Angie anymore...

So here I am, sitting on the floor of my pink-tiled bathroom, writing all this shit down on the toilet paper that I'm pretty sure wasn't a good idea to use in the first place, but fuck it: I've already written this much...

I don't know why it's so damn hot in here...  Rob must have hit the thermostat or something in his crazy ramblings out in the living room or something.  And it's getting darker earlier than I thought it would, considering it's only three in the afternoon...

I'm so hungry, I'm having trouble focusing... 

i wont oto teat soemtheing hoooottt nn stiikii, os methihg fredsxh------------------------------