When the Zombie Apocalypse came, the first to die were the writers. [290 BLANK PAGES FOLLOW].
Ominous radioactive clouds reflect in the ocean under the full moon. “Kiss me, this is it,” I say, and love grows like our cancerous cells.
The puppies of doom, the kittens of death, the ooky pooky bears of the apocalypse.
Yay Evil Pet Shop!
The old guy on the bus said I should “gird my loins for the coming apocalypse”.
Gird means touch, right?
The greatest scientific breakthrough since the splitting of the atom. Too bad there’s no one around to talk about it anymore.
He looked outside. They were everywhere. His house was surrounded on either side by Zombies. Blood thirsty, hungry for living human beings, they kept approaching at a constant pace. Not knowing what to do, he paced frantically around the house, searching for an escape, forcing his mind to think straight.
“We’ve surrounded the Zombie in a house, Sir. Would you like us to capture or kill him?”. “Take him alive” came the order. We need to study him to find a cure for this outbreak…
I just injected the toxin; it should take effect in a few moments.
To whomever finds this record, please know how sorry I am that I cause the
The sun exploded. Roughly eight minutes later, we got the bad news.