Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Desperate Times

Hey, Phil. What’s with the kids?

“Human shield.”

Dammit, man.

“Things are getting weird out there. Man can never be too safe.”

Well, get a gun if you’re worried.

“Got guns. Gave ’em to the kids.”

Jesus.

“They’re for defense and offense. Between you and me, though: one of them has terrible aim.”

I think I know which one.

“The Dead couldn’t kill me; bad liver couldn’t kill me; cancer couldn’t kill me. This motherfucker ain’t killing me. I’m making it through these next four years.”

This is the correct attitude, but I just don’t think a living moat made of pre-teens is gonna do the trick.

“I haven’t been rounded up yet.”

True. Whose children are these, anyway?

“Mine. Legally, they’re mine.”

How?

“Deadhead parents, man.”

Yeah, but these kids look pretty well-taken care of.

“And you should see how their parents will be taken care of at Terrapin Crossroads from now on! 20% off all entrees! Except fish.”

Give the kids back.

“No. They surround me at all times. No one would dare attack me. If things get any scarier, I’m straight-up duct-taping babies to myself.”

Oh, don’t do that.

“It’s not my wish. It might happen.”

Is someone educating these children, at least?

“The busboys.”

Figured.

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  1. busboys

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