Remember remember the 5th of November, zombies, and my potential viking master

Today I’m hoping to see a zombie.

I flew from Paris to Manchester yesterday with my boss.  We’re staying in Huddersfield, and according to a brochure I found in the hotel lobby, the Dungeon of York promises ghosts.

Ghosts, and potentially zombies.

The ghosts have been lingering around York since 1551 when the putrid plague brought forth pussing boils, rotting corpses, and the lingering scent of all things horrifying.  Creatures and items which fall under this category include (but not limited to) ghosts, snakes, witches, bigger ghosts, vampires (the real kind, there will be no mention of that series here dear readers), Lord Voldemort, Hannibal, anyone dedicated to killing in the serial fashion, beets, and of course, zombies.

What better method of zombie creation than a horrendous plague?  The bodies are already there, and I don’t imagine zombies hump, so their reproduction must somehow be linked to disease.

Hence, my assumption there is such a thing as the zombies of York.

Also a logical conclusion is that they are lingering just outside this hotel room in the woods across the street.  I can practically hear them shuffling through the leaves in search of innocent blood.

Ok, so if it was really innocent they were after, maybe I wouldn’t be their girl.  Let’s say-American blood.  Yea, I bet those York zombies can’t wait to take a bite out of a Yank.  Which would ultimately make me a Yank-York-Zombie, and last time I checked, that’s not on my to-do list.

Also, I’m on the ground floor so they wouldn’t have to climb to find me or anything.  They’d basically just have to cross the street (crosswalk provided for their safety), break my window, and create a whole new monster for their clan.

Great.

The York Dungeon evidently also hosts an exhibit on something called the Bloody Vikings.  Next to the blurb: “Keep your wits about you as the Vikings go bersek in York-where will you run when the Vikings raid?”, is what looks like a bloody gladiator with a really mean face.

This is not the face you want to sit next to on public transportation, that’s for sure.

Still, he’s far more attractive than the plague-zombies, and I’m guessing if he bashes in my window, I’ll probably have to be some kind of gladiator-slave-wench.  If that happens, I hope Hollywood is involved in the costume design because I am going to need some serious hair and makeup maintenance to pull of that look with any kind of dignity.

There is also a labyrinth of shadowy mirrors.  I’m not entirely sure what this entails, but it claims to be from the lost Roman legion, and judging by the screaming child in the image, it is either related to murder, or David Bowie invented spandex in the Roman era.

It’s a shame I don’t have time to go to the museum itself to do more research.  I’d like to be properly prepared for all of the horrendous horror which may quickly find its way to me today.

There are a lot of gruesome shenanigans that have occurred in York at one time or another.  It’s amazing anyone would choose to live here.

Maybe I should purchase binoculars to search f0r the zombies from the treetops.

You know, for anthropological purposes.   I wouldn’t want to get too close, but I can hardly pass up the opportunity to go zombie-watching.

neighboring potheads

In college I lived in a large duplex in the U-District of Seattle.  One half was inhabited by myself and some friends, while the other housed a group of pot-heads and their many random pets.  These boys were so high most of the time that getting into conversations with them was like wandering into the middle of a David Lynch film.  When it came to naming their pets, they had gotten very creative.

They had a skinny, mangy-looking tabby cat named Kitty and a turtle named Shell (which they couldn’t pronounce without falling into a fit of hysterical giggles).

and of course

A snake, whom they called Snake.

A quick note regarding me and the snakes of the world: we do not get along.  I see one, and I run screaming.  I see a picture of one and I cringe.  I once came across a garter snake breeding ball (check wiki-it’s just as disgusting as it sounds), and stood paralyzed in terror as they slowly untangled themselves.  So yes, it is probably the most classically boring of fears-but I am petrified of snakes.

So it was with joy that I received the two potheads standing on my front porch one afternoon, red-eyes twinkling with pleasure as they showed off their ‘friend’ Snake.  The red and white stripes twisted around the hands of one as the other rolled a joint, both giggling in delight at the latest addition to their domestic zoo.  Needless to say, I was not as ecstatic about this as they were.  I distinctly remember telling them that the thing was sure to escape, and being a duplex-that was going to be a problem.  The other problem was that despite their antics, these boys were incredibly hot, so they tended to get away with murder.  They were so hot that one of my roommates and I frequently knocked on their door in the summers and had them open up their side so we could bring out the grill and watch them take their shirts off.  In addition to their hotness, and despite their mental capacity, they were really nice guys.  But not even their adorably dude-like nature could warm me up to the idea of Snake.

Skip ahead two months and several parties to the fresh arrival of summer.  The morning of my 22nd birthday.

I’m lying in bed, waking up to the sunshine spewing through my window when it happens.  My roommate is getting ready for work and she suddenly starts screaming like a madwoman.  Thinking she has seen a moth (her greatest irrational fear), I begin to get up and remove the flying ‘terror’ from her bedroom.  However, I am mid-roll when I hear her scream out

SNAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My bed was considerably farther away from the front door than she was, and I managed to pass her on the stairs in what had to be the fastest I had ever moved in my life.  Having just gotten out of the shower-she had found the slimy creature underneath her  heaped towel in the corner of her bedroom.

So there we were.  Two girls, one in towel, one in monkey p.j. pants screaming various obscenities on our front porch at seven in the morning.  Hands pounding furiously on our neighbors door and windows, desperately trying to wake them from their smoke-induced slumber.  After about ten minutes, one of them opened up.

Looking us over through squinted, tired eyes, he chuckled, yawned, and said ‘sssuuup ladies, want me to make pancakes?’

A cluttered mess of disgusted yelling ensued in which we managed to portray to him that his snake was currently residing on my roommates floor.  His eyes lit up at the mention of Snake, at which point he smiled and said

‘Cool man, he’s been missing for a month’

A month.  Snake had been roaming through our connected homes for a month.  As this notion sank into our brains-the disheveled neighbor asked us if he should retrieve Snake from the premises.

‘Yes, that would be fantastic’

A few minutes later, the scruffy boy from next door came up our stairs, holding Snake in a disgusting father/son reconciliation.  As he passed us in the front doorway, both still waiting the return of normal heartbeats, he said:

‘Hehehehehe, Dude, Snake’s back in action’.

Needless to say, I couldn’t quite bring myself to return to bed that morning.