After awakening at 5:30 this a.m., I smelled something odd in my palatial estate and so went to investigate. As it turned out, my palatial estate had been overrun with zombies. This is unfortunate as, apparently, zombies have an indestructible will as well as an overwhelming appetite for human meat. As I am a human, I immediately sensed the danger.
I grabbed my light saber, which I bought at the dollar store, and do you believe it? IT DID NOT WORK. It always works when, after 6 0r 10 vodka and tonics, I use it to cut slices of salami off the salami roll I am inevitably serving at my after-the-bars-but-before-brunch parties. My light saber makes that humming sound and everything. My light saber is purple. I think that's the universal color for leadership.
So, there I was, trapped in my palatial estate with no light saber, but, thankfully, salami. And vodka. You cannot possibly fight zombies without salami and vodka. I'm not afraid to tell you--I engaged in an epic battle. Rip-out-guts battle. It was bloody. It was loud. There was a lot of war crying and screams of, "GLORY!" and then epic running. By the zombies, of course, not me.
But as luck would have it, there is only one of me and 1.63 million of them, so I was a bit outmanned. Or, I guess I should say, in the interest of gender equality, I was a bit outmonstered. And then I saw that it was 7am, which is the witching hour, also known as the time-to-go-to-the-Brown-Line time. I escaped over the threshold of my palatial estate, just barely missing a deviant grab by the head honcho zombie, and leaving a swatch of my cape in between his zombie fingers. Or claws. Or whatever, zombie appendages.
They took chase. All the way to the Brown Line. I must say, Lincoln Square is a quiet neighborhood, especially in the morning, but my epic battle with the zombies took this bucolic hood from quiet to fucked up in 6.2 seconds. Upsetting, yes. But do you know what I discovered? Zombies don't like the CTA any more than the rest of us. They came to a dead stop right at the entrance to the station.
Ha! Even in the midst of the telling of an epic battle I am still able to produce a pun! That is classic wordsmithing there, boys and girls. Anyhoo, not only did they not get on the train, they also did not want to head off into the world of cubicle farms with me. I know this because I heard them whispering to each other--"Oh, no. She's dressed like those mean people downtown." "Oh, no. You know what that means!" "Oh, no. She's going to The Land That Shall Remain Nameless!"
In case you're wondering, zombies speak only in explanations.
And so, that is how I defeated the zombies. It's all about cubicle farms and public transportation, people. That is your safety lesson of the day.