Straight girls are apparently meant to lean on their girlfriends in times of crisis. We’re meant to care more about each other than the men in our lives. But seriously, if I was faced with a Zombie Apocalypse, if I needed to gather up a team and head for the sunset of the survival shelter, there would hardly be a bra toting, high heel wearing girl amongst it.
First of all, I would choose my partner. Not because of any sort of romantic hearts and flowers stuff, but more because I know I can deal with anything with him. We work well as a team. He knows when to cut my bullshit tap off and I know when to put some fire in his belly. He’s cool in a crisis and plays a mean axe. And he knows karate. Who doesn’t want a brown belted, nunchaku toting dude who knows how to play the whole back catalogue to Cream when facing the undead?!
Secondly, I’d swing by Redfern and pick up my crazy conspiracy driven ex-jamming partner from Redfern. His knowledge of all major conspiracies and Alien landings since the 1920’s, his love of Tesla plus his bitchin’ collection of tin foil hats is undoubtedly going to come in handy. Also, for a complete waster, he is remarkably good at talking himself out of trouble. Surely that has to come in handy. Certainly his amazing survival instinct would be a bonus to the team.
The third pick up would be in Chippendale. Here would be the chosen photographer to catalogue our journey, someone to share the writing and also someone I frankly would feel dreadful if his face got eaten off. I’d try not to sit him next to the second choice simply because he probably wouldn’t enjoy the unrefined stench (he’s much more refined). I’d also dream of which manly man along the way I could set him up with, but that’s probably because old habits die hard more than anything else.
The fourth pick up would be in North Sydney. My oldest friend and his two pound doggies would be itching for the fight I am sure if the last 15 years of careful study of all kinds of horror films were anything to go by. I wouldn’t know for certain but I would hazard a guess he would have a secret cache of homemade weapons that somehow candidate number two was practised in either in virtual or real form. He can be counted on to also know where we could safely procure booze, of this I am sure.
Finally, we’d drive out to Malabar and hole ourselves up in a 70’s place by the sea with two of my partner’s oldest friends and their tenacious girlfriends. They’d probably be blissfully aware, however would marshal for a perimeter guard, most likely rostered by one old friend’s Mossad trained girlfriend whilst the insanely physical theatre trained other girlfriend climbs the roof to assemble a look out perch. Here we would stay with the dogs on guard and sending out “We are here!” beacons with the incredibly crazy amounts of musical equipment we have between us hoping to hell the beer will last and the Zombies get real, real tired.
That would be my Zombie Apocalypse. How about yours?