Apocalypticon

by Clayton Smith

He could leave the machete, but dammit, no, never mind, he couldn’t leave the machete; he’d already been over this. He felt like crying. Shit, he thought. The apocalypse is hard.

Frankly, Pat, I don’t want to die. I’m starting to think that this trip is some sort of subconscious death wish for you, and that worries me because I’m also going on this trip, but without a subconscious death wish. So it feels like a conflict of interest.”

The worst part was, the dumb fucking plan had actually worked, which meant similarly dumb fucking plans were going to be encouraged in the future.

“We all do, Ben. We all hate Arkansas.”

“My addiction to movies and television has left me entirely unprepared for the harsh realities of post-apocalyptic life.”

too freakin true

with the machete.” “You can’t kill a buffalo with a machete.” “Are you nuts? The Indians killed them with pointy rocks. I think they can be put down with a machete.” “No, I know they can be killed with a machete. I just don’t think you could do it with a machete.” “Because of my attachment to her?” Patrick asked, rubbing Ponch’s nose affectionately. “Because of your general physical ineptitude.”

“I do not clomp,” Patrick said, hurt. “If anything, I saunter. Some have said that I sashay.”

“Neuschwanstein. It’s the real castle that the Disney castle was modeled after. In Germany.” “Seriously? It was designed after a real castle?” “It was.” “I don’t believe you. Google it for me.” “I can’t.”

“Because you don’t have a data plan?” “Because I have no idea how to spell it. German is hard. And that word is a holocaust of vowels.” Ben squinted at Patrick. Patrick squinted back. “Mm-hmm. I said it.”