Zombie Apocalypse Team... ASSEMBLE!!!

There’s a new game on Facebook now that’s intensely zombie-ish.

The rules are:

Go to your Profile, look to the left, the first six friends are your Zombie Apocalypse team.

Holy.

Shit.

I’m screwed.

Sidekick: David Cardenal. This is ass backwards. It’s more like I’m his sidekick.

Heavy Weapons: Kenneth Morrison. Sorry dude, but the heaviest weapon I’ve seen you carry is a coronet. I’m willing to bet you’ve wielded something heavier since then, but I worry that it is a hockey stick.

The Idiot That Survives: Jennifer Dipboye. I so DID NOT PICK THE ORDER. Be thankful you survived.  I’d like to point out right now that I’m also watching My Little Pony while writing this.

The Sniper: Cindy Collins. This I’ll allow. As a matter of fact, I’d say it’s a given.

The One That Loses It: Matt Jensen. Again, I did not pick the order. However, of all the people I know, you are the most prepared for the event. Those type of people lose it first.

The Brains: Courtney DeMarr Brown. You make awesome meatballs. But can I rely on you to coordinate a zombie apocalypse team? KILL PEOPLE THAT ARE ALREADY DEAD? I worry.

Man… I need better material.

Seems obvious to me...

Random Pics

Here's a series of Random Pics. It was this or actually write something.

Arrived a tad early for the July 4 fireworks.

We promised Zoey fireworks for the Fourth of July. Because of our extreme drought and a ban on fireworks, we had to do without. The city of Katy was one of the few places that actually had a fireworks display. We came early.

Way early.

Waaaaaaaay early.

Zoey said, "Take a picture of this cactus!" So I did.

Safety First

My darling loving sister sending a message.

Uno!

This one is funny because they don't really know how to play Uno.

Our bulletin board

In line at the hardware store Post Office

That's right. I cut my own hair.

New chairs.

My in-laws bought new patio furniture.

Unless one of them actually reads my blog, I'm willing to bet the foam covering on the arms and legs will be there forever.

My wife and a tow truck.

This may be the biggest freakin' tow truck I have ever seen. I made my wife stand next to it to give it some scale. She's 5' 1".

We are parked at the mall in The Woodlands. We were attending the THSC conference and killing time before the Tim Hawkins show.

I have no idea why this thing was there.

This is what AAA calls when your heavy equipment (like a crane, or aircraft carrier) breaks down and needs a tow.

Ice pick

I came home from my game night out with the guys to find this sitting on top of the TV.

In our house, the TV tends to be a "catch all" and I'm as guilty as anybody else about leaving random crap up there.

But an ice pick? Turns out Sara had locked and closed the door to the master bedroom. Previous homeowner made it a key lock. Wife and kids were locked out. So Stephanie got out an ice pick... and... well... use your imagination.

I wasn't allow to play with it.

Found on Interwebs. Speaks for itself, I think.

Dear Solicitors

Dear Solicitors:

Please stop calling my phone. My home phone, that is. We don’t answer it. Ever.

This goes for all robots too. Robots for political action committees, charities, and debt collectors. Most of you aren’t even looking for us.

Especially you debt collectors. Wow. You called me looking for who? Erin Johnson? Are you even trying?

Listen, we keep our home phone for one reason, and one reason only.

911.

Seriously. That’s it. It’s an extremely selective group of people we don’t know that we’d like to be able to find us. You don’t qualify.

I know, I know… you’re saying, “Why don’t you turn your phone off?”

Well, there is that rare occasion where I’ve invited someone to call me on my home phone. That’s right. I don’t want them to know my cell number, but knowing my house number is fine. Why? Because I expect that I won’t know that person for very long and seriously don’t want to be accidentally texted at 3 am with “Yo bro? Wer u @?”

I really don’t care about the latest credit card service or deal you have to offer. It will not be good. At all. I don’t care who’s running for city council or why. I don’t live in the city limits anyway. You clothing drive people call twice a day. FOR YEARS and you have yet to get an answer.

My name is not Erin Johnson. My wife is not a 56 year-old woman from New Jersey. Funny how I was able to find her.

So, in closing, stop calling me.

Please.