Back when I first started watching The Walking Dead, I was giddy with the thought of zombies as television stars. I imagine if George Romero was dead, he would have been so proud to see his vision go water cooler. The dead as a de rigueur accessory to weekly planners and Sunday night get togethers . . what’s not to love about that?
To paraphrase Charlton Heston, the living couldn’t wait to pry the starring roles away with their warm, living hands. As zombies have come to learn over the last four seasons of what was supposed to be their show . . human beings are way scarier when they’re coming at you from ninety eight degrees strong.
While Merle, Shane, the Sons of Anarchy, the Governor and Gareth are all about crafting Sun Tzu to its worst measure, zombies? They just gotta eat.
Cayman Thorn’s Walking Dead Thoughts:
The story arc is moving faster than Artie Lange in a buffet line. Terminus is toast and Gareth is deader than the Yankees offense. I ain’t complaining, but I am ‘lil dubious as to where we can go from here with more than eighty percent of story still left to be told on this camping trip of a season. And Tyreese is pissing me off in a BIG way. You CANNOT let that douchebag from Gareth’s Eat Club make it out of that cabin alive . . not after he threatened to kill Judith, you cannot. He’s a bigger liability right now than Gabriel. On a positive note, I love this Rick and I love this gang. I love Carol and I love her Daryl. I’m just hoping Beth is channeling the Governor upon her return.
Anyhoo . . . I asked myself, “Self? Which character from TWD would you be most like in a zombie apocalypse?” And self answered with “Get the fuck out of here! Zombie apocalypse?! You can’t even handle a line at the grocery store without having a conniption!”
Self and me, we don’t always see eye to eye. This poses a huge problem when it comes to dinner, voting and romantic entanglements. But that’s another story for another zombie apocalypse.
Cayman’s World Series thoughts: Going in, my girlfriend’s expert opinion was that Madison Bumgarner had a great ass, and that he should pitch every game of the World Series since he’s the Giant’s best pitcher. I’m, uh, not going to touch that first thought. But I have to say, she just about nailed the second one. When no less an authority on October baseball than Curt Schilling tells you he’s never seen that kind of pitching performance before? You realize how close the Royals were to having Kevin Costner write their love song of a season into a sequel to ‘Field of Dreams’, if not for number 40.
As for the zombie world (The one that has absolutely nothing to do with Fox Sports), I thought maybe I could be a Rick type, but then I thought again since I can’t garden to save my life. Glenn? He’s too reasonable, Herschel. He was too religious. Abraham is too redheaded. The Governor loved aquariums (I don’t). Gareth was into eating people (I’m into eating with people.) And then it hit me! Daryl . . yeah, definitely. Earning his loyalty takes time, but once you have it, you’re good. He’s his own man within the group dynamic, which so describes me. I can be an awesome teammate, but I’m just as apt to go off by myself with a bourbon and a smoke so’s I can settle the day on my own terms.
Okay cool, “Hey Self! I’m Daryl!”
“Chyeah, you’re Daryl. And I’m the Pope’s landlord. Who you kidding? . . .The only reason you want to be Daryl is because of Carol . . .”
Self knows me all too well. I would ask him to move out, but . . yanno.
Cayman Thorn’s favorite line from “Four Walls and a Roof”: I knew when I told you, it would become all about the end. And I really like the middle . . . (Thanks Bob. And sorry about the leg. And about you dying.)
Okay, a few yins and yangs to throw in my suitcase for the big dead reveal. These here are some personality characteristics that make me the ideal- or less than ideal- partner to pair up with at the end of life as we know it.
Positives: I’m fiercely loyal, but I’m not blind to it. I’m organized, methodical and efficient. I have big energy. And while I’m not the murderous type, I will go Banshee if you fuck with me or mine in the Zombie Apocalypse.
Negatives: My OCD would be a hindrance. My mood would fluctuate between sandpaper and barracuda if I wasn’t able to procure a reasonable store of whiskey and smokes for the trip to nowhere. My decision making skills when it came to forming a gang would be flawed. I’d take musicians over soldiers, since I would need me some music to pass the time and I can’t play a lick. And hygiene, man . . it’s everything to me. I would be spending all my time scouring for soap and toothpaste.
Well, that’s it. I hope you enjoyed my Halloween post. I want to send out one more shout to the brilliant lovelies who invited me to their zombie party this month. They’re excellent peeps, and I hopes to hell I can be in their gang when the dead requisition our morning show existence, because they kick ass in the literal, figurative and most soulful of senses. Mama Mick, Jennie, Christy, Mary . . . you are rock stars squared.
And this here is my official Halloween anthem. I’m dead serious.