The Halfway Point

Well,I'm cranking it out as fast as grapenuts go through a goose.


I just passed the half way point, with a 25,301 official word count.Here's the unfinished episode that crossed the boundary from the first half to the second:

(Note,WE ARE EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES - quotation marks inthe text appear as thick vertical bars here. I'll need to figure that out sometime)

Abe and Isaiah joined the group. They could see two shadowy figures walking randomly in the border area, closer and closer to entering the Golf dimension, sometimes scratching their heads as if they were trying to understand the very same strange experiences that Isaiah had when he first crossed the border in the other direction. The nervous old men crouched in a bunker by the green, as the shadowy figures entered their territory, revealing the forms of two slouching grey – skinned figures with the blue Tramlaw jumpsuits, and long and slightly unkempt hair.

The figures repeated the same nonsense phrases over and over. The taller of the two repeated,”Is this a good place, they can’t see us here, do you think?” followed by the short zombie’s reply, “Hey, what drag, what drag. It’s cool” The taller zombie said,”This’ll do. If we can’t see them, they can’t see us. Now, where is it?” The shorter zombie reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out a book of matches and a sloppily rolled cigarette. They relaxed on the edge of the green, lit the cigarette, and passed it back and forth between them, while vacantly looking at the setting sun between puffs.

“Well, knock me over with a feather”, said Abe, “Wacky Tobbacky! We’ve got a couple of slacker pothead zombies sneaking here to smoke! Life is full of surprises.”

The professor whispered in a more serious tone of voice, “They may look harmless, but they are still zombies. I wouldn’t want to be around when the get the munchies for brains”.

After the zombies finished smoking their puss - encrusted spit – soaked roach, they stared into the sunset and stopped moving. “Now’s our chance”, said the professor,”these two are hapless, we can test our weapons”. The men quietly returned to the edge of the green opposite the zombies, and gathered their weapons.

The professor produced a pen, pad and clipboard. “OK, give them what you’ve got, and I’ll document the results.”

Abe nonchalantly picked up a golf club, dropped a ball on the green, and made a perfect chip shot into the head of the taller zombie. The nearly brainless creature rubbed his head, quickly jerked his head to look left, and then right. He didn’t seem mortally wounded. He rubbed his head again, and said,”Hoo wow, it felt like something hit me in the head, what a rush. Dude, that’s good weed”. The Professor wrote, “Golf ball shot with club – long range, minimal impact”.

Shemp silently crawled along the edge of the raised green infantry style, cradling his long range high accuracy sniper grade seltzer bottle. He raised the bottle to blast the shorter zombie with a two second geyser directly to the face. The vertically challenged zombie immediately raised his torso to an upright position, as Shemp slithered away at an incredible speed for an old man. As soon as he sat upright, the dripping zombie flopped back to the ground. In an answer to the tall zombie’s asking, ”Dude, what’s going on with you?”, he answered, ”Whoa, that is good shit. I just felt paralyzed for a couple of seconds, you know, like may arms and legs just wanted to do their own thing, aah, stony.” The Professor wrote, “Seltzer spray - medium range, stuns and temporarily slows zombies down.”

What will happen next? I'd tell you if I knew.

What ever does happen, I guarantee it will happen with bad sentence structure. Just no time to deal with that in nanowrimo .

If I were to start over or when actually edit any of this, I would get rid of the stooges and replace them with more original (and less litigious estates) characters. The slapstick will stay, in any event.

Oh another addition to the list:

Stephen King, I ain't.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.