Tuesday, March 19, 2013


In light of the recent zombie apocalypse, now more than ever are situations like these coming to light; whereas before the number of costume-related fatalities were at an all time low, in the last couple of years it has become a frighteningly popular trend. "She was asking for it," says one eye witness, "I mean, did you see what she was wearing?"

"I could see more skin on her than clothes," added a another witness, "Obviously she wanted to be eaten."

The question many of us find ourselves asking is: are these women truly at fault or are the zombies the victim of bad reputation? When faced with such temptation as bared flesh, can they really be expected to resist? "They operate on base instinct alone," states one scientist with what appears to be an umbrella emblazoned on his lapel, "You cannot expect them to control themselves."

He goes on to explain further, "It's like leaving a candy bar open on your picnic blanket and being surprised when the ants show up."

When asked most women seemed to agree that efficiency and style can't always go hand-in-hand, and your last impression is certainly just as important as your first. For them the risk is worth it. "She didn't want to be eaten. That's ridiculous," one girl argues, "Seriously; who wants to get eaten by ravenous zombies with bad teeth?"

Another woman agrees, "If the zombies are doing it, we should be able to too! Besides, just because you left your candy out doesn't means ants will show up to eat it. Maybe there aren't even any ants nearby! Maybe the ants have something better to eat. Maybe they aren't even hungry."

Yet you can't dispute the statistics, 3 out of 5 inappropriately dressed women will die in a zombie-related eating, somewhere on the continent, every 6.3 minutes. It's no secret that if you don't want to die, you should probably better equip yourself, and that includes your style of dress.

(Inspiration courtesy of Neoseeker.)

Saturday, March 9, 2013

The Velveteen Rabbit

"And while the Boy was asleep, dreaming of the seaside, the little Rabbit lay among the old picture-books in the corner behind the fowl-house, and he felt very lonely. The sack had been left untied, and so by wriggling a bit he was able to get his head through the opening and look out. He was shivering a little, for he had always been used to sleeping in a proper bed, and by this time his coat had worn so thin and threadbare from hugging that it was no longer any protection to him. Near by he could see the thicket of raspberry canes, growing tall and close like a tropical jungle, in whose shadow he had played with the Boy on bygone mornings. He thought of those long sunlit hours in the garden -- how happy they were -- and a great sadness came over him. He seemed to see them all pass before him, each more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the flower-bed, the quiet evenings in the wood when he lay in the bracken and the little ants ran over his paws; the wondrous day that he knew he was Real. He thought of the Skin Horse, so wise and gentle, and all that he had told him. Of what use was it to be loved and lose one's beauty and become Real if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground."
 - The Velveteen Rabbit