Personal Narrative-Down Steaks

“Man, C’mon Y’all! You know what this shit is? It’s the Motha’ Fuckin’ living dead—Zombies! It’s the Goddamn apocalypse, the rapture, or whatever the Bible calls it. These broke-ass crazies all staggering around and moaning, bleeding from their eyes and mouths. How can anyone who’s not dead already take multiple gun shots to the chest and getting right back up again? Then only go down for good when you hit’em in the head. Y’all seen the movies, this is exactly like that shit. We need to get as far away from this as possible.” “Okay… okay… calm down Steaks.” Lovienthal said trying to mollify him. “Now, I know what it looks like. I mean, we’ve all had that thought cross our minds more than a couple of times since last night,
“Awe, come on, what’s your problem?” “I’m not having you shoot somebody. You’re too irresponsible.” She scorned. “I’m too irresponsible?” Morgan fired back, his face beginning to redden with embarrassment from being treated like a child. “I have five jobs.” he said digging in his heals. “The laundry mat, the mini-mart, the pizzeria, the dry cleaner, and I help my dad with maintenance at the Park. If you think that’s easy, you should try unclogging a toilet after Fat Ass here gets done with it.” “Hey, man!” Lovienthal interrupted, feeling the need to defend himself from the prejudices of those who didn’t understand what it was like to be a person who took especially large dumps. “My prodigious bowl movements are just because I have a healthy diet. It’s not my fault that the park has low-flow toilets installed. When you really think about it, it’s more your old man’s fault more than mine.” “I don’t care whose fault what is. You’re not getting a gun, and that’s final.” Mary ordered like a drill sergeant harping at Morgan. She then berated it to the rest of the group, all while her loose skin from under her chin shook like a turkey’s