My Funny Valentine

Editor’s note: We asked CC to recall her most romantic memory of Missoula and she wrote a thousand words about the zombie apocalypse. Seems about right. Whether you love zombies or just love to kill them, it’s sure to get you in the Halloween spirit.

Hi. It’s me again. Look, I’m just as surprised as you are that I’m back. The original plan was one blog, then peace out. But the other night I was lying in bed and I heard this voice in my head. Okay, I ALWAYS hear voices in my head, but this one wasn’t telling me to wrap my body in tin foil and stalk John Cusack, this voice was different.

“CC, you moron,” it said, “I’ve given you a platform, now go use it for the good of mankind.”

So, here I am. And I’m sorry to break it to you, people, but the lighthearted tone of my previous blog is a thing of the past. This is now a serious blog and I’m going to talk about serious issues, beginning with the most serious of all – the issue that nobody wants to talk about, but somebody has to because time is running out and we need to stop living in denial.

The zombies ARE coming. It’s not a question of if; it’s a matter of when.

Is Missoula going to survive the invasion, or is it going to go down in a big steaming pile of blood and guts like Los Angeles? Because L.A. IS going down. I know. I live here.

Why? Because L.A. is soft, that’s why. When the first zombies arrive, they’re not going to be met with fire power, they’re going to be greeted by social workers deputized to get them into the welfare system, labor union recruiters offering pension and medical plans; and politicians passing out drivers licenses and free in-state college tuition vouchers – all in that order.

And they’ll be eaten – all in that order.

Is Missoula going to fare any differently? What’s going to save us, the weather? Sure, if it’s winter. Everyone knows zombies are susceptible to the cold. Everyone knows that. But what if they surprise us and show up in July? What’s our strategy then?

First and foremost, we have to figure out who to protect right from the git-go. Who makes this town function? Who can we not survive without at the end of the day? Doctors, obviously. I don’t know any, so I choose whichever doctors my parents see. You’re in, guys. Then comes Tom Catmull and his awesome rockin’ band, The Clerics. ‘Cuz folks gotta dance. Then the food people. We’ll throw the names of a bunch of restaurants into a hat and pick three – and those three will be whoever runs Hoagieville, Caffe Dolce, and Big Dipper. I know, because I will be drawing the three names and the drawing will be rigged.

That being settled, we move on to tactical maneuvers. What is our first line of defense going to be? Missoula is a pretty liberal town. Got the big university here (go Griz!). Lots of smart people who’ll want to do things by the book – and I think we should let them.

All the lawyers and the folks who thought roundabouts and those stupid concrete slabs I keep tripping over in the street were a good idea are going out in the first wave. We’re loading ‘em up with treaties, restraining orders, notices to quit, building permits, whatever they feel is necessary. Then we’re gonna sit back and wait for a peaceful solution.

It won’t happen. The zombies will eat them, but it’s okay because we won’t have lost anyone important.

But then the real defense kicks in. Here’s how it’s going to go. Here’s how we’re going to save Missoula. It’s so simple and so brilliant, only I could have thought of it, mostly because of the “it’s so simple” part. Here it is. Are you ready?

Indian Pudding.

Back in grade school my sister learned how to make this “dessert” called Indian Pudding. She couldn’t wait to come home and make it for the whole family. I’m not completely sure what was in it, but it kind of tasted like cornmeal, WD40, hand lotion, and pieces of plastic hanger.  It was the nastiest stuff I ever tasted in my life. It was so nasty we had to give it to the dog.

Even the dog wouldn’t eat it.

At the time it seemed so insignificant, but now I realize it was fate because it’s the answer to our very survival. Don’t you get it? If my dog wouldn’t eat it, there’s no way the zombies are gonna touch it!

All we have to do it get my sister to whip up a big batch of Indian Pudding, then we smear it all over our bodies and parade back and forth along the Higgins Street bridge to draw all the zombies to us.

It’s not going to defeat them, that’s not its purpose. Its purpose is to confuse them, which it will do. They won’t understand. We’ll LOOK like food, but…  It’s like the first time I encountered avocados. I THOUGHT they were food, until I tasted them and realized they’re just a mixture of slime and other people’s saliva growing on a tree.

That’s how it’s going to be for the zombies. They’ll just stand there scratching their heads, bewildered, flummoxed, discombobulated. And that’s when my dad and 500 of the finest sportsmen Missoula has to offer rise up from the rooftop of The Wilma Theater, armed like the Crypts and the Bloods on Payback Friday and IT. IS. ON, baby!

Within minutes the entire zombie army will be blown to smithereens. We’ll just sweep them over the bridge and let the current carry then away. Missoula is saved. Ta-da! Then we celebrate with Hoagieville, Caffe Dolce, and Big Dipper, while Tom Catmull and the Clerics rock the house.

So, that’s my plan. I think it could work. I mean come on, people, if this town can beat back a team of Bobcats, surely it can take on a few thousand zombies.

Missing Missoula,

CC The Trained Monkey

BIO:  Carol Chrest is a bitter old spinster living in Los Angeles. When she’s not working ridiculous hours at her cruddy day job, she writes screenplays.  Shedrinks.