The P.E.T.Z Comes Knocking At My Door Pt 1

16 Jul

It seems not everyone is so upset with the Zombie invasion of Orlando. There is a radical group headquartered in Clermont, Florida called: People for Ethical Treatment of Zombies or P.E.T.Z.

They have eyes and ears all up and down the state…and also in the lower half of Georgia, protesting the killing, harming, teasing, poking, and/or exploitation of Zombies.

The other day I had let the dog out to go potty. Now it’s no secret that I am not a big dog person. This animal lives with me solely for the amusement of the wife and children.

I forget what kind of breed it is, but it’s the same type of dog that was in The Wizard of OZ, only I can’t get mine to stay inside a tiny picnic basket like Dorthy did.

This animals sole mission in life is to pee on the carpet in front of me and then run to my wife and look cute.

Then I’ll say to my wife,

“Your damn dog peed on the carpet again!”

And my wife will say,

“That’s not pee, one of the kids spilled their drink again.”

And I’ll say,

“Pepsi is not yellow.”

And she will say…

To the dog…

In a baby voice…

“You would never do that, would you baby? Daddy is a mean old man.”

So I roll my eyes, and sigh,

“I hope nothing that hairy ever came out of your vagina.”

And then she rolls her eyes, and sighs,

“I let something that hairy enter my vagina.”

Which then prompts me to go upstairs and trim up the business downstairs…and think about how pubic hair wasn’t an issue in the 1970’s.

Sorry, I got side tracked.

So I let the dog outside in the backyard to actually pee where it’s suppose to pee. Our backyard is not fenced in, but the dog will stay in our little square section. I’ll give it that much credit. I go about my business. I usually give the dog 5 to 10 minutes and then let it back in.

Suddenly I hear the dog yelping…that annoying, high pitch, little dog yelp it does, and look out the kitchen window. Sure enough a skinny Zombie is chasing the dog around the yard. The zombie wasn’t in great condition. It was limping, with a big chunk taken out of it’s right leg. Probably by a much braver dog. It didn’t even have a lower jawbone, which makes it pretty harmless, although the stupid dog doesn’t know that. Other than that, pretty much a typical zombie.

The dog is running from one side of the yard to the other and growling. I love when little dogs growl. They think they are so fierce, yet they sound no less menacing then a kids plastic toy lawnmower.

The Teenage Girl comes over to me to investigate what all the noise is, looks at me in that surly teenage girl way, and shouts,

“Hey, Dad! Are you going to do anything about that Zombie in the backyard? Oh, I don’t know…maybe stop it from eating the dog!”

“Sure, sure honey,” I reply half listening to her, and pat her on the head.

“Don’t ever pat me on the head again, and your wife is going to be angry at you, just so you know! And I will tell her you let a Zombie eat her dog on purpose!”

That kind of snapped me out of my daydream of the Zombie eating the dog.

“Don’t worry,” I tell the Teenager. “That Zombie has no lower jawbone. It’s not eating anything anytime soon.”

The Teenager just looks at me in disbelief.

“Why don’t you get rid of it before…I don’t know…it eats one of your children?!”

“Oh, ok. Sure thing.”

We keep a shotgun in the kitchen and a really long machete by the backdoor. Since this thing is moving pretty slow, and is missing half it’s mouth, I choose the machete.

As soon as I enter the backyard, the Zombie notices me right away. Obviously I’m a much bigger and filling meal, and it’s probably tired of chasing the little yelping, running and peeing thing.

The Zombie gurgles at me, with as much scariness as it can muster without a lower jaw.

I twirl the machete in my hand a little, feeling it’s weight. I’m very familiar with it. I practice killing Zombies all the time on the bushes. This will be the first time I use it on an actual Zombie though. I normally just grab the shotgun and be done with it, but I really don’t want the sound of the gun going off attracting the neighbors. Then they all spill out of their houses, and everyone has to discuss for the millionth time what a tragedy this world has turned into since the Zombie infestation…and also me killing this Zombie is borderline illegal.

I’m suppose to call the Zombie patrols.

Nothing will really happened to me if I kill it myself except for a lot of paperwork, a slap on the wrist, and the mandatory viewing of the informational video; “The Safe Debate: Killing Zombies And You.” Watching this video requires me to go downtown to the court house and watch it there. I have thirty days from the day of the killing of the Zombie to comply with this ordinance or it’s 90 days of community service. Honestly, the only bad thing about the video, besides how cheesy it is, is that it takes up your whole Saturday afternoon. It is narrated by Morgan Freeman and Elmo from Sesame Street, so you know they did try to spend some coin on the thing, but the acting is pretty bad.

I have seen it twice already.

Back to the Zombie.

It stumbles towards me. I raise the machete and eyeball where I’m going to stick it in it’s head. I originally thought a straight through the eyeball socket move would look really cool, like in the movies, but as the thing gets closer, I panic a little.

Instead I did an overhead swing into the skull, burying the machete about 2 inches deep with my momentum.

This is a dumb move.

“That was a dumb move, Dad!” I hear my Teenage daughter yell from the back porch.

“Yeah, I know,” I say.

As well as everyone knows, to kill a Zombie you have to destroy it’s brain. Well, despite how easy the movies make it look, burying a machete through someone’s skull is hard. What I have in front of me at the moment is a Zombie with a machete sticking out of it’s head trying to wrestle me to the ground.

Now that everyone has learned that it’s hard to bury a machete into someone’s brain…guess what? It’s even harder to dislodge a machete from someone’s skull.

As the Zombie is pawing me, I grab the handle of the machete while planting one foot on the Zombie’s chest and pull.

And pull.

“Dad, kill that thing already!” screams the Teenager.

“I’m trying!” I yell back through gritted teeth. “You can help!”

“Are you crazy?”

Finally the damn machete pulls free from the skull and the Zombie falls down in a heap. I guess the machete was keeping the brain intact until I removed it. But just to make sure I hacked at the head of the Zombie with my weapon a few times.

For my efforts, I was now covered in Zombie goo, and with the dog still yelping and peeing, and a Teenager screaming about what a bad job I had done at killing it.

Cut to the next day:

The doorbell rings. I answer the door and a liitle man and woman with clipboards are standing on my doorstep.

“Mr. De Voss?” the little man asks.

“Yes,” I say hesitantly.

The woman says, rather meanly I might add,

“We are from P.E.T.Z, do you know what that is?”

“Great!” I reply.

To be continued…. 

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5 Responses to “The P.E.T.Z Comes Knocking At My Door Pt 1”

  1. La La July 16, 2012 at 3:38 PM #

    And now I am imagining you with a picnic basket with a toto (cairn terrier?) in it and you’re skipping. I am enjoying it.

  2. Maggie O'C July 18, 2012 at 3:58 PM #

    My company’s owner and 2nd in command are in here today and I’m trying to laugh as quietly as possible.

    Zing!

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