RRF/Malton Herald & Sun/Text/Text0707left
Good mmmmmmmmmmorning Ridleybank!
This is the cogitating cadaver, the deliberating decedent, the Plato of putrescence, the ruminating remains of what little grand erudition stood in this banana-hole town prior to the Great Awakening (what the respiration-inclined have dishearteningly designated 'The Outbreak'): the Mouth of Malton!
Today's broadcasts begins with a question and hopefully closes with an answer to yourself and to the just and burning spirits of truth, rationality and Barhah.
I pose, to those minute, warm-blooded communities who huddle, fruitlessly, against the a-shivering cold and dark of the Maltonian winter within the glorious gray borders of our Ridleybank, this inquiry:
Why do you claw against the lid of your own coffins? Why is it you continue this utterly hopeless struggle against the will of the Horde? Just as the black fog of winter wraps his icy claws around each building, each concrete monument, each tomb of Malton's hideous, harman past, so will the fist of the horde throttle every last remnant of harmanity. Each day, my respiring friends, you struggle against the unstoppable wave that is the Horde, against the cold, against sickness, starvation and even each other! Why not embrace the warm, orgastic release of death? Life is fleeting, a moment lost in a stream moments, but death is eternal! Find solace in that.
After all, you are all so near the precipice. Is this life you struggle in? Or is it survival? What oasis is found in survival? Mad, militant survivalists, the overbearing arrogance of Necrotech researchers, the very who laid this brave new world upon you, the predatory former-police, wicked, abusive dogs now unchained of responsibility: these are the overlords of your shadow of a life.
The horde offers you unlife, free of fear, of want for the illusory and unattainable, free to be, wholly, one's self. There is no race amongst the Horde, that mercurial and baseless wall harmanz place between themselves and their own brothers and sisters. Nor ethnicity, nor nationality, nor religion, nor class nor any of the more material concepts exist within the Horde. You exist only as one of the zetheren, one unique drop within the sea of the Horde. Only when you realize our sameness can you embrace your individuality. Life, harmanity, creates nothing but barriers... barricades to our own self-realization! Join us, and together we can tear down these barricades to ourselves!
Well, that's all the time I have this morning. Remember, children, if you see a needle: tell, don't touch! Together we can keep Ridleybank drug-free. May Barhah be your warmth in the darkness.
Excursion II: Son of Excursion
Deep Movie Voice In a world where zombies have pasty, rotting skin; the tanning bed is king.
Zombie Gah mah dannan bahd!
Deep Movie Voice But this quest for a tanning bed is no ordinary quest for a tanning bed.
Younger Zombie ! anna ahgzarzahn!
Deep Movie Voice Now playing in South Blythville....
Zombie Banana Gangbang!
Deep Movie Voice The movie AND tanning event of the century.
Younger Zombie ! zee dahd harmanz!
Deep Movie Voice Excursion II: Son of Excursion. Rated R.
