Y is for Youths and Z is for Zombie Apocalypse

I slacked over the weekend with my blogging challenge. I'm definitely over it and tired of following an alphabet guideline. Trying to come up with something every day to fit into a schedule isn't for me. It kind of takes the fun out of it all. 

So yeah, I didn't blog Saturday. Instead I went a couple of hours away to visit my grandmother (Keiko) and my cousin Christine and ate delicious goyza, soy sauce steak, egg rolls, and rice. Keiko made it all and it was delicious, like it always is. 


And ways, the FINAL DAYS OF THE A TO Z BLOG CHALLENGE!!! YAY!!

Y is for Youths

I could write a novel on my issues I have with the youth of today, the youth of my day, the youth of days before me, and the youth that are sure to come after me. Basically guys, kids are twats. Ungrateful, disrespectful, punk, bitches (that's actually what I grew up being called by my dad- and guys, I was a fucking good kid). I digress. 

There's something about being a teenager that makes a person more arrogant than they'll ever be later in their lives. I blame it on the hormones, but everyone between the ages of 13 and 22 know everything there is to know. You can't tell them anything. You can't offer them any sage advice. If you do you'll likely just get an eyeroll as they keep their head down texting away. I was positive I was grown when I was 18-19. I was sure there was nothing life could teach me that it hadn't already. I was a fucking idiot and didn't know shit. If I could go back and hang out with 18 year old me for a day, I'd throw a snowglobe at my own head and just shake myself.

And what the hell is up with the cell phones glued to hands these days (adults are guilty too, but this is about youths). Can you not go five minutes without texting? Updating your FB status? Tweeting? Tumbling? BAH! Put your phone down and observe the world around you. I don't know what the hell they can be tweeting/FBing/texting about since they constantly have their heads down not watching as life passes them by.

Hey, little bastards, learn to say "thank you" "please" "sir" "ma'am". I was raised saying these things. Maybe it was a Southern thing, but my family made sure to drill that into my head from the moment I began to speak/gurgle spit bubbles. My nugget I'm growing will be a little Youth bastard too, it's inevitable, however he/she WILL have manners (and probable cuss like a sailor due to my mouth). 

Z is for Zombie Apocalypse

It's coming. 

You can't stop it. 

You can prepare for it. 

Grenades, machetes, bats, ammo of all kinds (you never know what kind of guns you'll find laying around), and as many different guns as you can find. 

Leather clothing is good. Long sleeves a must. Good running shoes.

Reinforced vehicle. Ideally a hummer (military grade not rich douchebag).

Gasoline. 

You'll need a couple of people you know and trust.

Fuck all others. 

If anyone near your gets bitten/scratched by a zombie immediately shoot them in the face.

No matter who they are. 

This is survival and you can't have a bleeding heart and pick up any and all stragglers you find on your journey. 

If you're going to have the sex, use protection- raising babies in a zombie apocalypse just isn't feasible.

Good luck to you all.