The Walking Bread

This entry was posted on Dec 05 2011

The morning air was humid and a dense fog made it difficult to see. Rich struggled to open his eyes. He was disoriented. All he knew for sure was that he was lying on his back, in pretty mild pain, on some sort of mound. He was exaggerating the pain, just in case anyone was watching. Rich was never a “tough guy.” Cowardice was more his style. If anyone was watching, it would serve his self-esteem well if it looked like he had been through some shit and was shaking it off like a champ. So, Rich feigned difficulty trying to stand and dusted himself off. When he turned around he noticed that he had been lying atop a pile of bodies. Dead bodies. Decomposing carcasses. Hundreds of them. An abandoned bulldozer stood to one side of the heap. Rich wasn’t really bothered by the decaying flesh, some of which appeared to be flattened from both sides. Rich had always been fascinated by the motionlessness of corpses. It stemmed back to his senior prom. His date, Courtney, was at the end of her rope when she agreed to go to the dance with him, and that night when he made painfully awkward love to her unconscious body (she drank herself into oblivion to avoid the disappointment of not having an orgasm) he knew that there was something right about the situation.

Rich heard voices. There was a group of people walking down the highway he found himself stranded on. He quickly searched through the pile of dead bodies, hoping to steal cooler clothing from one of the corpses to replace his own tattered *NSYNC shirt and denim shorts with frayed edges. He passed on the first few outfits he found: a Cowboy, a Construction worker, a Biker, and an Native American. But when he came across a dead policeman he rejoiced, ripping his clothes off and putting them on as fast as he could. Now that Rich was dressed head to toe in his newly pilfered sheriff gear, he was ready to make a good first impression. He lifted the revolver from the dead cop’s hand and fired two rounds into the air as the group appeared.

It's that over-privileged white bread you have to look out for!

“Down on the fucking ground, you miserable bags of shit!” Rich shouted. The group stopped a few feet away from him. “Rich?” said a woman from the back of the group. “Is that you?” Rich couldn’t believe his eyes. It was his wife, Lola. What were the odds? Pretty bad, if you really think about it. I mean, the two of them just running into each other in a wasteland… So, don’t think about it. Lola walks casually, as if in no real hurry, and gives her husband a “friend hug”. “Rich,” Lola started, “it’s been so long. So much has changed.” Rich brushed off the strangeness of the informal hug. “What’s changed? How long has it been?” he asked. Suddenly from the back of the group came Rich’s best friend, Sheen. Sheen throws his arm around Lola’s neck violently and punches her in the stomach. “What’s taking so long, you dumb slut? It’s been like four minutes since I got my dick wet.” Rich, seeing his best friend and wife act like this, well, he just didn’t know what to make of it.

“Rich, I had to move on. I have needs,” said Lola. “How long has it been?” Rich managed to ask. “I don’t know,” Lola thought. “Maybe a week? I mean, I thought you were dead, so naturally I had to start fucking your best friend. We don’t use condoms and he finishes inside me.” Rich didn’t understand. “Why… why did you think I was dead?” he stammered. Sheen leaned forward and said, “Ha! ‘Cause that’s what I told her! Total lie, she’ll believe anything. She actually thinks I’m not HIV positive.” Sheen swats Rich in the crotch with the back of his hand. “Part of me, if not entirely, knew you weren’t dead,” Lola interrupted. “I never think about you anymore.” Rich couldn’t believe was he was hearing. He proceeded to vomit uncontrollably for the next twenty minutes, which was lucky, because it distracted him from the rough sex Sheen and Lola started having in front of him. When Rich was done throwing up and Sheen had put his junk away, a small child stepped out from the group. “See, man?” Sheen said. “I’ve even been taking care of your kid. I’m a great dude.” Rich and Lola’s son, Carlos, who was about ten years old and very annoying, limped toward his father sporting two fresh black eyes and a dislocated shoulder. Rich looked up from his son and into the eyes of Sheen and Lola, in sheer disbelief. “Oh, yeah!” laughed Sheen. “I beat him sometimes.”

Almost immediately Lola crouched down to begin giving Sheen oral sex. Rich was crying quietly as the rest of the group decided it was about time to introduce themselves. “Come on already!” shouted Cletus, the dumb redneck. “Let’s get this party started!” Cletus spit on the ground and chewed on a strand of wheat. Rich pointed his gun impotently toward the group. “I’m a cop,” Rich said, choking through tears. “You guys have to listen to me.” Terrance, the well educated black man in the group, stepped forward. Terrance had a Master’s degree from Harvard Business School, and he NEVER went by the name “T-Dawg.” “Listen up friend,” said Terrance, “We all saw you steal the clothes off that dead body over there.” Terrance pointed at the naked corpse of the deceased police officer Rich had defiled. “We know you’re not a cop. We don’t know however, why you felt the need to position the dead body of that naked cop you’ve wronged in a gay pose with that construction worker…” Rich sniffled, wiping the boogers from his nose with his shirt sleeve. “I thought it’d make you guys laugh, and then you’d want to be my friends, and you would think I was cool, and then you wouldn’t make fun of me, and, and…” Rich couldn’t continue, for he was sobbing too hard at this point. In the background Carlos was trying to get his mother’s attention, but her mouth was full of Sheen’s cock. Sheen, infuriated by the nuisance of the child, climaxed onto Carlos’ face.

Rich, who after forty-five minutes of counseling from Terrance (who minored in Psychology), finally composed himself and tried to learn the names of everyone else in the group. Terrance continued the introductions. “That there’s Cletus. He’s pretty good with that bow and arrow he carries.” Cletus spat onto the ground and screamed, “So what? I’m still a rock star! I got my rock moves!” Cletus then proceeded to shoot his last arrow into the horizon, at nothing in particular, for no apparent reason, as he was known to do. “Cletus only quotes lyrics from Pink songs,” Terrance explained. “This guy over here, his name is Bing Bong. If we ever need to send someone into an extremely dangerous, but overall superfluous situation, he’s our man!” said Terrance. “How ya doin’?” said Bing Bong, waving to Rich nonchalantly. He had almost no accent. “This guy is James,” continued Terrance, pointing to the lanky guy toward the back of the group. Terrance leaned close to Rich’s ear and whispered, “We figure he’ll probably die soon.” James resembled a mechanic and wore a dirty hat. “And this beautiful young lady is Angelina. She’s a real sweetheart. Just try not to fall in love with her. I dare ya!” said Terrance. Angelina was pacing furiously back and forth, muttering to herself. “Give me a fucking gun, man. Just give me a fucking gun and I’ll show you a group of dead pieces of shit,” cooed Angelina.

Hours later, the group gathered around a small fire to collect their thoughts. It had been a tumultuous few hours, for Rich especially. Sheen and Lola had sex fourteen times, twice of which occurred on top of Carlos. He was asphyxiated during the second sex romp, but was revived by a passing deer to everyone’s dismay. The group had thought they saw a small can of half-eaten baked beans at the bottom of this crocodile and grizzly bear infested ravine, but when they sent Bing Bong in after it, it turned out to be nothing. Angelina had cut herself six or seven times while Terrance did his taxes. James stood idly in the background, never really making an impact on anyone. People forgot he was there. Around the fire, Rich finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked. Everyone became very quiet. Lola stopped jerking Sheen off mid-stroke. Carlos has fallen into the fire, but an unfortunate gust of wind rolled him out before the third degree burns could take his life. Terrance took the lead. “You better sit down,” he started. Rich was already sitting down. “We’re living in the apocalypse. Society has crumbled under a new disease,” said Terrance. “L.A. told me, “You’ll be a pop star,” all you have to change is everything you are,” interrupted Cletus. Rich was confused. “What is it?” he asked. “It’s bread,” said Terrance.

Sometimes the Pink lyrics made sense for the situation... I took care of that.

“You need to watch your back for the darkies,” muttered Angelina. Terrance turned his head to face her. “You know,” started Angelina. “The pumpernickel. They’ll fuck you.” Rich didn’t understand. “What do you mean… bread?” he asked. Terrance stood up, enraged that Rich wasn’t getting it yet. He had explained it in tremendous detail. Was this guy retarded? Of course he was! This Rich guy didn’t go to Harvard! He needed to dumb down his language. “Munch munch! Bread soft like the Devil!” Terrance screamed, waving his arms like a madman, pretending to eat a sandwich to get his point across to this dimwitted Neanderthal. Lola, currently being eaten out by Sheen, leaned over to her husband. “It’s not you, it’s me. I just wanted to have sex with someone who wasn’t you,” she explained. “Also, I’m pregnant. And it’s not yours. It’s definitely Sheen’s. I’m going to keep it and make you raise it. I’ll probably make you take it with you on dangerous excursions and berate you if anything kind of, sort of happens to it, even if you were doing everything right.” At that moment Sheen’s tongue must have hit Lola’s G-spot, because she screamed in ecstasy directly into Rich’s face and ripped a clump of hair from his head in her carnal state. Cletus was gnawing on his strand of wheat, watching the cunnilingus take place. “This used to be a Funhouse, but now it’s full of evil clowns,” said Cletus.

Angelina snuck up behind Rich and ripped the gun out from his holster. “I’ve been on my period for eight months now!” she screamed, and shot herself in the face. Seeing Angelina’s fresh dead body stirred up some crazy thoughts in Rich’s head. It made him reminisce about that pile of bodies from that morning, but he quickly shook those thoughts away, staying true to the bond he and his wife shared. He knew deep down that they could make it work. Rich tapped on Lola’s shoulder, trying to get her attention as she was riding Sheen reverse cowgirl-style, when he heard a rustling. Terrance stood up, a look of terror on his face. “Dear God, they’re here!” Through the trees, a dozen life-sized pieces of bread meandered toward the group. “What the fuck are those things?” Rich yelled. “They’re…” Terrance gulped, “the walking bread.”

The group had scattered, but never actually left the campsite where all the danger was. “One on one, you could probably take ‘em,” explained Terrance. “But in a pack, they’ll turn you into a six-foot sub.” “But I’m only five-eleven,” countered Rich. Terrance, without hesitation, slapped Rich across the face. Cletus was currently fighting off one of the friskier slices of pumpernickel bread in the group, as it tried desperately to mount him. “It’s just u + ur hand tonight,” yelled Cletus, as he pushed the piece of bread into the fire. Deep down, he wished that Pink had a song called “You’re Toast”, for it would have been so much more fitting. A single tear rolled down his redneck cheek.

It'll later be discovered that Panera played a big part in the spread of the disease.

The zombie slices of bread were terrorizing the group when all of a sudden Herschel, some old fucking man, wandered into the fray. “Hey! I’m an old fucking man!” bellowed Herschel. “I’m kind of a doctor, but not really.” The slices of bread were drawn to him. They swarmed him quickly, but it seemed Herschel was going to get away, for he jumped onto his Rascal scooter. “Not so fast, you old fucking man,” said Sheen, seemingly out of nowhere. Sheen had picked up the gun from Angelina’s hand and shot Herschel in each knee cap. Then Sheen kicked the old fucking man in the crotch. Then he ripped out one of his eyeballs. “Honey, if you were going to distract the bread with Herschel, why wouldn’t you just kill him so he doesn’t have to suffer?” asked Lola. Sheen, trying to process so many words in one sentence, became very frustrated. “What do you mean distract?” asked Sheen. “You know, so we could get away?” said Lola. Sheen furrowed his brow. “No, like, what’s the definition?” asked Sheen. Annoyed with Lola’s constant yammering, Sheen began pissing all over the old fucking man. When he was done, the entire group gathered together near the back of the campsite, watching as the herd of bread surrounded Herschel and began sandwiching him from all sides. Herschel’s body started to flatten as the slices of bread consumed him like they would salami, pastrami, or any other cured meat. Gore poured out from Herschel’s compressed body as his skin gave way and the pieces of bread saturated themselves with blood in some kind of sick, depraved frenzy.

Terrance recognized that Herschel was more than dead, but thought that maybe they could save him. “Bing Bong! Get in there, man! You need to save that old fucking man!” shouted Terrance. Rich, mouth agape, turned quickly to face Terrance. “But we don’t even know that guy!” he screamed. “Trust me,” Terrance said. “I’m black. Now Bing Bong!” Bing Bong, without even questioning it, said “Yeah, alright, whatever.” Bing Bong dove head first into the loaf. He squirmed and wriggled for what seemed like hours, because it actually was like three hours, and eventually pulled Herschel’s wrecked and mutilated body out from the bread pile and dragged it to his group of comrades. Rich (who had gone back to the huge pile of dead bodies from that morning to sulk, but ended up finding a really cool doctor uniform on some corpse and put it on) bent down to Herschel, who was missing the bottom half of his torso, and checked his pulse. “He’s alive!” rejoiced Rich, who really needed this win. “Oh wait, wrong spot.” Rich moved his hand from Herschel’s nose to his wrist. “No, he’s dead,” said Rich, who was now feeling stupider than ever. He took solace by resting his head on Lola’s lap, while she was being fisted by Sheen. Cletus kept trying to get the bread to eat Carlos by pushing the child closer and closer to them, but they weren’t interested. “Party crasher, panty snatcher,” cried Cletus. “Call me up if you’re a gangsta.”

Psh, what does she know about comedy?

The band of survivors made their way out of the woods and back to the safety of the highway. Rich surveyed  his remaining compatriots. Sheen and Lola were 69’ing in front of Carlos. Terrance and Bing Bong were standing next to each other silently. Cletus made it out. Oh, there’s James in the back there. Still alive.  Forgot about him. Wait a second, Rich thought. “Hey James, you got some crumbs on your shoulder,” said Rich. Everyone turned to face James intently. Rich has made the comment trying to be polite, but he was missing something. “Why are there crumbs on your shoulder, James?” Terrance questioned. James shrugged. “I was hungry,” started James. “So, I took a bite.” “He’s one of them now!” screamed Sheen, pushing Lola’s vagina from his face momentarily. “I’ll get my shoe and beat him to death.” Terrance shook his head. “No, no. There’s no need for that. We’ll do this humanely.” Terrance nodded to Cletus. “Cletus, shoot him in the stomach with one of your arrows,” said Terrance. Cletus went to grab an arrow, but forgot he’d wasted his last one a little while ago. “Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel, like you’re less than, fucking perfect.”

“Guys, listen, I’m fine,” pleaded James. “Don’t do this!” Terrance turned to his group. “Hear that? That’s not even English! He’s talking like the bread now!” bellowed Terrance. James tried to explain to everyone that the bread didn’t even have a language of their own, but it was too late. Terrance, Sheen, Lola, Bing Bong, and Cletus all surrounded James, and very humanely, kicked him to death. Rich was kneeling besides his son, holding him in his arms, watching from the outskirts while his new friends stomped James into a bloody paste. Rich stared at the group in horror. He wondered to himself, who were the real bread here? Carlos reached toward Rich’s holster and without his father noticing pulled out the revolver, stared down the barrel, and pulled the trigger. But there were no bullets left.

Rich stared down the highway as the rest of the group wiped the bottoms of their shoes on the grass, trying to get rid of the human pulp that was stuck. Rich noticed a stray piece of bread hovering above a dead body not a hundred feet away. The slice of bread knelt down and took a huge bite from the corpses neck, soaking itself in blood. Rich thought to himself, it’s funny, we used to dip pieces of bread into the yolks of our eggs, and now they dip themselves into our blood. Circle of life. “I will get my family out of this,” Rich promised himself. Lola walked over to Rich and Carlos, pulling her labia apart. “Does this look like a genital sore to you?” she asked. Before Rich could answer Lola pushed Carlos down into some glass and went back over to Sheen for more fuck.

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