And So It Was Decided That We Will Just Be Naked For A Week And Then I'll Totally Have This Thing Covered

The result of the case study that involved only myself is that I have determined that the Zombie Virus' worst side effect was the lack of drive to do anything other than drink beer and eat Mexican food.

There was the small issue of hacking up hairballs that looked like tiny alien spawn and the nose irritation from the constant blowing, but more than that, there was the unexpected wall of laundry that didn't even take the initiative to wash, dry and fold itself while I was suffering through the worst of the infection.

And because the Zombie Virus finally decided to release it's grip on me, and also because at about 6:15 yesterday I realized that half my household was naked and the other half were only wearing wrinkled t-shirts and mismatched socks, I decided it was high time to get my diseased ass in gear.

Imagine the horror on the faces of the CDC crew that is inevitably going to show up, when all they find are our zombified remains wandering around the house with red, raw noses, hacking coughs and our ass cheeks hanging out of stained, wrinkled, ill-fitting free alcoholic beverage t-shirts.

Finding sick ass zombies is one thing.

Finding naked, sick ass zombies, peddling Jameson and Moosehead Beer is another.

Jason and I have an agreement. I do the laundry. That's it. I do the laundry. There really isn't much else to the agreement. I mean he does all the yard work and I do the one chore that unless you are naked when you do it, it is never done.

He made the agreement. With himself. I think I nodded and said okay.

I also think I was drunk.

And possibly naked.

After an hour and a half that consisted of me doing absolutely nothing that was not folding and hanging laundry (and eating a bowl of cereal), I finally came up for air and asked him to please put his drawers in the drawers. He complied and I also think that he sighed when he realized I had washed only one pair of khaki's but not the "comfy" pair of khaki's.

I say that I think he sighed because, brilliantly, he didn't say a word. He just put the other pair into the laundry room instead of wherever it was, that was not the laundry pile, that they were hiding in the first place. Mr. Booms was alive and able to tell the story this morning because he was so wise.

Unfortunately, as he stepped out of the shower, he stepped around yet another pile of dirty clothes. Wrapping the towel around his freshly showered body he said, "How is it that you did all that laundry yesterday and we still have a pile of dirty clothes sitting here?"

With that, I moaned "GRAAGH", ate his brain and then ripped off his arm and ran, half naked, in a stained, XXL Carlsberg t- shirt over to the neighbors and beat them with Jason's still twitching arm.

I'm pretty sure he forgives me though.

He had clean boxers in his drawer.