Tag Archives: post-apocalyptic

Now That's Just Silly

How Terminator: Salvation Should Have Been

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(Author’s Note: I have to give credit to my friend Emmett for this too, because this is based on a conversation we had.)

Terminator: Salvation was a pretty cool movie, but I think it would have been a lot better if John Connor didn’t know that Kyle Reese was his father. Mainly because they could have included this scene:

After destroying one of Skynet’s major factories, JOHN CONNOR and a group of soldiers — including KYLE REESE — are celebrating by getting completely wasted. While babbling about being the chosen one and gesturing furiously,  John accidentally drops a picture of his mother on the table. A soldier picks it up.

Soldier: Hey, who’s this?

John: Nothing, that’s no one, give it back.

Soldier: She’s kinda hot, dude. Do we need to tell your girlfriend about this?

John: That’s my mom, you assholes, now give it back.

Soldier: Whoa! That’s your mom? Lucky!

Kyle Reese takes the picture and looks at it for a long while. He then looks up at John with all seriousness.

Kyle: I’m gonna fuck your mom, John.

John: Dude, shut up.

Kyle: No, seriously.

John: She’s been dead for more than 10 years, dickhead.

Kyle: No man, you know that time machine we found in Skynet’s lab? I’m totally gonna use that to go back in time and bone your mom.

John: Seriously. Shut up.

Kyle: I’m gonna go back in time and you know what I’m gonna say to her?

John: Oh God no. Kyle, don’t say it.

Kyle: “Cum with me if you want to live.”

All Too True

Some Things Never Change

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“Hey, look!” called out the kid, prodding a small paper bag with his foot. The old man walked over and picked it up carefully.

“Now there’s a symbol I haven’t seen in years. ‘Trillions served.’ That was more than the population of the planet at its height. Damn fine achievement.”

“What’s this?” asked the kid, picking up a cup made out of a strange, squishy white material. Inside was a dark brown liquid.

The old man took a sip and smiled wistfully. “The nectar of the gods,” he said.

He passed the cup to the kid, who took a sip and winced. “Gross! It’s so sweet!”

The old man smiled sadly. “We used to drink that poison by the gallon. But now let’s see what’s in the bag. Those health nuts always used to say that there were enough preservatives in this ‘food’ to last a hundred years. Maybe they were right.”

He opened the bag and pulled out a small cardboard container filled with thin yellow sticks. He offered one to the kid, who took it and sniffed it cautiously.

“It’s a funny thing,” mused the old man, “I never ate here before the war. I always preferred the competitors. But hey, everything changes.”

He popped one of the sticks into his mouth, chewed, and grimaced. “Well, some things stay the same,” he sighed. “The food here still sucks.”

Black Humor

Merry Christmas

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Dear Santa,

How are things at the North Pole? Based on what General Patterson’s been teaching us, I’d imagine that there wouldn’t be many “strategic targets” up there (unless your workshop is one? I would think it’d be pretty important) so I hope you’re doing well. Things down here aren’t that great. A couple of people got dragged away by some crazy cult. We can hear ‘em shouting and singing their crazy mutant songs all night. It’s really scary.

Is it snowing up there? It’s snowing down here, too. Since I’ve lived in Florida all my life I’ve never seen snow but it snowed this year. Mom wouldn’t let me go play in it though. She said that the snow was actually something called fallout and I should stay inside. But I saw Billy and Bobby outside having a snowball fight and they were just fine! Mom can be so mean sometimes.

I don’t really want that much for Christmas. It’d be nice if everyone could be happy for once. I’ve heard Mom and Dad fighting and yelling about lots of stuff. A couple of people are saying that the water purifier’s close to breaking down and pretty soon we’ll all be drinking something called rads. I don’t know what rads is but it sounds pretty bad and all the grown-ups are kind of upset about it.

But I know that world peace and happiness and stuff like that isn’t really what you do, you’re more for the real presents. Well, I guess I’d like a BB Gun for Christmas. That way I could help all the grown-ups protect the shelter. A BB Gun’s not very powerful but I think it would help keep the giant rats away at least. They’re pretty scared of stuff, even though they’re really scary too.

Anyway Santa, I know there’s lots of other girls and boys writing letters to you so I’d better finish this up (also I’m running out of paper and I had to steal this sheet from the commissary. Can you believe they wouldn’t give me even one piece of paper? I hope that’s OK, I know stealing’s wrong, but otherwise there would have been no way! Please forgive me, Santa). Hope Mrs. Claus and the Elves are well. We don’t have any cookies but I’ll try and leave some canned pears out. They’re the closest thing we have.

Love,

Timmy Calhoun