Thursday, December 31, 2009

From "Out with the Aughts Edition"

Morning Roundup: Out with the Aughts Edition

So garnishing that $7.50 an hour to pay back the people they robbed would be "cruel and unusual punishment," right? What do you call guys in wheelchairs robbing people at shotgun point then rolling slowly away from the cops? "Monday night on H Street." Maybe we can retrofit this guy's wheelchair with a plow so he can shovel off H Street. Maybe we can put Poopy the Magic Hobo on an all Taco Bell Volcano Taco diet and turn his soilage into muy caliente de-icing fluid. They had a choice, all of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like my father or President Truman. Decent men who believed in a day's work for a day's pay. Instead they followed the droppings of lechers and communists and didn't realize that the trail led over a precipice until it was too late. Don't tell me they didn't have a choice. Now the whole world stands on the brink, staring down into bloody Hell, all those liberals and intellectuals and smooth-talkers... and all of a sudden nobody can think of anything to say.

My New Year's resolution? To put on a Molly® mask, Rorschach Underoos, and a diaper and drive around in a van with a talking dog and a stoner and solve mysteries.

No capes!


Now, a FRIED bologna sandwich, that's good eating. Almost as good as fried salami. It's like cylindrical bacon, all crispy and greasified. With extra mayo. Mmmm-mmm. If they served that three times a day in prison, the population would drop three-fold. Hell, just serve those deathrow last meals every day: burgers, pizzas, steaks, scotch eggs. You wouldn't need a death penalty.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

From "Progressively Scarier Edition"

Morning Roundup: Progressively Scarier Edition

I miss H20 and Platinum. Where do all the cool, skanky, hair-trees go to wait in line for table service? Because I can't get past the stench of Drakkar Noir and hooker heel failure at Park at 14th. Actually, they should call the place Double-park at 14th because it's practically a Eurotrash roadblock on Friday nights. But at least it's good to know that the Aryans don't have a monopoly on LNS douchey behavior. Vive le Douché!

Who remembers jello wrestling on 14th street?

I remember the tranny hookers on 14th, but not jello wrestling. Are you talking about the strip clubs along NY Avenue? Near where the old Greyhound Station used to be? The ones a certain baby-gobbling ex-mayor used to frequent? If so, my lawyer told me not to comment on the grounds it might incriminate myself.

The history of 14th Street NW is the history of migratory disease patterns and deviant sexual practices. In the late '80s-early '90s, the hookers that worked 14th north of Massachusetts were crackheads and occasionally junkies. Further south, closer to the "gentlemen's clubs," you had a broader range that would include trannies who would proceed to isolated areas like the Old Children's Hospital Site on W to tear off a quick one.

As for jello wrestling, you are probably correct. Drove past This Is It many a time in the 1970s, but we spent most of our time in Dr. Johnson's Marital Products Emporium on 9th, where the Spy Museum is now. Staring at the dildos was something of a traditional time-waster before shows at the old 9:30, and prepared me for club life in the 1990s.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

From "Marriage Made in Heaven Edition"

DCist Morning Roundup: Marriage Made in Heaven Edition

Everybody's talking about how the next Mayor of DC is either going to be Fenty or Gray. This gay marriage bill shows where the real power is on the Council. I think the turd in the punchbowl that nobody's talking about is right there in Ward 8. There you'll find a candidate with years of political experience, longstanding ties with the business community, a track record of dealing with troublesome neighbors, a history of smashing trade unions, and a hatred of homosexuals. I'm talking, of course, about Hitler. Now, I know you're thinking, "National Socialism? In this century?" But think about it. Has the particular brand of socialism the DC Government's been practicing been all that successful? I mean, look at DC's so-called gun control program. If you want a successful gun control program, you need to look to Germany in the 1930s. Unemployment? Crime? Nonexistent under National Socialism. And you can just forget about those irritating Frenchmen and Poles and dwarves and Jews and homosexuals and Jewish dwarfs and the homosexual Jewish dwarfs. Did I mention the Polish dwarfs?

Just admit that you'd like "certain" people in DC to just disappear: criminals; teenagers; people who can't drive, walk, ride a bike, or wipe their a$$; that jerk who won't put the phone down when they're ordering coffee; old f**kers who buy single sticks of butter with pennies; "those" people and their smelly cooking. Yes, I can feel the anger flowing through you. It gives you focus. The hate is swelling in you now. Take your Jedi weapon. Use it. I am unarmed. Strike me down with it. Give in to your anger. With each passing moment, you make yourself more my servant. Anyway, if Star Trek has taught us anything, it's that you can successfully use Mein Kampf to run a planet, just so long as your evil plotting henchman Melakon doesn't drug you heavily and use you as a zombie mouthpiece. And I'm sure that will never be a problem with any of the City Councilmembers, Sinclair Skinner, or certain fraternity members. Now, on your feet, Zeon pig! Keep your hands up so you don't touch anything Ekosian! And remember to vote Hilter für ein Besseres Meinhead!

Thursday, November 12, 2009

From "Torrential Edition"

DCist Morning Roundup: Torrential Edition

Go ahead and laugh at the gender-bending fish, but you'll be laughing out the other side of your favorite head when eight-foot Daddy CHUD Chinatown Tiresias comes to town, And when some wild-eyed, eight-foot-tall maniac grabs your neck, taps the back of your favorite head up against the barroom wall, and he looks you crooked in the eye and he asks you if ya paid your dues, you just stare that big sucker right back in the eye, and you remember what ol' Jack Burton always says at a time like that: "Have ya paid your dues, Jack?" "Yessir, the check is in the mail!"

(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all, enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall and walked among the lowest of the dead.) I have heard the gender-bending mermaids singing each to each. I do not think they will sing to me.

Oh, brothers! We have all gathered here to preserve our hallowed culture and heritage from intrusion, inclusion, and dilution of color, of creed, and of our old-timey religion.

We aim to pull evil up by the root before it chokes out the flower of our culture and heritage. And our women! Let's not forget those ladies, y'all,looking to us for protection from Darkie, from Jew, from Papey, and from all those smart-ass folks what say we come descended from monkeys. That's not my culture and heritage! Is it yours?

And so...we gonna tax us some freeloadin' churchies.

Monkey's Journal. November 12th, 2009: Spandex squirrel carcass in alley this morning, bike tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of rain and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder and taxidermy will foam up about their waists and all the whores and fixies and doubleparking genderbending CHUD churchies will look up and shout "Save us!"... and I'll whisper "Maybe!"

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

From "Nickles Apologizes to Cheh With Flowers"

Nickles Apologizes to Cheh With Flowers

Hey, flowers always work when I call my woman "stupid" and "angry." They're stupid like that.

Politics in this town is nothing but sound and fury signifying nothing. All has turned to vain ambition. A thousand years this city has stood and now at the whim of a madman it will fall. The old wisdom born out of the west was forsaken. Kings made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living and counted the old names of their descent dearer than the names of their sons. Childless hipsters sat in aged group houses musing on charcuterie or in high, cold condos asking questions of the stars like "what does 'halfsmoke' mean?" And so the people of DC fell into ruin. The line of Mayors failed. The White Castle and the Little Tavern withered. The rule of DC was given over to lesser men.

And soon you will all beg for a merciful death after Peter "The Mouth of Sauron" Nickles starts a suspicious fire at the Reichstag, declares martial law, Senator Jar-jar grants the Mayor emergency powers over the Galactic Senate, and he climbs onto the podium with "The Rainbow Connection" playing in the background and delivers the most important speech of his career:

"The revolution is successful, but survival depends upon drastic measures. Your continued existence is a threat to the order we have restored. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. I, therefore, have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV."

Anyway, don't blame me. I voted for Kang.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

From "Awkward Cranking Edition"

DCist Morning Roundup: Awkward Cranking Edition

Nice to hear that fat f**k Happy the Hippo is having a great time with his diseased whores. Like most celebretards, he's probably badmouthing DC as we speak. "Yeah, it's a nice town, but that crackhead is still on the Council. And you can't walk down the street without some hobo asking you for money or telling you that hippos should be on a leash. F**k that $h!t! I was so glad to get out of that third world $h!thole Isengard wannabe jerkwater burg. It's nothing like Australia. And it's "Daddy" you @$$hole! Where's my bourbon? Mmmmmm. Now it's dark."

It seems strange to have to lie about a world so bright and tell instead a made-up story from the world of night. I wish that I could really tell you all the things that happened to me and all that I have seen. A world full of people their hearts full of joy. Cities of light with no fear of war, and thousands of creatures with happier lives and dreams of a future with meaning and no need to lie, no need to hate, no need to hide.

No. Keep it dark.

DCist: come for the thought-provoking articles, stay for the wallowing in crapulence.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

From "Yet Another Metrobus Tragedy Edition"

DCist Morning Roundup: Yet Another Metrobus Tragedy Edition

If you think DC's streets are a bloodbath of Peckinpaghian proportions, just wait until Mary Cheh gets rid of all the speed bumps in town. In addition to being in bed with the CHUD and Morlock lobby, Mary Cheh continues to function as an apologist for lunatic suburban drivers, well known to be the Devil incarnate. Speed bumps, like "Deaf Child," "Baby on Board," and "Under New Management" signs, are proven to have saved billions of lives every year. Yet Mary Cheh, along with her subterranean cannibal and troglodyte overlords from the future, want to wind the clock back to that ghastly time when people payed attention to speed limits and Klingle Valley was the exclusive dominion of the horse and buggy carriage trade. Now, it's it's a decrepit culvert fit only for hobos, lepers, and surprise-surprise...CHUDs who've had their drivers licenses suspended. Why does Mary Cheh hate streetlights, safety, and our children? Why does she want to get rid of speed bumps and plunge the earth into a Second Darkness?

I'll tell you why. Something festers in the heart of Ward 3. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Goatse has seen it. His Brown Eye penetrates stone, air, flesh, and press releases. Even now, he presses his advantage. You are all going to die! Slowly, and it's going to smell really bad! What is the City Council but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? The victory of the Insurance Claims Consumer Protection Amendment Act of 2009 does not belong to you, Cheh CHUDmaster! You are a lesser daughter of greater sires!

When given the choice between corrupt and stupid, choose stupid. Unless you're stupid, in which case, choose Jif.

This reminds me of the old Virginia Woolf quote, "Bi, gay, straight...too bad there aren't any good choices."

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

From "Cold Shoulder Edition"

DCist.com Morning Roundup: Cold Shoulder Edition

I don't quite understand the blunt ban legislation before the Council today. Isn't marijuana illegal already?

Now, I'm a man of simple tastes. I like butter in my @ss and lollipops in my mouth. Life is about relaxing with a snifter of Remy Martin and Diet Coke, a bag of BBQ'in With My Honey Rap Snacks, and a pina colada blunt. You f**k with my leisure time at your peril. The old saw goes "Smoke blunts, not brothers." If you ban the delicious flavor of grape, apple, or bubblegum blunts, the resulting bloodbath will be on the Council's hands.

On the positive side, it's about time a new generation of drug-addicted teens discovered the satisfaction of making your own "bong" out of an apple. And isn't it about time kids spent less time throwing rocks at whitey and more time building bongs in shop class? I can still remember my first attempt at a U.S. Bongs knockoff that I called, "The Cthulhu." Two feet of PVC piping, a plexiglass base, an old tuba mouthpiece, some door screen, and a half dozen interlocking, colored Crazy Straw tubes. Bit*h to clean, but at least I had the satisfaction of a job well done for a baked 15-year-old.

After a few months, the tubes got all caked with resin and the pipe cleaners wouldn't work and it was time to let her go. So it was off to Earthworks in Dupont for my first glass bong. Here I learned the valuable lesson that stays with me to this day: glass bongs exist for one purpose only, to be broken by your friend's cousin. As I got older, and got a job and a clue, I found myself longing for the simple pleasures of getting baked and staring at album covers. You kids a pretty young, but you'd be surprised what an old f**k can remember. Take me for instance. There was one time we were out getting high in the woods with Old Cthulhu and we forgot to bring bong water so I had to pee in the bong. And you know, I don't think a month has gone by without me thinking of that bong full of pee. Yes, both money and time behave like loose quicksilver in a nest of cracks. Once they're gone, you wonder where they went! And what the devil you did with them!

Am I in my cabin dreaming? Or are you really scheming, to take my $h!t away from me-ee-ee-ee?
You'd better think about it. I just can't live without it. So please don't take my $h!t from me-ee-ee-ee. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

From "Selective Enforcement Edition"

Morning Roundup: Selective Enforcement Edition

I've always thought that admitted pedophiles who slip 13-year-olds roofies so they can anally rape them should definitely not be prosecuted if they're really nice and make cool movies and send flowers to their mothers on Mother's Day before they slip them roofies and anally rape them.

It's not like this case was an anomaly. Roman got into Sharon Tate's pants when she was 15, did the same with Nastassia Kinski, and a whole slew of nymphettes for the past 40 years. Dude's a serial molester, albeit a rich, well-connected one. Sure, his trial was a kangaroo court sham and the victim wants the prosecution to end. That doesn't change some basic facts involving roofies, teenage anuses, and Roman Polanski's wang.

Age of consent in France is 15, y'alls. Gay or straight. Time to get me some of that cheese-eating surrender-monkey booty, a Royale With Cheese, and some fries drowned in mayonnaise. Yee-haw! Sell my pants, I'm going to heaven.

What, exactly, will be accomplished by sending him to jail?

Gosh, I have no idea. Justice?

Polanski deserves compassion because of (a) his age; (b) the long span since the crime occurred; (c) the fact the crime left little lasting impact; and (d) yes, Polanski's other gifts to humanity.

And the same goes for Nazi war criminals, particularly the anal rapist pedophile variety. Just so long as they were low-level Nazis who didn't actually put Jews in ovens and so long as they donate cans of pumpkin pie filling at Christmas.

And by "gifts to humanity" I assume you mean "his penis in an underaged girl's posterior"?

You know, if they found that Michael Kenyon was framed and that the real Illinois Enema Bandit was a senile geriatric film director, I'd still want him prosecuted. It doesn't matter if all those retired sorority girls forgive him and are actually glad that their colons are sweet and clean. It's the principle that matters.

Monday, September 28, 2009

From "Layer upon Layer Edition"

Morning Roundup: Layer upon Layer Edition

Wow. What a rush to judgment over what on its face seems like a "smoking Jumbo Slice." Far be it from me to come to Grahamzilla's defense, but just because he was caught on tape talking to an FBI agent posing as a taxi rep doesn't mean they actually discussed anything illegal. In the same way, putting an FMLN bumper sticker on his VW doesn't make Jim Graham a Communist, a fellow traveler, or an advocate of machete bludgeonings. Either way, I'm withholding judgment until release of the sex tape tape in question. With any luck, it will not contain any machete bludgeonings and by "any" I mean "a minimum of three, not including the cameraman."

It's kinda comforting to know that in these crazy, mixed up times, DC politicians are still being caught in FBI stings and people are still getting shot on Euclid.

Can't wait to hear Jim Graham mutter under his breath, "Hack set me up!"

Friday, September 18, 2009

From "Harbor Living Edition"

Morning Roundup: Harbor Living Edition

I just refuse to believe there's much a transit agency can do to prevent people from jumping in front of trains. By the time they're in the station, it's already too late. Know how to identify those considering suicide? THEY'RE ON THE F**KING TRACKS. Having the subway system try and prevent suicides is like having gun companies build suicide-proof pistols or rope companies provide instructions on how to prevent hobo stranglings

If fundamentalist Christianity, Holocaust revisionism, DC crime, and deconstructionism has taught me anything, it's that you don't need outdated concepts like "logic" or "sense" to get through in life. All you need is faith, a wheelchair, a shotgun, and a "lot" of "quotes." Here's a list of other so-called "historical events" that I refuse to believe ever happened:

1. "Slavery." Have you ever seen a slave? Owned one? Sure, you've seen DRAWINGS of them, and there was Uncle Tom's Cabin and that whole Civil War thing. But that wasn't about slavery. All those Africans were invited over. Just like the Nazis were invited into Poland. Check with France.

2. "The Great Depression." Another misnomer, this was nothing but the result of Dumb-o-crat Woodrow Wilson's attempt at domestic communism. Could have been entirely avoided by the aggressive capitalist agenda of such mental giants as Warren Harding and Calvin Coolidge if only they held out a few more decades. Instead, you get 12 consecutive terms of socialist pervert, FDR.

3. "The Moon Landing." This was obviously faked using puppets and stew meat.

4. "The JFK Assassination." He died in a downhill motor race.

5. "1976."Does anyone remember anything about a so-called "Bicentennial?" I sure as hell don't. I vaguely recall something about an American Freedom Train and some Tall Ships, but most of the screens in the Union Station Visitor's Pit were broken, so that might have just been an episode of Supertrain. And you want me to believe that "Disco Duck," "Afternoon Delight," and "The Theme from S.W.A.T." were Number One Hit Singles? And they say I have a limited grasp of reality.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

From "Sad and Sadder Edition"

Morning Roundup: Sad and Sadder Edition

So. Quadruple amputees, go-go violence, Metro suicides, sex abuse cases, stabbings, resignations, police crashes, and antiquated racist epithets? If that's the best you can do for Morning Roundup, please go back to delaying it until 11:30am, please.

Anyway, with the Tea Party protesters safely ensconced in their trailer parks and residents eagerly awaiting the arrival of the IMF/World Bank protesters with cartons of air fresheners, I feel this is as good a time as any to make a calm, measured examination of the intellectual and moral bankruptcy of the two-party system and ask the question that V.I. Lenin asked over a hundred years ago: "What is to be done?"

Let me be so bold as to predict your first question: but where's the poop jokes? I ask a minute of your indulgence. What benefits a political movement to "make its voices heard" if that voice falls upon deaf ears, or minds so intellectual undernourished that it stares slackjawed in a feeble attempt to grasp whatever tedious political point that's trying to be made? I ask only because of the inevitable ad hominem attacks that protesters engender in this town. Whatever vague message they want to transmit is all but lost amid the sound and fury of street theater and marionette puppets and the juvenile antics of the so-called anarchists. "Revolution is the opiate of the intellectuals" a wise man wrote on the side of a toilet, which, in lieu of what passes for current political discourse, I would amend to "...bong hit of the pseudointellectuals."

More's the pity that the intellectual giants behind these two (bowel) movements could not meet on the field of battle to exchange withering critiques, witty bon mots, and hilarious japes about the merits of trade unionism versus laissez-faire capitalism! Instead, we're treated to a sort of vague anti-establishmentism couched in terms of either patriotism-cum-jingoism or the tired, shopworn arguments that all property is theft. All of which serves to only marginalize whatever legitimate arguments either side could make about the expansion of government power and the lack of transparency among international financial institutions that borders on total opacity.

Considering the lack of a positive agenda that the right advances in lieu of the healthcare "debate," it ill behooves me to make such broad critiques without positing some alternative scenario. What follows is my Five Year Plan for Economic Justice:

1. Cut defense spending in half. Why should Americans kill Iraqis when Iraqis can do this for themselves? Put the National Guard to work rebuilding the levees and patrolling the streets of DC. The only way to meet the threat of wheelchair-bound double-amputees with shotguns is with Marine Corps snipers and heavy artillery.
2. Cut the marginal tax rate to Reagan-era levels. Twenty-nine years of creeping socialism and corporate welfare have resulted in a tanked economy, morbid obesity, and golden parachutes for corporate necrophiles. The only golden thing Bear Stearns execs should be getting is showers.
3. Cease all highway construction and redirect funds towards mass transit. If induced demand has taught us anything, it's that if you build a world-class Japanese Bullet Train, people will use it. This will spur the infill expansion of walkable communities to keep Fatty McFatFat from becoming Corpsy McDeadDead.
4. Annex Mexico, declare it the 51st State, and grant statehood to the District. This effectively eliminates 80% of the illegal immigration problem as well as that of having one extra star sticking out of the American flag. You also will finally start to get some decent Oaxacan cuisine in this dump.
5. Destroy all monsters. This should be self evident.

I know these views aren't popular, but I for one have never courted popularity. When their enemies were at the gates, the Romans suspended democracy and appointed one man to defend it. You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villan.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

From "Testing Next Bus: Stop Numbers Posted at Wrong Locations"

DCist.com Testing Next Bus: Stop Numbers Posted at Wrong Locations

I'm less inclined to blame this [Metro Next Bus debacle] on inadequate software and more on mush-mouthed babblers who can't f**king enunciate. I can't understand what half the people are talking about nowadays. Jeezus, at least once a week I get a wrong-number phone call where the tool on the other end of the line says something indecipherable like, "Hgwhanghghwahn? Is Hgwhanghghwahn?" And I'm like, "What?" And they're all upset at ME and yell, "HGWHANGHGHWAHN!?" And I'm like, "Look, a$$hole, first of all, I don't know what the f**k you're talking about and you need to get your sorry ass to Toastmasters where you can learn yourself some diction and, second of all, Hgwhanghghwahn can't come to the phone right now because my dick is in his mouth." SLAM!

And five seconds later, I get a call. "Carlos! Eees Carlos?" And I'm like, "Look, like I was telling your friend, Carlos and Hgwhanghghwahn don't f**king live here anymore! They're DEAD! Suicide love pact? Comprende? Verstesht du?" And I hang up and the phone rings again! So I yell, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" and this voice comes on. "This is the police! We've traced the calls! They're coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE!" So I rip the goddamned phone cable out of the wall....but the phone rings AGAIN! And all I hear on the other end is some disembodied moaning and static, so I have the operator trace the call and it turns out that it's my ex-husband who died years ago and the phone cable fell down during a storm and was HANGING ON HIS GRAVE! So, long story short, I blame illegal immigrants.

Friday, May 8, 2009

From "Another Reality TV Show Casting in D.C."

Another Reality TV Show Casting in D.C. - DCist

AWARD-WINNING DC BASED PERVERT is NOW CASTING for a new f**k-u-reality series set in Washington DC! We are currently looking for a range of women in DC, from young up-and-cummers (bored trust fundies, amateur pr0nstars, Weeble fetishists, and panda amputees) to the real ballbusters on the Hill (undersexed congresswomen, bitchy socialites, and baristas in heels) We want the Elektra Woman and Dyna Girls of Washington who aren't afraid of a little of the old in-out-in-out. This "show" will follow these high-octane women as they walk all over my face with Kansas/Boston/Blue Oyster Cult playing in the background.

If you and your circle of friends are interested, or just have camera pics of you reclining in an inflatable pool full of tapioca pudding, please submit an email care of this address:

BLACKMAIL
BEHIND THE WATER PIPES
THIRD MEN'S ROOM ALONG
VICTORIA STATION

Please include: Name, age, occupation, SSN, major credit card numbers, along with power of attorney. Tell us why you think a raven is like a writing desk. Don’t forget to add recent compromising photos, and a contact number where we can send your remains.

NO WEIRDOS.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

From "Alarm Wakes Up All of Cleveland Park at 5:30 AM"

Alarm Wakes Up All of Cleveland Park at 5:30 AM - DCist

"Department of Emergency Management" = milk jug in car's backseat

It appears that the alarm may be part of a Municipal Civil Defense system.

So is it or isn't it?

The University has contacted the appropriate District and Federal agencies to resolve this concern.

How do you contact the "appropriate" officials if you don't even know who the alarm belongs to?

Now, I'm no fancy city lawyer monkey (GASP!) but it seems to me that an alarm is supposed to indicated to people that they need to do something. When the fire alarm goes off, you leave the building. When the cop siren goes off behind you, you pull over. When your tailgunner starts bubbling, it's time to go ca-ca. WTF is up with a nondescript siren going off for an hour and nobody knows who set off the alarm, who the alarm belongs to, and what the alarm is supposed to indicate?

And WTF is up with "Civil Defense" anyway? Didn't we get rid of all that Mccarthy-era cr@p when Reagan became a contra and rescued all those christian aid workers being held in Burma? I thought Homeland Security was supposed to handle that nonsense, or are they just in charge of the flamethrowers we're supposed to use to burn all the corpses? Because their website is totally lacking any details on alarm responses, corpse burning procedures, or even rudimentary zombie attack survival scenarios.