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Good evening, my name is Gerard and I am from Northern Quebec in Canada and I have lived there all my life. I am now 63 years old and wanted to see the world, so for the first time I got a plane ticket to go to the island of Tiki Janiqua in the Pacific.

Unfortunately, we had to have a stopover in Japan for some damn reason, but it was alright, because I still was technically seeing the world-- this is what I told myself, at least. Anyway, after getting piss drunk at the terminal bar, I began sniffing the floor for any faint traces of rice wine when suddenly my head seemed to have hit a blunt wooden object.

When I came to, it was obvious that the object had, in actuality, hit me rather than the other way around. Given some time, it was also clear that I was surrounded by an unlawful gang of thugs-- the Yokozunas or something. And it's the damnedest thing what happened next, because I swear they shot me dead and cooked me alive. The way they scooped out my intestines was especially unnerving, but I remained calm.

So the next morning, I got up and had my coffee, but then remembered that this was not only not my house, but this wasn't coffee at all. As a matter of fact, I wasn't entirely sure as to how I was still walking around like this, but I didn't ask questions. So obviously I was royally P.O.'ed, so I just stomped out of the racket and was ready to bash in the face of the next guy I saw with my bare fist, and apparently it worked, because I got a free lift to the airport, but I guess they had to run an errand at the police station, who knows what the fuck they were talking about?

So they had me rot in there for some time, until they decided the smell was getting too strong (in my defense I hadn't showered in some time) so they hit me with a shovel and tried to throw me in a deep open grave, where I now sit with my laptop wondering how exactly I'm going to get out of this.

Is it normal being a zombie? How am I supposed to cope?