I love Miami. Many of my conservative buddies can’t figure out why I moved here or why I stay. I remind them quite often that Miami does have its perks:
- The weather during the late fall through early spring is dreamy.
- It’s green and gorgeous all year round as opposed to your brown town.
- Lincoln Road and Ocean Drive are two of the best zoos in the world. You’ll see more freaky critters on those two avenues than you will at the most exotic zoo in Dubai.
- The Atlantic Ocean down here is stunning, and we have first-class beaches.
- We have superlative sport fishing—and I have the pictures to prove it.
- And there’s never a dull moment during any state or national election.
My pals come back at me with stuff like:
- It’s stupid hot down there in the summer.
- It’s expensive to live in SoFla.
- It’s vice-laden.
- The Marlins and the Dolphins suck. Yeah? But what about the Heat?
- Honkies are in the minority. You’d better get used to “se habla español” or you’re “se habla” screwed.
- Miami has the worst traffic known to mankind.
- Hurricanes use Florida as a hacky sack before they fish slap the rest of the 57 states, as Obama calls them.
- And it’s the first place where zombies have manifested in this pre-apocalyptic time period.
Look, I can stomach the heat, hurricanes, congested highways and the perennial pusillanimous Dolphins, but they’ve got a point with the zombies. Zombies … you’ve got to go.
Most folks are now familiar with Miami’s 2012 Memorial Day flesh eater, Rudy Eugene, who, high on bath salts, chewed the face off a 65-year-old homeless dude in broad daylight on the MacArthur Causeway. It took six rounds from an officer to take him down.
Last Saturday (6/2/12) we had another wannabe zombie. During an altercation at a Boston Market, Brandon De Leon told a Miami Dade policeman to “eff off,” violently resisted arrest and threatened to “eat” the cop just before he got tased and muzzled. Toxicology reports showed that the wannabe zombie was tripping on “Cloud 9,” a type of bath salts, plus Xanax and ganja, and his blood-alcohol level was a hefty 0.29.
Y’know, bullet manufacturer Steve Hornady might have developed a zombie product line of cartridges as a goof and a homage to his love for zombie flicks, but given these two twisted crimes he might have stumbled onto something.
Now, before lathered-up critics start laughing at the thought that I think the undead are a legit concern for us mortals to arm ourselves against, let me allay any fears and squelch that notion straight away. I don’t believe zombies are real, okay?
That said, when young adults move from drinking a Bud Light and minding their own business to snorting Calgon and eating human flesh, zombie or not … Houston, we have a problem. Apparently, now we can’t stroll MacArthur Causeway or go to Boston Market for a chicken pot pie with a side of garlicky lemon spinach without some Slingblade trying to eat our face.
Given the supernatural strength and hallucinations this new drug from hell spawns I’m steppin’ it up a notch in what I’m carrying on my person and what I’m loaded with in my house.
For personal defense I think I’ll rock it old school with an S&W 29 .44 Magnum with a 6.5-inch barrel. Not the most concealable, but OMG is she gorgeous when drawn.
My load of choice? Well, I’ve seen over and over what Barnes’ X-Bullets do to animals when hunting in the field, so I think I’ll chamber my S&W with Barnes’ XPB FBs in the 225 gr. option. I doubt the criminal cranking on Bed, Bath & Beyond’s best could take one of these to the vitals and continue to feel invincible. Indeed, they create quite the terminal wound channel; it’s about the size of your fist (FYI zombies).
For home defense I’m going to stick with the ultimate zombie zapper, the 12-gauge pump riot gun stuffed to the hilt with three-inch yummy magnums. Man, oh man. Is this a zombie stopper, or what? I won’t tell you what I intend to do with these sweeties at the house … that’ll be just for me and the zombie dumb enough to cross the sacred threshold of my dwelling.
As for all these various self-defense scenarios my family might encounter, we will practice, practice, practice double tapping center mass at the target range at different angles and in different situations until we become zombie flawless. Yes, practice makes perfect, and I want my kin to get to a place where we don’t care if someone is straight tripping on Herbal Essence’s finest; it will be hard for him to eat our cheek meat with a fist-sized wound channel through his heart and one through his lungs.
In Doug’s world the innocent person should live and the attacking bath salt zombie should die.
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