Welcome to a world where butts are not quite safe from ravenous, infectious freaks that might have something to stuff up in there.
It all starts in the distant, very near future, when ultra-liberal patient zero takes a sip from his $22.72 Veen 750mL water bottle mixed with lemon flavored Crystal Lite Pure. Usually Bret Zandowski loved his afternoon salad with a side of try-hard jogging, but that day... that day he was not on the ball. He was hungry, even after three double quarter-pounder bacon and blue-cheeseburgers. However, his hunger couldn't overtake his tongue swelling, projectile vomiting, and unwholesome rocketship diarrhea, all signs of when he eats peanuts. But poor Bret hadn't eaten any peanuts.
In reality, what had actually happened never got a full explanation on the news. It's still very unknown. There's lots of theories about how life came to be and hundreds of philosophers and theology students working on a waiters check come up with their theories and blah blah blah and blah blah. The fact was this: aliens are real. Real enough, in fact, to implant an extraterrestrial parasitic bacteria in one of our water bottling plants that could kill it's host within hours. The parasite, after life in the host was depleted, latches onto the brain stem and can control the tissues attached to the nerves. The parasite has no use for dead tissue, as it can't consume it. So the parasite grows at astonishing rates after life in the host is gone, sloppily forcing the the dead body to act as a giant entrepreneur for Kentucky Fried Human. That's right- zombies.
Because the parasite is so highly infectious, mixing with the blood, guts, spit or baby fluids (you sick person) of an infected host can get your a** a one way ticket to the Casino Royale dollar menu when it comes to survival. And because the dead bastards are trying to eat you, here's a pro tip: don't get bit.
As you can imagine, a few minutes after healthy pro-choice non-judgmental Bret lost a healthy and cholesterol free heart rate, he turned into one of those weirdos you might see on tv who don't get enough of their medicine or straight jacket (a few minutes being 12:01 AM Dec 21, 2012). He bit the s**t out of poor old Mrs. Colesly, his nurse, and it was a road downhill both ways from there. With the high infection rate, people are dying. Dying lots. Half the world is wiped out from communication, telemarketing and bad soap operas, but nobody really missed 4 am infomercials anyway. And with only your wits and some chocolate chip powerbars left to survive, you gotta do what it takes. Especially with the new phenomena coming around... some weird looking planes have been spotted, and instead of landing when you wave at them, they kinda... kinda shoot you. You know, where you are. And you die n stuff. And the critters that crawl out of them? They'd be lucky if their mother loved him. But one thing that does love them, however, is the zombies. Love 'em so much, they refuse to eat the bastards for dinner.
So buckle up, boys, and go change your knickers. This is one hell of a life.
Interested in joining?
Here's some things to look at before you sign-up:
It all starts in the distant, very near future, when ultra-liberal patient zero takes a sip from his $22.72 Veen 750mL water bottle mixed with lemon flavored Crystal Lite Pure. Usually Bret Zandowski loved his afternoon salad with a side of try-hard jogging, but that day... that day he was not on the ball. He was hungry, even after three double quarter-pounder bacon and blue-cheeseburgers. However, his hunger couldn't overtake his tongue swelling, projectile vomiting, and unwholesome rocketship diarrhea, all signs of when he eats peanuts. But poor Bret hadn't eaten any peanuts.
In reality, what had actually happened never got a full explanation on the news. It's still very unknown. There's lots of theories about how life came to be and hundreds of philosophers and theology students working on a waiters check come up with their theories and blah blah blah and blah blah. The fact was this: aliens are real. Real enough, in fact, to implant an extraterrestrial parasitic bacteria in one of our water bottling plants that could kill it's host within hours. The parasite, after life in the host was depleted, latches onto the brain stem and can control the tissues attached to the nerves. The parasite has no use for dead tissue, as it can't consume it. So the parasite grows at astonishing rates after life in the host is gone, sloppily forcing the the dead body to act as a giant entrepreneur for Kentucky Fried Human. That's right- zombies.
Because the parasite is so highly infectious, mixing with the blood, guts, spit or baby fluids (you sick person) of an infected host can get your a** a one way ticket to the Casino Royale dollar menu when it comes to survival. And because the dead bastards are trying to eat you, here's a pro tip: don't get bit.
As you can imagine, a few minutes after healthy pro-choice non-judgmental Bret lost a healthy and cholesterol free heart rate, he turned into one of those weirdos you might see on tv who don't get enough of their medicine or straight jacket (a few minutes being 12:01 AM Dec 21, 2012). He bit the s**t out of poor old Mrs. Colesly, his nurse, and it was a road downhill both ways from there. With the high infection rate, people are dying. Dying lots. Half the world is wiped out from communication, telemarketing and bad soap operas, but nobody really missed 4 am infomercials anyway. And with only your wits and some chocolate chip powerbars left to survive, you gotta do what it takes. Especially with the new phenomena coming around... some weird looking planes have been spotted, and instead of landing when you wave at them, they kinda... kinda shoot you. You know, where you are. And you die n stuff. And the critters that crawl out of them? They'd be lucky if their mother loved him. But one thing that does love them, however, is the zombies. Love 'em so much, they refuse to eat the bastards for dinner.
So buckle up, boys, and go change your knickers. This is one hell of a life.
Interested in joining?
Here's some things to look at before you sign-up:
► We do require a small joining fee of 2,500. This is because we want dedication and longevity in your stay with us! For your first two months, you'll be put on probation. If you stop posting, don't follow the rules or leave, you won't be recognized on a list of dedicated members, and we will not refund your money. After 60 days of being active, we'll put your name on an announcement list, and you will have seniority rights. If you ever feel the need to leave the guild afterwards, we will refund your 2.5k from our pockets. After 90 days, you become eligible for crew recruitment. As soon as you become a senior member (as well as for crew members) you recieve a personalized guild badge and a small gift from the owners as a show of appreciation for your dedication. Once 100k is raised and a chat room is purchased, we will start work on refunding all senior and crew member's entry fees.
► As advertised, this is primarily a comedic role-play. Laughing is our favorite thing, as well as the favorite thing of countless others! However, don't ommit a bit o' romance and occasional drama (just make sure to keep your descriptive p***y-lickin' and riveting ********' in private messages, we don't need to know THAT much about your character). Just because the plot is stupid and whimsical, doesn't mean you have to be. But if you're boring, nobody wants to play with you. And that sucks.
► We have some guides for you on what we expect as far as writing goes. You are expected to have eligible grammar and spelling, as well as good tense use. We encourage intriguing vocabulary and emphasis, as well! And hey, if the situation calls for it, you can make up your own words, too.
► This bit is just filler. If you don't want to get your head cut off too much, remember to call Snotbox "Plappy" if you can. Plaptrap, plappies, plappamappa, I don't give two shits. To prove you read the rules, please include a message telling me how much you love my princess feeties.
► Try to keep it PG-16. I don't want the guild in trouble cause someone gets mad and reports us for something silly. I hope we won't have that issue, though. Keep in mind, it is a crazy zombie-alien-apocalypse role-play, so gruesome and gore are encouraged. Colorful language is also recognized as probably necessary. Go for it!
► If you drop off the face of the map for two weeks, I will give you a warning. You have one more week to respond (at least tell me you won't be here) before I make up a dramatic and tasty event where your character gets probed by aliens. Another week, and you're a human happy meal.
►Gaia is kinda dumb. You can't have two captains, or even make your own ranking system. So this is the deal: Ash the Ripper is your god. And Snotbox is your goddess. We decide everything together, but our word is stone. Also, she's my soon-to-be house mate, so we will gossip about you. We will gossip lots. >:3 But don't be afraid. We like friends! ;D
► To join, send Snotty or Ash a private message (Snot will most likely be online more often than Ash) and title it "PUDDING!" Say hello, or some other standard greeting. We'll talk to you a bit, make sure you're not a total dimwit, stalk your postings and profile, and see that you're awesome. You will receive an invitation to the guild, where you can start looking at character forms and profiles, look at what's transpired, and develop your character. Then you can start posting!
► Welcome to our crazy zombie alien family :D
Ash The Ripper