Tim Hortons Fears A Ghoul

One bad call can sure ruin a fella’s day – one really bad call, and you’re locked away in an asylum for the holidays. That’s right, kids - I’ve been tossed in the loony bin, the funny farm, the straightjacket suite…whatever you’d call it, I’m here. To make things worse, I’m on the northern exposure of the Canadian border, so none of my usual contacts have been around to bust me out. So, if any of the regulars are reading this – Stranger, Mr. B, Field – I sure could use a rescue. It’s getting so you can’t kill a couple of zombie plague infected college kids in a donut shop without someone calling the authorities anymore.

I’ve been on “good behavior” since Thanksgiving, which adds up to about fifteen minutes of unmonitored internet access a day (granted, it’s a Canadian coconut phone modem, but I can’t be too choosy). The computer has been part of my therapy privileges since Boxing Day (yeah, I know what you're thinking – was I still too crazy to control myself 24 hours earlier on Christmas? I guess you'd have to ask those frakkin’ canucks!). I neglected to tell them about my little blog, and I’m hoping what they don’t know just might save me.

How did I get in this mess? Well, back in early November a buddy of mine from Toronto caught some scanner chatter about three sickly looking jocks causing a ruckus at a Tim Hortons. One of them passed out for a while and woke up a little too bitey for the locals, if you catch my drift. Lucky me (sense the sarcasm?), I was in the area already, so I said I’d check it out.

And to start, this seemed like one of the easiest gigs ever. First off, to walk in to the smell of caramel and coffee versus the putrefied meat stink that I’m usually greeted with…definitely a bonus. Second, only two of the three had turned by the time I got there. One of them was moving so slowly that I was actually able to take him out with a pointy day-old cruller to the eye – which is certainly going in my top five favorite zombie takedowns of all time. The other one slipped in a puddle of coffee one of the minimum wage monkeys had spilled, and bashed his own brains in on the corner of the ice machine.

But that was the end of my luck. The police showed up when I was trying to dispatch the third one. He hadn’t turned yet, and the authorities generally frown on the whole “murder spree” thing – especially when their prime suspect is babbling about the undead. Suddenly, I’m the bad guy?! Really, no applause necessary – just throw me in a padded room, I’ll be all set. We’ll just hope that when the third kid turns, he’s as clumsy as his buddies.

And here we are. Somebody needs to track this IP address and GET ME OUT!! In the meantime, I’ll keep you guys in the loop. I’ve missed a lot over the holidays, so I’ll try to make up for some lost time. And no more whining about being locked up, I promise...