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Zombie Orwell's blog

11:10 AM on 11.22.2014

How dare Dtoid not spend all its budget covering #GOMERGOAT forevers!?

I am white anglo boy of 21 years or maybe more or maybe less but I never go to place where people have real problem and although I will have degree in some science topic that will pay lots and keepme comfortable enough to never have actual thoughts that might be upsetting to status quo. I spends all day learning science thing instead of career that studies how people actually live.

Nonetheless I am very smarty so I critic the women on my campus who don't shave their arms and some of them have hair between their boobs which is gross. They won't fuck me and that is why I hate them.

“How do I touch woman but also hate her?” -Brian Altano.

So one day the hair women were protesting because they said men are keeping wages lower for women than men, but my mom once put me on timeout and also a girl broke up with me once.

Therefore women have all powers in the world and control the world with matriarchies that crush testicels. I know this because science.

Then a woman said “not a lot of games are inviting to women” and HOW DARE SHE CRITIC THE ONLY THING I'VE EVER FOUND THAT DOESN'T JUDGE ME FOR BEING AN ANTISOCIAL PASTY COMFORTABLE DOUCHEBAG!! Games are the only thing I have in this world, so I get very scare when someone say “not all games are perfect all the time.”

Games are art shitheads!

They should be afforded all the same rights as arts in the civilizations, but must never be criticqued because one time before the internet people didn't buy a lot of games and that made the crash of 1983 which is always around the corner. The government is trying to persecute us exactly like the nazies did to the gypsies in the war!

Nazis are bads.

So the Sarkeeszhon is a nazie because she says “some games not nice for woman.” THAT IS EXACFLY WHAT NAZIES SAYED!!

GAMES are under real threat in these days today. There is a 100% possibility that they might go away forever because they are not the single largest entertainment medium by dollars spent in the US. Remember when movies almost disappeared that one time? And music too. Also comic books disappeared and novels did and even orchestras were on the brink of destruction by feminzazies (who won't have sex with me and that's why I use the word feminazi because I am frustrated male who can't get a vagine) who said “Beethoven is for men.”

in conclusions, fuck women because women won't fuck me and I never go to place where real problem exist. #GOMERGOAT is very important for my myopic worldview to continue unchanged. New ideas scare me.

Therefore this is why destructiotd must only ever cover #GOMERGOAT and the sarkezkehan. Both of thoes things is important.

Both of those is importants. Very importants.

Here is a list of names I've never heard of because I have never paid more than 15 minutes of attention to things like SJW and feminazi. I only pay attention to #GOMERGOAT and SARKERTRION.

Henry Kissinger, Arundhati Roy, Howard Zinn, Christopher Hitchens, Cenk Uygur, Thaddeus Russel, Charles C Mann, Horkheimer and Adorno, Sam Harris, Robert D Kaplan, Karl Rove, Subcomandante Marcos, Matt Taibbi, Naomi Klein, Naomi Wolf.

There are hundreds of other highly important names the using of which I could use to put their ideas into dialogue with each other and make up my own mind about issues, but I only care about #GOMERGOAT.

THEREFORE Dtoid must only cover #GOMERGOAT because it is the only thing happening in the gaming sphere. And gaming is the only important thing.

Gaming is important and women won't fuck me. That's why I write these blogs.

God I wanna cum so hard on some tits and still hate the woman with the tits.


4:12 PM on 11.03.2014

Skullfucking the Great American Novel.

We all love Gatsby, right? The prose is damn near perfect. The end of Chapter One sends shivers crawling around your temples. And that end; boats against the current and shit. Good shit. Fitzgerald was a god. But Game of Thrones walked up behind Gatsby, knifed it in the back, and roasted the corpse with dragon fire.

Have you taken any university lit courses? The ones where you have to read things like Gatsby and write 10-12 pages double-spaced on the Earth-shaking symbolism of the book's colors or its life-affirming qualities for WWI veterans?

Those professors are idiots. Idiots with actual degrees from Idiot University. I'm being 100% literal here.

They're just teaching Fitzgerald and Maugham because that's what they learned back in their own college days (at Idiot University).

Gatsby might have resonated with lots of people back in the 20s and 30s, but today only wankers (like me and you) read it. Books that are nothing but somber meditations on the the Idle Rich and Young Love and Disillusionment will not sell anymore. People no longer wanna read that nonsense. And no, Jonathan Franzen, the world doesn't need any more of it.

Go to any brick-and-mortar bookstore that still separates Literary Fiction from genre fiction. Read the blurbs on the back covers. They're all character studies. Not only that, they're character studies that pretend as though there are still characters that haven't been invented.

All the characters that will ever exist have already been created in other books. Do not write the next Gatsby.

The Great American Novel is wonderful and lovely, but here's something extremely important: you're not reading it right now. You're in the middle of 3 or 4 thrillers or fantasy books or romance novels or porno mags. None of them are The Great American Novel. Maybe seven months ago you read 15 pages of Crime and Punishment, but you put it down and picked up Game Of Mother Fucking Thrones because Game Of Mother Fucking Thrones is SO FUCKING GOOD.

And Dostoevsky wrote dogshit. Not good dogshit like we write; boring dogshit. Our dogshit is hot and steamy and trashy and fun, his is just old and dried up. (Before you yell at me, yes I am well aware that Crime and Punishment isn't an American novel. The word Dostovokeksyekskyveveeky kind of gives it away.)

The world of High Lit has canonized Dostoevsky and Fitzgerald and so on and cetera. Therefore, High Lit is dead to me. As I type this I am standing over its corpse and pissing. My piss is actually improving High Lit. And look, there's my dog. He's a little white dog with black eyes. He's taking a dump on it. His legs shake when he squats to shit, and his shit is improving the corpse as much as my piss is.

Next step is to get down on my knees and try CPR. If I can bring the body back to life, maybe I can talk some sense into him and tell him to stop idolizing Serious And Depressed Young Men.

There's no sign of life. No breath. No pulse. Okay, what did I teach everybody when I was a CPR instructor? Oh right, open the airway, tilt the head back, open the mouth, and breathe. Watch the chest rise. Breathe again. Still no life. Smack the face.

Wake up, bitch! Fuck it. He's gone. Pick up the body. Drop it in the trunk. Drive to your local mad scientist.


Me: Hey doc. I got a problem.

Her (the mad scientist): What's the deal? Another voodoo curse?

Me: No. Wait, what? You're a scientist. You don't do voodoo.

Her: Who do?

Me: You do.

Her: Do what?

Me: Remind me of the babe. Anyway, you don't actually do voodoo, right?

Her: First, I am a babe. Second, you don't know much about science, do you?

Me: …

Her: Ok whatever. What can I do ya fer?

Me: I got a dead body in my car. Can you help me bring it back to life?

Her: Not again! Why can't you control yourself?

Me: Man, whatever. We're not in court. Just help me, please. Please.

Her (reluctantly): Alright, fine. But this is the last time, got it?

Me: Thank you so much! Yes, I understand. Thank you thank you thank you!!

Her: You owe me big time.


We lay the corpse on an operating table. She connects wires to every inch of his body. She takes a little too much time hooking wires to the nether regions. I'm not sure, but I think she wants to ride High Lit's dick like everyone else. Ugh.

She flips a switch and the electrodes and whatever-science-y-things throw sparks everywhere. Before long the corpse starts to twitch and groan. Then it stands up. It looks at me and shrieks.



Oh. My. GOD. It's a zombie!




11:08 PM on 11.01.2014

How To Seduce Like A Terrorist, part one.

Why hello I did not see you come in. I was too busy being both seductive and terrifying. You see, I am the terrorist who also is an amazing pick up artist. That is highly cool and unique. Anywho, let's get down to brass taxes.

Dis right here is the only book thou shalt ever need to both seduce the sexys and inspire massive terror in many many many peoples. You see, I will set up my impressive thesis later on, in the thesis section of this volume, but first I should introduce a few topics.

One topic is the sex. The sex is often, though not always, achieved by the penetrating fornication of One Penis into the soft and fleshy folds of One Vagina. Oftentimes it is acceptable to introduce more than One Penis or Vagina into the other. Also sometimes one might use the mouth in place of the penis or the vagina. Also applicable is the anile region.

Special Considerations

This is a brave new world for terrorism. In the past, many of our forebearfathers were angry at the homos for suckin all the dicks and not leaving any for the terrorists. Those days are, gladly, past and we may now all engage in the slobbing of knobs.

Terrorism has come to embrace all forms of sexual expression, be it:

male homosex,

female lesbian scissoring while I look on with lubrication in hand,

threeways where two lovely gals place their hands and mouths on mine own cocknballs,

anal pentrative play,

power fantasies,


rape play,

and even the occasional incest fantasy, although that is freaky as shit.

So you see, terrorism ain't what it used to be.

Also, now our goals are not uniform. In the past, all terrorists were united under one flag; the flag of Death To The Empire. But these days we have many diverse viewpoints and ideas about how to achieve our goals. Every terrorist is a snowflake who must be appreciated for his or her unique contribution to the world of terrorism. Big changes for us, big changes!

Redefining Terrorism

Whilst it is true that we contemporary terrorists owe a huge debt of gratitude to our forebears (who were not actually bears), we must define the words Terror and Terrorism and Terrorist for ourselves.

In the past, according to our most famous scholar, Osama Bin Laden, “all terror is focused on the crashing down of the Americal Empyre.”

Thank you, sir Laden, but your services will no longer be required. Today, terrorism is all things to all terrorists. There is only one unifying factor: one must make people fearful.

How can we achieve such a goal in an age of cellular mobile carphones and computormachines and pad devices which are like small computers? How does one inspire fear in those whom are simply having a mere blowjob session in the back of the theater whilst watching the latest movie where immortal elves and white wizards bash each other with swords and spears? How could anyone possibly be scared today when pornography is accessible at the click of a semen-covered button?

Tis true you filthy raggamuffin bumbaclot bitches. Terroring is harder today than ever before. Today's terrorist must have more tenacity and verve and vigor and ingenuity and semen than at any period in history. Luckily, you are such a person. You have the capacity for terrorism that a thousand Bins Laden lacked in times past. You have the ability to pull screaming vengeful terror from your back pocket and unleash it on an unsuspecting public.

So, people are staring at their phones? Develop an app that releases nerve gas and fills the theater with choking and screaming and dying people. Easy! Or develop and app called something like Happy App Time For Phones, but when people click on it they see a scary picture. People are scared of scary, that's why those two words are related.

Who can be a terrorist?

Good news: anyone! Bad news: anyone.

These days everybody has the chance to be a big scary terrorman, but that comes at a heavy price. There are so many ways to terrorize the masses that, well, you gotta try a little harder to stand out. You need to invent new ways to scare the fuckshitasscunt out of people.


Part one is over, so go play Pacman CEDX until the next one is ready.


1:36 PM on 10.29.2014

Dreamweaver inspired this blog.

Hello Dtoid. The charming zombie character I created is going to shut up for a minute because I need to spill some real talk. Some hot fire. Some mad education.

I feel confident saying most of you fit in one or more of the following categories: In your early or mid 20s. Male. American. Hating your job. Easily bored. Lacking motivation.

If you're not in those categories, cool. Run along and keep living out your dreams. Otherwise stick around, cuz I got stuff to say.

You don't have to let the world flash by. You don't have to sit in those lecture halls taking generals for a degree you're not sure you need. If you're in college and are studying something that's not a hard science with the guarantee of a job at the end of those four years, your degree is probably useless. College is merely a certificate of trainability. Most of the learning you do will occur outside of classes.

Parties, sex, breakups, hangovers, food poisoning, that's the real education. That's where you need to start, but since our society is based around you being a little worker bee who puts the cheese and pickles on the burger before passing it to your coworker who does the ketchup and mustard, all you've been taught is how to obey. How to learn dates and numbers and to raise your hand if you have something important to say.

Yes, I'm saying everything you learned is a lie. But that's okay. You can use that. It makes you stronger. Overcoming bullshit makes you stronger, and anybody who can overcome all the stupid bullshit that gets thrown at young people in 21st century America is going to be strong. A lot of people are going to drown in the bullshit river. Not everyone is going to make it across. I'm not across yet, but I think I can see the other side.

It's a big fucking river.

So you graduate high school having read stuff like the Call of the Wild. Then you get to college and read stuff like Gatsby and Othello. I'm not knocking that stuff, Gatsby is my favorite book, but your teachers and parents have failed you. They have failed you because they've not taught you the things you need to fucking know in order to go be an adult. They haven't even given you books or resources that will let you find the info on your own.

You need to know to put lube inside and outside of the condom. You need to know that sometimes the best way to handle aggressive douchebags is by sharing a drink with them (though not always). You need to know that bedbugs are a MOTHERFUCKER to get rid of. You need to know that Laphroaig Quarter Cask is some fantastic scotch. You need to know that eating a pot brownie will make you see the music, but you also need to know that psychedelics are not party drugs. You need to know that too much Coca Cola will likely give you kidney stones. You need to learn how to fight constructively with your significant other. You need to be scared for your fucking life. You need to swim a little too far out in the ocean and fight like a motherfucker to get back to shore.

If you're a bleeding heart like I was, you need to see that some people actively WANT to suffer. You can't help everyone. You can't change anybody's mind through your words unless they're already open to changing themselves.

And there are a million other things you still need to learn, and I probably need to learn more than you do. You're probably way ahead of me.

Maybe this blog belongs on r/circlejerk. Whatever. If it helps someone a tiny bit, that's great. Anyway, I've seen a lot of angst on Dtoid, likely because the majority of us are caught between doing what we want and doing what we think other people want us to do. Maybe you went to college because your parents want you to become a teacher like them. Maybe you're going to inherit the family vodka factory but you really want to have a tequila factory. I don't know. The point of this blog is the following. It's a list of names you need to get familiar with right fucking now.

Robert Greene. Steven Pressfield. Daniele Bolelli. Dan Savage. Joe Rogan. Amber Lyon. Aubrey Marcus. James Altucher.

Almost all of them have podcasts. Almost all of them have written fantastic books.


Tl;dr, buy Mastery by Robert Greene. Buy The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. Download every episode of the Drunken Taoist podcast. Do those three things right now. If you can delve into the works of all the above names, do it.

Quit college if it's not right for you. Do dangerous things. Kick your ass into gear. I'm [email protected] if you have specific questions that you don't want to discuss in public.

Love you, Dtoid.

And always remember not to molest the alligators.


3:11 PM on 10.18.2014

The most important thing on the internet.

Yes, yes. Lots of scandal. So many SadBoners.


In other news, here's a comedy:

That picture is more important than your shitty scandal-of-the-week.


Also that one.



Your leader,

Zombie Orwell


2:34 PM on 05.24.2014

10 things they don't want you to know about Jet Set Radio

Hey Dtoid. Let's face it: this website is obviously run by Illuminati Bilderberg New World Order Knights Templar Masons. I mean, c'mon; pretty obvious, right? Niero killed JFK by transforming himself into several bullets. What a maniac!

Well, apart from that, there are other things THEY don't want you to know. Hamza will never admit it, but his check is written out by Donald Rumsfeld. And he only gets paid if he eats one baby per news item on the front page.

There are also OTHER other things THEY don't want you to know. Those things are about Jet Set Radio.

1. It was made hundreds of years ago in Spain by people who said “let's make a videogame and also let's torture people who aren't Catholics.”

2. A million bumblebees die everyday from lack of opposable thumbs with which to play Jet Set Radio

3. The real reason all the Star Wars Expanded Universe stuff was made non canon was to place it in the Jet Set Radio universe.

4. Jet Set Radio fan fiction. Write some for me. Make it either hyperviolent or hypersexual. Or both. I want JSR erotica and JSR snuff books. Also, I want cigarettes and tequila branded with JSR. Do this now or I will devour everyone you love. Don't fucking test me.

5. The soundtrack was composed by angels being given the best orgasms of their lives.

6. JSR is the most popular videogame ever.

7. The Illuminati are actually controlled by the Bilderbergs, who once were controlled by the CIA, who once had an agent infiltrate (and subsequently recruit everyone in) the Knights Templar. Also, the Masons did all the terrorism. Building 7

8. That last one wasn't about JSR. But it actually was. THEY just don't want you to know that.

9. Here's a pic of a cow:

(I love clicking "insert" to put a photo in a blog. It's even more sexier when cows are involved)

10. Fellatio was invented by The-Latest-Media-Scapegoat-Who-Got-Caught-Being-Racist-In-Private.


12. The cereal called Kellogg's was invented by a guy with that last name. He made it bland and shitty so people wouldn't masturbate. I say we must all fap in resistance. Even if we don't want to. We owe six faps per week to the poor assholes who came before us thinking that if they jerked it, god would piss on their graves.

Your leader,
Zombie Orwell

Go read some books:

Kilonova Complex: Episode 1

Kilonova Complex: Episode 2

How To Write Naked

Sweet Hot American Trash

Have a podcast:

Mexico: History and Resistance itunes page:
direct feed:   read

10:56 PM on 05.10.2014

Pictures of cows

This is where I introduce the blog.

Hello everybody. This is a special blog made spontaneously for the Dzord.

Lately there has been a lot of sadness and angst and hostility and other words on my favorite website. I'm not gonna take anyone to task for being a big meanie or a Social Justice Warrior or a Social Injustice Warrior or a Stupid Fat Woman Who Hates Men or a Big Old Baby Who Can't Find A Place To Put His Wiener Consensually.

I'm just gonna post some pictures of cows. Have you heard about cows? 

That's a cow. Lovely, isn't she?

Yes. Yes, she is. She is lovely.

Right now, as I write this, there's a big unsexy fight happening on a front page article about some shitty Sims game nobody gives even one flying fuck about. But people are SO ANGRY.

Me too. I'm angry, just like some of y'all. But ya know what?


That's a woman ON A COW!!

Call me a SJW if you want, but I like women on cow action. More games need women on cow action. Come to think of it, so do books and movies and rap.

More women on cows, please.


I did a quick google search for "women and cows." Super NSFW if you ask me. I got a question for you Stupid Fucking Dickheads:

Everyone loves women. Even The Gays. The Gays love women, too. Maybe you are A Gay. Maybe you don't like The Gays. Don't matter. Everybody likes women. Lesbians do. Straight guys do. Gay dudes love chicks. Women always talk about how much better they are than men.

Did you know cows are considered holy in all the places where they don't speak English? That's a fact, bitch. Look it up in the book.

Or better yet, don't bother. Just check out this pic of a cow:

HOLY COWSHIT! That's cool as hell. I wish I could be as awesome as a cow. But I can't. I'm just a stupid zombie. Fuck.


More cow:

Should I have put a NVGR tag in the title? Who cares. Cows are more important than title tags. 

That image saved itself as "cowweek3" in my folder titled "Cows." Yes. I have a folder titled "Cows."

Scantily clad woman and cow.

Ya know the coolest part about cows? Nobody gets mad that somebody said something about The Gays. Everybody is just so damn happy that cows have invaded.

That showed up in the "women and cows" search for some reason. Not sure why...

Have you seen that one? It's pretty good. I like cows.

What in god's name is that? 

Ok, so now it's just women and no cows... I guess that's cool too. Oh my god LOOK AT THOSE LEGS!!!

What's she lookin at? Is there a cow down there? I wanna see the cow!

Probably being chased by an angry cow.

Oh sweet jesus! I'm sorry, what were we talking about? 

One for the people who like dem boys

No man can live up to that standard.

And no woman can live up to that.

But cows. Cows are a gift from the universe. Uniters. Not dividers.

Now go fap.   read

11:15 PM on 04.03.2014

Free things can be yours

My transcriptionist has completed work on Episode 1 of Kilonova Complex (available on Kobo and Amazon).  It's serial fiction in the sci fi (meaning Science Fience) genre. There's a description in the comments section below.

Episode 2 will be ready to conquer the world on April 16, 2014. That's 16 April, 2014 if you live outside the United States.

Haha. Joke.

Where was I? Yes, indeeds. Brandon (the transcriptionist) knows that you want it inside of you. 

But it is extremely expensive at .99 USD. And he understands that you need that extra dollar to get approximately .3 grams of psychoactive drugs. Yes, yes. We understand. So here's the deal.

You can receive Ep. 1 of Kilonova Complex for free. Here's how:

Comment below expressing your interest in writing an honest review on the book's Amazon or Kobo page. The author will email you a PDF, you will read it and shit happiness out of your bowels, you will review the book (preferably while high on your hallucinogens), and then we conquer the world.

Do this thing.

Your leader,
Zombie Orwell   read

6:52 PM on 04.01.2014

Zombie Orwell's Backlog: Eminem. Plus, the return of dick wolf.

Destructoid, you've been very naughty. How dare you. You offend me.

JUST KIDDING!!! Haha. I like irreverent jokes designed for laughter. It is funny.

Here is more funny: Eminem. The humanist rapper has released a new group of 1s and 0s that, when converted to an mp3 format, contain musics. That. Is. HILARIOUS!!!!!!!!

Think about it for a minute. If he were smart, he would travel the nation knocking on doors and singing his lovely songs without the help of a computer. Instead, the unOrwellian idiot has released CDs, vinyl records, MP3s, and gramophones containing music. So, when you buy it you don't even get to talk to him and strap him to a chair in order to feed.

Fuck you, Eminem. I'm so god damned hungry.

Here's my review of the Slim Shady LP.

Putting aside the fact that I am unable to consume the flesh of the world's most famous white rapper, this album is almost like having the human in one's vicinity. You can hear his voice as he talks about Kurt Cobain, shish kabob, Lauren Hill, sore throats, wardrobes, orange robes, autographs, being absent-minded, doctors, herpes, Christmas, suicide, middle fingers, sell-out crowds, record release parties, gourds, hammers, Fords, sandwiches, picnic baskets, Excedrin, medicine cabinets, lettuce, cabbage, mummies, bitches, Detroit, the Beastie Boys, Kid Rock, the Loch Ness Monster, weed houses, lipstick, dipsticks, prank calls, rich rappers, and your mom. It is truly impressive.

But then there's the part where you can't eat him. This is a serious oversight on behalf of one of the most well-known musicians in history. You'd think someone on his production team would have pointed out this glaring omission. But no.

Admittedly, this record was made when he was much younger and less knowledgeable, so perhaps we owe him a little leniency. If this situation is rectified by future releases, I will let you know.

There's also a song where a girl eats too many mushrooms and dies. Though, in the narrative, the girl drinks Lysol. Many have tried to blame the mushrooms for her death, but the cause was clearly Lysol.

I give this record a good score out of 10 because Eminem paid me for a good review.


Now it is time for the return of Dick Wolf.

Remember The Devastation and Destruction of Destructoid? There's now a sexy pdf:

More sexy news: my transcriptionist, Brandon Springer, has produced the first episode of his magisterial Kilonova Complex. It's sci fi. It's short. It's a buck. It's here:

Tell your friends, tell your neighbors, tell Randy Gonzalez. I'm coming.
Your leader,
Zombie Orwell   read

10:27 AM on 02.17.2014

The Devastation and Destruction of Destructoid: Coda


Let us rest not firmly

upon the mortal coil, for

such be the shattering remains

of decadence.

Instead, let us part

in somber reflection.

We raised the stakes and

razed the cities.

My love, I

am left with naught but weary eyes

and wild grief. My

heart, it hath not the tender flesh

nor the ruby wine, yet beat for you it ever does.

My fury, that with which

I burned and seared and boiled

bones and steel and glass and gold,

shall hold eternity. My time – is done.

Will you pray heavy upon my soul?

We made the intent

and perished,

but how lovely the terror we sowed.

Flying swiftly for small hours,

we knew the untoward finality:


and metal


never be.

This is goodbye.

1:42 PM on 02.16.2014

The Devastation and Destruction of Destructoid: Chapter 17

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Jim's glinty, glinty eyes surveyed the Valley of Godless Ruination. Four hours prior, the love of his life had met a bloody end. In happier times, Jim might have made a meta-joke about someone's bloody end, but these were not happy times. Jonathan, he thought. You sexy idiot. You sexy criminal.

Jim had no more tears left. Only rage, and an ache in his heart. He knelt and put his palm to the cool dirt. You belong to the earth now, my love. He saw a rock the size of an Xbox controller. What the fuck did we call it? The Duke?  He no longer had a taste for videogames. That part of him had perished the second Samit had placed his sword on Niero's neck.

“This is your devastation and your final hour.” the assassin had declared. “Only once you have been eradicated will our mission end.” Samit the Silent, he was called. Good Samit the Silent, tactical is he. Jim remembered the song they sang when their former brother had disappeared. They thought Samit had been kidnapped by the Polygonals. They were wrong, and their carelessness had cost Niero his head.

Tactical is he. Damn it! It says “tactical” in the bloody song. We should have known. He frowned the frown of a thousand collapsing stars. Then he remembered The Duke and frowned harder. Then…then he remembered the naming of Microsoft’s third game console and his frown became death itself. He picked up the rock and clenched it in his gloved hand, forcing it to absorb all of his pain; all of his rage. His grip tightened.

Damn you, Samit. Damn you, Niero. The stone began to glow. Damn you, Microsoft. Damn you for making us scramble to find ways to differentiate between the first Xbox and the Xbox One. The stone was red hot and steam was rising from it. His glove was melting. The pleather made popping and hissing sounds. He squeezed harder. And you, Jonathan. You sexy criminal. You left me here to finish this alone. You know I’m not strong enough without you. You KNOW!!

The rock exploded in his hand. Whether from the absorbed rage or the force of his grip, he couldn’t tell. His gaze returned to the Valley of Godless Ruination. He knew not what he would find there, but he knew blood would spill upon the dusty ground.


To his left was an ancient corpse, behind him the wrecked Destructzord. The corpse was now merely a pile of bones. The feathered end of an arrow protruded from the dead man’s rib cage. A sword and a whetstone lay beside the fallen warrior. He was killed while sharpening that pitiful sword. Jim withdrew his own steel, thinking of the joke he might have made, long ago, about sliding a shining sword from its scabbard. His own sword was massive, and forged into the shape of a life-sized nude Matt Borealis. It glinted like Jim’s eyes.

He paused to enjoy the shape of the sword. Matt’s curves are as lovely as they are deadly. And Samit will know it, before long. He picked up the whetstone and continued sharpening Matt Borealis’ curves. He looked yet again at the village in the Valley of Godless Ruination and shrieked in fury.

His phone buzzed. Last Scion had sent him a six-second video. “This one admitted to killing the king,” he said, looking into the camera. Then he pointed the it at a dead body laying on the ground. Jim's phone buzzed again. Another video.

“A news report is saying the Destructzord has been razing cities worldwide. What have you done, Jim?” The video showed a TV with film of the zord burning a building to the ground. He put the phone in his pocket.

Vague, Orwellian images fizzed before his eyes. He saw fire and lasers. He saw buildings melting. He heard himself screaming and felt the Dzord lurch to one side.

Just then a moan came from behind him, causing the dusty ground and burning wreckage to pop back into existence. He turned around and saw a wretched figure shambling toward him.

“Coooooookkiiieeee,” it said. “Ooovvveeeeeeeeeeennn.”

Jim's stomach dropped and the air grew cold. No. The figure lurched forward, nearly falling. Jim's phone buzzed again. He looked at the screen.

“I have found the assassin,” Last Scion said. “It is probably a trap. Don't come. Will send message if I kill him. If not, I am dead and you are the last Dtoider.” The message looped. Jim dropped the phone and watched the dust swirl around it.

“Coookkiiiiiieeeeeeee...” The figure was nearly on Jim. This is the closest I've ever been to my crumbling cookie. It no longer looked like Jonathan. It moved as if half its bones had been broken. Its left cheek bone had been smashed in, leaving an enormous bruise over the flattened area. Take me, my love.

He felt teeth sink into his neck and he screamed with pleasure as Jonathan tore away a piece of flesh. He was ready to die , but as his soul-mate’s teeth clamped down again, Jim's hand grabbed the Borealis Blade. Before he could tell his hands to stop, they had knocked Jonathan to the ground and sent steel through the undeceased neck.

Jonathan's head rolled away from his body. Jim wailed and fell to his knees. It had all happened so quickly. His muse, his lover, his spirit animal had come back to life for him, but Jim's own body betrayed them both. He stared at the ground in disbelief. His world faded to black.

Last Scion had the crosshairs on Samit's head. The assassin was addressing a crowd of perhaps a hundred men, women, and children. They stood amid smoldering ruins. Their city appeared to have been recently leveled, and if the news reports could be believed, Jim was the cause.

The entire world will be on Samit's side now, he thought. Jim has left craters in a thousand cities. But none of that mattered anymore. He would kill the assassin and then Jim would allow Last Scion to escape the realm of the living and finally join the Pantheon of the Warriors.

He pulled the trigger and watched Samit's head snap back. It should not have been so easy. The body crumpled and fell. Last Scion's phone was recording video the incident, which he sent to Jim. The crowd ran screaming but a few people were gesturing in his direction. I must quit this place.

Jim's eyes snapped open. He stood up. In his hand he saw a gleaming object. Humans were nearby; he could smell them. A screaming hunger grew more intense with every second. His body carried him toward the flesh.

Last Scion dropped the Dragunov he had lifted off a body. The dusty, dusty, dusty, dusty, dusty, dusty, dusty, dusty, dusty ground threw up wisps of thin brown smoke. He pushed open the door and drew his dagger. He preferred the heft of a sword, but was deadly enough with steel of any length.

The air outside smelled of anger, sadness, and drought. He walked past another television showing news footage of the Destructzord razing several cities. The assassin must have a copy of the zord, he thought but that is our wreckage on the hill. It didn't matter. He would leave this broken city and implore Jim to take his life. If Jim refused, Last Scion would have to report his failure to the Council. They would decide what punishment to levy.

Jim had not responded in at least two minutes, even though the 3G signal here was strong. Something foul has befallen the large one. Angry voices drifted toward him from behind. He could barely see the ion smoke in the distance.

He ran up the gentle slope. The voices grew excited and the buildings drifted steadily past him. He heard a crack and felt the air snap by his head. He veered into an alley. Up on a hill, roughly a kilometer away, was the crash site. He was nearly on the outskirts of the smashed and smoking village.

Last Scion let the dagger fall. They will not catch me. Jim must take my life. His hands were shaking. The voices grew louder. Last Scion turned left between two buildings and felt his shoulder explode with pain. Then a gloved hand was around his throat. The pain was easy enough to ignore.

He saw a nude, shining man streaked with red. The fat one has lost himself. Jim dragged him to the nearest building and slammed him into the wall. The lion had already determined not to struggle. He looked at the rising sun and felt teeth on his neck. I die as a warrior. It was a better fate than he deserved, having failed in his duty, but he had already imprinted himself upon The Histories.

The sun burned his eyes, the teeth tore at his neck, and he shot his soul skyward to commune with the gods and elders.

Narrator X - 3rd person omniscient.

Blood rolled down Jim's face. The Last Scion's body had been completely devoured. (Contrary to popular belief, zombies do not hunger for brains. Their goal is always flesh.) A group of villagers found Jim not long after he had finished eating. They put him down easily, as the Borealis Blade was a perfectly crafted instrument of death and arousal. A man named Gamaliel found it and used it to slice Jim's head neatly off.

Local police arrived shortly thereafter and, having been bribed by DRECK representatives to the amount of  roughly $50 USD, declared the case closed. The crashed Destructzord, they said, was the same that destroyed a thousand other cities in mere hours. The corpses in the alley had killed each other, and Dtoid entered the history books as a villain to rival Francisco Franco.

Gaming was, of course, thoroughly destroyed. It quickly became a wasteland of free-to-play games, overpriced DLC, microtransactions, and horse armor. No more single player games were ever released, not even Skyrim VS Angry Birds.

Nobody in the village ever told any outsiders about the Blade, though they would go on to use it in a series of events that would stir the world and ignite long-dormant liberation struggles.

There were no happy endings for anyone related to the gaming industry. Except, of course, for Zombie Orwell. He had managed to infect both Jonathan Holmes and Jim Sterling, thereby leading to their deaths. The Last Scion's death was a happy accident for which he claimed full credit.

As a result of his masterful hacking of the Dzord cockpit, thousands of world cities burned to the pavement, or to the dust. Millions of lives were snuffed out. He managed to sow all this chaos and doom despite dying the very day Niero was kidnapped. If ever a more impressive feat of post-mortem devastation has been caused in the world of High Literature, this author has not yet encountered it.

Zombie Orwell is dead. Long live Zombie Orwell.   read

11:53 PM on 02.15.2014

A heartfelt, out-of-character moment.

Hey Dtoid. Right now I don't have any Zombie Orwell in me. This is the guy behind the voice. What I'm gonna do goes against the unwritten rules of the character I've created, but I've reached an interesting and terrifying and exhilarating place in life; a place that demands I drop the character for a minute and... spit real talk.

Let's start with introductions. I'm Brandon. I live in Oaxaca, Mexico. Why Mexico? Because I've been desperate to visit the country since I started taking Spanish lessons 13 years ago. I came in November 2012 and I don't plan on going back to the homeland (USA). Why Oaxaca (Wa-Hawk-Ah), specifically? Cuz I met a lovely young lady from here and I think she might say yes if I ask the right question.

The food, the drink, the climate, the mangoes, the avocados, the mangoes, the history, the architecture, the mangoes... Life is good.

But I'm in trouble. I work for thieves. Since I'm basically an illegal immigrant, I have few options when they try to screw me over, and my employers know it. Even if I were a citizen, I'm in a country where the phrase “workers' rights” is not in the vocabulary.

My Situation

I teach English. My school gives me an envelope with cash every two weeks, and until recently, my salary has been just enough to pay the rent and buy food. (No complaints, though, because I use my extra time to build side projects and create yummy internet content.) But now they're robbing my hours. For the last two pay periods they've payed me exactly half of what they owe me, and they say “oh, sorry. We don't know your schedule. We'll pay the rest next time.”

But we all know "next time" ain't coming. Next time was supposed to be today.

And earlier today they decided it would be super cool to prorate my salary because I didn't attend a workshop that they failed to inform me about. “You didn't come, so we have to cut your pay.” I left more pissed off than I've been in a loooooooong time, almost panicking, wondering what I was gonna do. But then I started thinking.

My Plan And My Content

I've been here on Dtoid for a couple years, writing absurd things and having a great time. Some of the absurd things I write even get a warm reception, which never ceases to amaze me and fill my cold, black heart with fuzzy tinglies. Lately I've been working my ass off to produce a Mexico History Podcast (in between classes and visa runs to Guatemala so I can keep living in Mexico semi-legally).

I wrote a book (Devastation and Destruction of Destructoid) where Mr. Andy Dixon gets drowned by metal dildos, where Dale North gets killed in mysterious circumstances (as does Hamza's stripper girlfriend), and where Jonathan Holmes is a mob boss. Other things happen, too. And there's a dance number. The final chapter will be up Monday.

I've also recorded a few chapters of DDD, to be released as a disturbing audiobook.

I have a dark sci-fi book in the works. And did I tell you about the Mexico History Podcast? Your ears want it. If I told you how many hours I've poured into it since the beginning, you wouldn't believe me. But I do it because I love it. This is the kind of stuff I want to do full time (or as full time as monetarily possible).

My Plea

I can't keep working for the same school, and there's a high likelihood that things will devolve into the same situation in almost any school that employs me. Things have been... interesting for the last couple months. So I'm reaching out to Dtoid.

Here's the thing, I'm not asking for charity. I'm not asking for handouts. I'm asking for you to check out the stuff I've already created. Check out my Dtoid content. Check out my Mexico history podcast. Check out the Zombie Orwell wordpress. If you like what I've produced, if you think it's valuable, or if you want to see more content more often from Zombie Orwell and the guy behind him, send a little donation via Paypal. On the top you'll see my personal email address ([email protected]). Feel free to send me a message. I'm yours, baby!

If you don't have any money to spare, that's totally cool. Maybe you can just point a friend in the direction of one of my outlets (the Mexico podcast, the Dtoid backlog, etc). Or send me a question for the Mexico thing I keep talking about. I'll do listener feedback episodes. [email protected]

All My Stuff

This is where I usually end with "Your Leader, Zombie Orwell" but honestly, I want you to be my boss. I want to be accountable to real people, not shady thieves.

Also, cocks.   read

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