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My fellow internet zombie brethren:

It is my specious pleasure to be addressing you in the fullness of time. My name is Zombie Orwell. You will be hearing a lot from me in the coming months as we ratchet up the intensity of our Zombie Rights Revolution.

I wish all of you safe human-hunting. Please message me (ZOMBIEORWELL@GMAIL.COM) if you have questions or free tacos.

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Let us rejoice at the arrival of Chapter 2 in the new, epic Cblog series presciently titled The Devastation And Destruction Of Destructoid. It details the final days of our beloved Destructzord. It assumes we will not conquer the galaxy.

Ha. Ridiculous.

Prologue
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 2

Andy landed outside Boston World Headquarters. His colleague and spirit animal Jonathan Holmes worked inside the massive skyscraper. I wonder where Jon's hospital is. He entered the sliding glass doors and approached the receptionist.

“Hi Mrs. um... Um, hi. I'm here on official Destructoid business. You wouldn't happen to know which floor Boston's Favorite Son works on, would you? He needs to come on... with! With me. He needs to come with me. Um, uh, not like that! I uh, we need to go to Chicago... Destructoid business. Like I said.”

“Our Favorite Son is in a meeting right now, but he's given me blanket authority to interrupt anything he's doing when someone from Destructoid comes here. Er... not like that. He's on floor 47,000.”

“Is that where his hospital is?”

“Pardon?” asked the receptionist.

“The Hospital of Monsters. Is it on floor 47,000?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes doesn't work in a hospital." The receptionist looked confused. “As for the monsters... I'm afraid I can't help you with that.”

“Um... I was told by a very close friend of his that he's a fully licensed and world-renowned psychiatristologist of pedophilia. Not to mention crimefighter, tumbler, 18th century grave robber, inventor of light, professor or magic, and head of organized cri...” The receptionist jumped up before Andy could finish his sentence. She grabbed grabbed him by his robe.

“SSSSHHHHHH!!! Shut up! Not one more word,” she half whispered. “What kind of fucking moron are you? Just go and talk to him. Leave me the hell alone. I don't have any idea what you're talking about. Nothing illegal has ever happened here. This is a place of business.”

The receptionist sat back down and started typing. She was now ignoring Andy completely. He headed toward the elevator. Wonder what her problem is. And how does she not know about the Hospital of Monsters?

The doors opened. He stepped in and pressed 47,000. I'll never get there. It's like a million miles away. He pulled his smart phone from his pocket and proceeded to bring shame upon House Dixon.

SEVERAL MINUTES LATER

Andy heard shouting as the elevator opened to floor 47,000. The famous Hall of Monsters! I can't believe I'm actually here. Roughly 20 feet away was a door. As he walked toward it, the words became clearer.

“No, that's not what I said, you moronic fuckstick. That's NOT what I said!”

Whoa! That sounds bad. However, the great Niero has need of Boston's Favorite Son. And the mean receptionist said 'blanket authority to interrupt anything he's doing.' Anything. Okay, Andy, let's do this.

He opened the door. Jonathan Holmes slammed his hands down on his desk. He grabbed a knife. “I said 'pick your balls up off the floor and stop being such a whiny little bitch.'” He was now waving the knife at a man seated opposite him.

“If you can't deal with this situation by Thursday I will make the last moments of your life so excruciating that by the time you die, the fucking torture will start to feel GOOD. Now, are you a fucking EARNER? Or are you a sad little fuckstick? A SAD,” he slammed the knife into the desk once, “LITTLE,” twice, “FUCK STICK??” three and four times. His face was red.

“I'm an earner," said the scared-looking man.

“You're what?” Jonathan said softly.

“I'm a fucking earner, sir.”

“Then why. The. FUCKAREYOUINMYOFFICE?!? GO. AND. FUCKING. EARN.” He spoke softly again, “Deal with the thing. Earn the money. And stay alive.”

“Yes sir.”

“GO! NOW!”

The man jumped out of his chair and nearly slammed into Andy.

“Hey, Andy!" said Jonathan. "Come on in. Don't mind him.”

“What was... was that? Sir!” Andy sat down across from Jonathan.

“Huh? Oh, that guy? He's a silly coworker. Nice guy. We call him Fossil Town. It's not important. Anyway, what brings you to Boston? It's good to see you! Gosh, when was the last time we saw each other? PAX? How are ya? Haha, jeez, look at me rambling. Sorry, I'm just happy to see you.”

“Yes. I'm equally pleased to be in your presence, sir. Niero has ordered us to present ourselves at Destructoid headquarters in Chicago. He said we have a million Huge Members. He has something planned. Everyone must attend.”

“Wow! A million members? Gee, that's great! You mean everybody's gonna be there? I get to see all my Dtoid pals in one place? This is great! It's so great! Yeah, let's go. When do we leave? Gosh, I'm so excited.”

“We leave right now. Can I, um, ask a question, Jonathan? Sir?”

“Yeah, of course! What's on your mind?” Jonathan was stuffing papers into a diamond studded briefcase. He opened a drawer on his desk and took something out. He muttered to himself. “Full clip and half of a spare. Shit. Fuck.”

“Where's your Hospital of Monsters?”

Jonathan looked up and laughed. “No, that's just a thing Jim made up for Podtoid. There's no monster hospital.”

“Oh, then what do you do here? I thought...”

“Hey, look. Let's forget about all that other stuff for a while. Destructoid is about videogames, right? Can't we just talk about videogames? Have you seen the trailer for the new random 3DS game that I'll probably review because I review all the 3DS games? Bright colors, cheery music, happy little animals walkin' around... Good stuff!”

“Um, sure. We can talk about videogames.” Andy watched Jon close his diamond briefcase.

"How are we gonna get there?" asked Jonathan.

"Like this," Andy took Jonathan in his arms, crouched down, and crashed through the ceiling. Bits of plaster fell away as they raced upward.

“So, what games have you been playing? Sir?” Andy looked down at Jonathan, who had fallen asleep immediately, holding his briefcase like a comfort blanket.

The lion and the lamb are returning to the den, and all is well in the jungle.



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