Chicago Ted's Loyal Minions

There I was, carrying the arm of a recently slain Tank, whom I'd slapped in the dick exactly 517 times. I approached the safe room, but I wast finished. I took out my ram's horn and blew on it, emitting the sound I needed to satisfy my blood lust. I could hear their nonsensical shouting from afar. They were coming. I pulled out my assault rifle and smirked as I gazed into the distance. Only silhouettes.

Closer...

...Closer...

...Closer...

HERE THEY ARE. Blood danced in the air as I threw the arm at them and opened fire. I kept count, I'd already killed 100, give or take a few. My rifle clicked, indicating its lack of ammo. Music to my ears. I pulled out my blade and charged the crowd, and one by one their dismembered limbs fell to the ground. I kept hacking away, their blood was covering my face. I loved every minute of it. Then, a distant cry, a moan...a witch. I cleared a path with my fists of fury and found the whiny bitch. One kick in the face caused her head to go flying approximately 50 yards from her body. Lovely. I turned around and continued to punch and kick and rip and shred. This was my planet, not theirs. They were stepping upon MY soil. A scream pierced my ear and I turned around. My fist met a Hunter's face! I pulled out my sword once again and hacked my way through to the safe room door. There I met a Boomer. Ripping off my shirt, I exposed my chest to the bile. Another horde approached. Fantastic! My hands grasped a Molotov on my belt. I took the neck of the Boomer and shoved the Molotov cocktail in his mouth. His bile launched it into the ever approaching savages. Boom, a burst of beautiful flames. I kicked the Boomer in the balls and shot him in the face.

Now covered in blood and puke, I entered the safe room, and with my marker I wrote the glorious phrase that would soon be known globally...

"No zombie is safe from Chicago Ted"



~Exerpt from Chicago Ted's autobiography "In Tank's Blood"