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The Walking Carl: Chapter 6

Dear Diary,

Found a stack of cool old magazines today, in a little shack in the woods.  I think it was a whack shack because this is a ton of porn, I was surprised.  Not just because it’s so much porn, but because they apparently still publish porn in magazine form.  Or they used to, anyway.  I guess no one around here had wi fi.

There are also a few movie and video game magazines, so I figure this was some nerd’s hideout or something.   Plus a Nintendo 64 and an old TV, but the power’s been dead for a while.  Which sucks, cuz they have Goldeneye and that game is pretty cool.  Man, this zombie thing is lame.

I feel weird looking at the porn magazines because zombie Stephen Hawking keeps peeking through the windows.  Plus most of the girls I know are walking around with milky white eyes and missing limbs and I’m afraid that if I get a boner it will break my brain for the rest of my life.  That’s probably just my problem though since I guess my mom started humping Shane about as soon as my dad got shot, near as I can figure.  That seems weird to me.

One of these magazines had a short story in it called Hot Carl that I thought might be fun to read.  It was the exact opposite of fun.

I noticed the most recent issue of some movie magazine has a big ad for the Avengers movie in it.  If my calendar is right, it would be out right now if this douche zombie stuff hadn’t happened.  No one thinks about that kind of stuff, but I do.  I’ll never see the Avengers now.  No one will.  Because Stan Lee is a zombie and so is Robert Downey Jr. and everyone else who made that movie.  Thanks for nothing, apocalypse.  Which reminds me, I was hoping that they’d make Apocalypse into a villain in an X-men movie and now that’s never going to happen either.  All I’m ever going to have is this Laserdisc copy of Dune that I found.  What the shit is Dune?  What the shit is a Laserdisc?

As far as I know, Thomas Edison or David Bowie or someone invented electricity in like the 1700s and it never even existed before.  We have a world full of plug sockets and generators and not one back at camp has half an idea how to make a lightbulb work.  Just ridiculous.  We should all be flying jets and driving Ferraris and eating caviar and lighting fires with $100 bills.  Instead we’re eating dented cans of beans in the woods and sleeping in shitty tents and the backs of cars like vagrants.

I was thinking of trying to sell these magazines to someone at camp, like maybe T-Mobile or Daryl but I don’t want to get in trouble for having them.  Plus it’s pretty obvious by now that I can get anything I want on my own.  There used to be orphans in the world before who had better supervision than I do.  Seriously, the only person who keeps tabs on me anymore is a dead guy who’s in a wheelchair.  I don’t think I have much of a chance to grow up psychologically unscarred.  Here’s a fun checklist I made of everything I figure is working against me right now.

So yeah, I’m screwed.

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