My name is Oompa and I like to kill zombies.
Malk said that is not good enough. I don't know what the fek his problem is. What more do I need to write? Fine. My name is Oompa, I like to kill zombies, I work with Malk, and I like my shovel. I really like my shovel.
Fekking hell. Ok. Fine. My name isn't really Oompa. Malk, that bastard, started calling me Oompa Loompa and he won't stop. I've tried everything. Even hit him in the face with the shovel. He just laughed, at least once he got his nose set. Served him right. Nobody can pronounce my name anyway. I've known Malk a long time. At least some days it feels like a long time. He lets me kill zombies. It works for us. I may not be brilliant, but I am very good at what I do. That would be beating in the faces, ribs, knees... you get the picture. On zombies. Just so we're clear. I don't do nothing to regular people. Well, I guess I save them sometimes. When I have to. By accident. Most of them are just a waste of space, but better save them than have them become zombies. Wait. Maybe there's something to that. If they become zombies I get to kill them. Malk, that jerk! He didn't point that out.
We are the Militia. Us and Wolf. Wolf doesn't talk a whole lot. Not like me. Malk says he's surprised I manage to eat since I never seem to stop talking. I guess I even talk in my sleep. Not so much talk, I guess. Malk says mostly I just swear. I can live with that.
The ones I like taking out most are the Screamers and Medusas. Personally I think those are kinda dumb names, but Malk didn't ask me. Nope. Never does. Just does stuff and expects me to go along with it. But I owe those fekkers for what they did. They took out part of the team.
Ok, I didn't like the bastards all that much, but they were still part of the Militia. It made them at least a little better than the rest of the skinbags walking around. Not by much though. I know they were stealing my booze.
Malk thinks I drink too much. I think there's no such thing. Tastes better than the crap we have to eat these days. I figure maybe if I burn out my tastebuds it'll be easier to shovel down that crap.
Malk's calling. Fekking elephant man is walking around again. I want to take my shovel to him, but Malk said no. Wants to use my booze and make a drink. Some stupid cocktail.
Oh. Right. Firebomb. That might work. Still think he could use something other than my booze.
Write later. If Malk makes me.