Screw You, Bill Hader: A Sordid Tale of Zombies, Cheerleaders, and Prolonged Existential Angst

The highly anticipated explanation for why I hate that bastard Bill Hader so much.

There were three things racing through my head while I was dying:

  1. A bullet.
  2. What a way to get the answer to humanity’s ultimate question: what happens after we die?
  3. I was not going to be surviving the zombie apocalypse.

But let’s rewind the tape a little and find out just exactly how I got myself into such a mind-blowing scenario. I remember I was in “a moment” – I don’t remember anything before just being there in the present.

My friend Dylan and I were standing in a narrow beige hallway right next to a massive atrium with beautiful windows perfect for letting natural light stream in. It was the type of place a gathering of students might study in. Peaceful. Calm.

Then I noticed a group of cheerleaders walking towards us.  All sexy, identical, and busty – the greatest clone army in history. Their green cheerleader uniforms hugged their bodies as they slowly approached. And yet… even though they looked relatively harmless, my gut told me they were zombies although none of them exhibited any of the classic symptoms: nobody was shufflin’, mumblin’, or fumblin’.

I knew Dylan and I had to kill these hot zombies and I realized I was holding a baseball bat. We both were. So we reluctantly swung away and I distinctively remember connecting with a zombie cheerleader’s head. It made a wet thwock: a damp and hollow sound like someone aggressively tapping a watermelon with their knuckles.

During that grueling process, I noticed a spindly man out of the corner of my eye. I turned and saw it was Bill Hader, inexplicably adorned in a purple bellhop uniform. Before I could react, he chomped down on my hand. Needless to say, I was stunned, shocked, and dare I say… stupefied.

Look at this gabagool, having the time of his life.

Look at this gabagool, having the time of his life.

Before I could blink, I found myself in the middle of the atrium. I was sitting on a luxurious white sofa and Dylan was standing behind me. He had a gun in his hand and I got the impression he was about to Lincoln me, if you know what I’m saying. I wanted to ask why he didn’t use the gun against the zombie cheerleaders, but then I looked down at my hands.

There was no baseball bat this time, but sitting on the sofa cushion was a shiny .357 Magnum. I picked it up; it was heavier than I expected. I was confronted with the reality of the situation: I was bitten. I was going to turn. I was going to die. Now.

Dylan understood without saying a word and he backed away. I raised the gun to my head and, well, pulled the fucking trigger. In that instant, there was a slight feeling of pressure as the bullet eased through my skull and entered my brain. Everything was moving so slowly.

My interpretation of reality was forever changed during that moment – time and space were becoming irrelevant as my death loomed large. I attributed that astonishing change to the fact that the bullet was ripping my brain apart. As the bullet continued its unrelenting progress, the initial realization of death began to overwhelm me.

There was no more speculation. It was reality, happening live right at that very moment. Then, after what seemed like ten minutes, everything faded to black. Only darkness. No sound, no smell, no taste, no touch, no nothing.

Nothing but nothing.

I’m not sure how long things stayed like that. But after what felt like a century had passed, I suddenly awoke and found myself standing in a field next to a highway in New Jersey. I was surrounded by many men and women, all with open mouths and wide eyes of terror. I turned, only to see zombies were approaching from every angle.

They weren’t cheerleaders either. These were the type you see on The Walking Dead or 28 Days Later. As they ran towards us, I remember one thought that burst through with astonishing clarity: “Yet another reason New Jersey fucking sucks.”

Then I woke up, sweaty and tense. What a terrible dream. Fuck zombies!

And that Bill Hader guy too. May he fall in a well – a deep and dark well with slimy moss covering the walls so he can’t climb out… although, I do have to admit he was pretty good in Trainwreck and other stuff like The Skeleton Twins.

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