I rarely venture far from my Possum Holler home. It’s a bland life, but safe enough; besides the occasional skunk ape sighting or exploding meth lab, Possum Holler is downright bucolic. So it just figures that the first time in six years I decide to embark on a proper vacation, I end up in the hub of the friggin’ zombie apocalypse.

Shit’s getting real in Florida, folks. I’m sure you’ve heard about the naked guy who ate another guy’s face, but that’s just the tip of the really gross iceberg. The folks at a blog called I Hope Rick Santorum were kind enough put the pieces together for us, and the picture is grim. Smaller zombie outbreaks have occurred across the US, but Florida is obviously where most of the shit is going down. Go here to see for yourself.

Not that it’s ruining my vacation. Yesterday I did a thing where penguins try to kill you if you don’t feed them fast enough, and I’m on my way to some sort of deal where I get on a boat and complain loudly about the heat and absence of sea monsters while everyone else looks for dolphins. To be honest, the zombie meltdown is strangely comforting. I challenge you to think of a more logical explanation for the fact that droves of women are walking around the Sunshine State with feathers attached to their navel piercings.