I'm going to go on a semi-rantish discussion thing about this picture. You see, I have a messenger bag that I wear quite regularly, and serves me quite well, that has this very picture printed on it. (Bag!)
I find it useful in many situations, and one that has been popping up in my mind lately has been in the case of an actual zombie apocalypse. Am I actually the person to follow? and what are my motives for having people follow me?
Scenario: I'm running around, with my messenger bag now full of ammo for whatever weapon I have currently in my possession, whether it be a slingshot, or a submachine gun; having dumped my now-completely-useless masses of school books far behind me in some muddy ditch somewhere to rot away and decompose, as is their destiny (I might keep a Heinlein Novel or Two around for guidelines for starting a religion/society if I end up surviving). I come upon a fleeing, terrified, less-physically-fit survivor, and they see the proud words on the side of my messenger bag, and willingly fall in line behind such a graceful and attractive man.
Later, sitting around a makeshift cooking fire in the 5th floor of an abandoned office complex, with only one vent high in the ceiling letting the smoke out, and a handy-dandy fire escape going almost to the ground, but not close enough for the hordes of zombies to reach it. Suddenly, we hear the moaning the of afflicted coming from close outside our door, advancing up the steps. The stupid, ignorant, shit-for-brains person I rescued didn't spread the vinegar-and-salt paste mix I have concocted to hide our scents well enough, the zombies have detected our presence! Shuffling sounds outside the hallway, the only way out is down the fire escape, where there is a clear shot over into another safe-looking office complex. I look down, distastefully, at the whimpering blob the man has become, and wonder what to do.
Freeze. I realize I have two options here, either of which has consequences.
Option 1: Break both the mans legs, drag him to an opposite wall, and put one of my extra pistols just out of arms reach of him, with one bullet in it; then run like hell.
Option 2: Help the obviously semi-incapacitated man down the steps, and across the lot into the other building, saving his life.
I quickly make a decision. WHAT WOULD HAYSEUS DO?
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