Enter The Dream Realm Vol. 71 – The Hardy Zombie Apocalypse: The Movie (Act IIb)

Volume Seventy-One

The Hardy Zombie Apocalypse: The Movie (Act IIb)



Prime Time: Alright, fellas. We need to get in touch with our boys state-side. Anybody have some contact info we can use to do so?

ChrisBear: Well, Shane and I like to get pissed and talk about oiled men rolling around in their underthings.

Granddad Tommy: And you wonder why people think you’re an arse bandit?

Prime Time: Well then, give him a call. Can you put it on speaker phone?

ChrisBear: That I can.

ChrisBear hits Send on his cell phone and places it on the hood of Prime Time’s car. The men are all silent as they hear the phone ring once… Twice… A third time…

Voice: Shane’s phone. This is not Shane speaking.

Shane: Steve, put the damn thing on speaker, ok?

YourAyatollah: Yes sir, Mr. Buzzkill.

Shane: Hey, this is Shane. Who’s this?

ChrisBear: Hey, mate. It’s Bear.

Granddad Tommy: Bloody poofs…

Shane: Hey man, sorry I didn’t call you back last night. I was thinking about what you said, and-

Uncle Joe: #stopthatthatsgay

Mazza: I don’t know if it’s really gay, per se.

YourAyatollah: Definitely less than straight.

Morpheus: Chris, it’s M. Things are fucking crazy over here right now. What do things look like on your side of the pond?

Prime Time: Morph, it’s Prime. I’m afraid things are looking worse over here than they are for you fellas. Sounds like you’ve got quite the crew with you.

Morpheus: Yeah, we’ve got Joe, Huss, Mazz, Steve, Shane, Ceebs and myself here. We’re headed to Steve’s place to loads up on guns.

Current Big Thing: Nirvana!

Uncle Joe: Pause.

Mazza: Does this look infected to you?

Shane: Dammit Mazz! I’m driving here!

Hustle: Mazz gon’ get us straight up killed.

Morpheus: I gather you’re with Chris over there, Prime. Any other warm bodies?

Prime Time: Yeah, Morph. We’ve got me and Chris, plus Pringle, Sheep, Shee, priest, Joey, and fenixx.

Joy Shinobi: Yeah, and some old dude.

Granddad Tommy: Don’t make me beat your arse, laddie. And just who in the hell might you be?

Joey Shinobi: Joey Shinobi.

Granddad Tommy: Oh good. We’ve got a pasty tosser with a chinky name.

Uncle Joe: Dude, that’s fucked up. Hustle’s Chinese.

Hustle: Damn.

Granddad Tommy: Sorry son, no offense meant.

Prime Time: So, Morph, we’ve got a crew of nine over here right now. Unfortunately we lost two of our own. Davie and Johnny Boomerang.

Morpheus: Davie and who?

da_shee: I told you, didn’t I?

YourAyatollah: We haven’t fared much better. We lost SkitZ.

Morpheus: What are you talking about? That’s WAY better!

Hustle: Not to mention the fact that we got to see Xan and Random bite it live on National Television.

Current Big Thing: And Morpheus seriously needs to vacuum behind his couch. Gruesome.

Morpheus: Let it go, dude.

YourAyatollah: You guys need to be careful over there. Once someone is killed by one of these things, they come back as one of them.

Mazza: Yeah, Morph had to kill SkitZ with a masterful decapitation stroke of his sword. I really can’t speak highly enough of the fluid grace with which he completed that killing; no wasted motion, perfect form, and didn’t once hesitate in using deadly force.
Mazza Rating: A

Morpheus: It was pretty awesome.

As the men are gathered around the phone, intently listening to the conversation, Davie begins to stir and rises up off the ground where he was killed. He starts quietly making his way toward the group when suddenly he is stopped by the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun pressed to the side of his head.

priest: Last Rites, mother fucker.

priest pulls the trigger and blows Davie’s head clean off his shoulders. The body slumps down to the ground, and priest opens his clerical robes and hangs the gun on a belt around his waist holding a wide assortment of other weapons.

Granddad Tommy: Remind me to stay on your good side, Father.

Prime Time: Yeah, ok. Dead rising. Check.

Morpheus: Is everyone alright over there?

Current Big Thing: As well as you weird-ass British fucks can be, anyway.

Uncle Joe: Dude, that’s fucked up. Hustle’s British.

Hustle: Damn.

Mazza: Yeah, so am I.

Uncle Joe: Nigga, you’re too brown to be British.

Shane: There are more stereotypes in this van than the auto section of Best Buy.

Sheepster: Ha! See? I’m not the only one who found that funny.

ChrisBear: Yeah, M. We’re all fine.

Joey Shinobi: Although apparently Chris’ grandfather is some kind of geriatric stealth ninja robot Jedi demon.

fenixx: Pirate. You forgot pirate.

Granddad Tommy: And straight. That seems significant enough to state considering the company.

Prime Time: Sheep’s got himself a nasty cut, but otherwise everyone appears to be mostly unharmed.

Sheepster: I was having such a nice conversation with that Zombie fellow. I thought we were really connecting. Turns out, he only wanted me for my brains.

Everyone remains silent for a moment as Sheep looks innocently back and forth between them. Finally, he smiles his wide grin.

Sheepster: See what I did there?

Morpheus: Yeah, he’s fine.

YourAyatollah: So, Prime, it’s nice to hear from you and all, as always, but is there a particular reason for this auspicious teleconference?

Prime Time: Indeed there is, Steve. According to the reports of our scientists-

Pringle: I meant to ask about that before. What scientists?

da_shee: The nameless, faceless ones conveniently included in the plot to allow the storyline to advance.

ChrisBear: I need a drink.

Prime Time: Anyway, yes. Our scientists have predicted that Europe’s fall to the advancing Zombie horde is imminent. The inevitability of this fall has led me to gather some of our finest minds-

Granddad Tommy: And Ginger McJapName over here.

Uncle Joe.: Dude, that’s fucked up. Hustle’s Japanese.

Hustle: Damn.

Uncle Joe: And Ginger.

Hustle: Damn?

Morpheus: And I’m slowly leaning toward the opinion that death sounds preferable to staying in this van much longer.

Prime Time: Ok, hopefully I’ll be allowed to finish this time. I have gathered together some of the finest minds left in the United Kingdom to make an exodus over to the United States where we might be able to do some good in helping eradicate this threat.

fenixx: Once again, I have to protest. I’m not from the U.K., I’m from Australia.

Morpheus: Same fuckin’ accent. Give me a break.

fenixx: Actually, while I live in Australia, I am actually Sri Lankan.

Joey Shinobi: What the hell is that?

Granddad Tommy: It means he’s even more of a puffer than the rest of you turtle smugglers.

fenixx: Why did we bring him along again?

ChrisBear: Ratings.

da_shee: Don’t worry, mate. We won’t have to worry about him much longer.

Joey Shinobi: That’s the best news I’ve heard all- I mean… Why?

da_shee hits the enter key on his laptop and turns it around for the rest of the men to see what is on the screen

ChrisBear: Seriously? I give up.

Joey Shinobi: That’s just straight up ageism right there. But good to know.

Granddad Tommy: I’ll still kick any one of your pansy asses without even breaking a sweat. Jesus Chr-

A pistol presses into the side of Granddad Tommy’s head.

priest: You were saying?

Granddad Tommy: Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been about 47 years since my last confession.

priest: This might take a while…

Morpheus: What the hell’s going on over there? What am I missing?

Pringle: Nothing mate. Just one of Shee’s stat graphs. We’ll show it to you when we get there.

Prime Time: Listen, M. We’ve got the hook up with an old friend of mine to catch a chartered jet over the Atlantic to join you in your fight there. You just have to let me know where we need to go.

YourAyatollah: Well, it sounds like we are in a very similar boat as you in that a lot of the larger population centers have gone down.

Uncle Joe: Like a bitch on the first date.

Shane: What kind of women do you date? No really, I want to know. Names and numbers.

Current Big Thing: Yeah, New York and L.A. are not pretty sights. The Hardy Zombie wave that toppled New York has been travelling inland from the Eastern seaboard. We’re making a stand with a lot of other survivors here in Springwood.

da_shee: You mean the fictional city that was the site of the Nightmare on Elm Street films?

Morpheus: Fuck, man. So much for subtlety.

ChrisBear: You see what I’ve been dealing with?

Mazza: Alright, Prime. So you can meet us in the totally existent city of Springwood then. We will welcome the backup.

Current Big Thing: It’s all well and good that our numbers will be bolstered, but that still leaves us with one big question on our hands.

Hustle: What’s that?

Shane: Why is all this happening?

Uncle Joe: Ain’t that shit obvious? Nigga’s gunnin’ for my record.

ChrisBear: Et tu, Joe-ay?

Prime Time: Well, we’re not entirely sure on that front yet, but we are making some headway. It seems that this whole epidemic started around the same time as Matt Hardy began committing acts of epic cinematographic douchebaggery. This simply cannot be a coincidence.

Pringle: Fuck Matt Hardy.

Sheepster: He’s not really my type, but he’s not without his charms. Under the right circumstances, I think I could-

Zombies: Haters… Vee… One… LIVES…

Joey Shinobi: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Prime Time: Alright fellas, looks like we’re about to get real busy, so I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut this call short.

Morpheus: Loud and clear, Prime. Good luck, and we’ll see you in Springwood.

Shane: Aww, but I want to hear them get their asses kicked!

Pringle: It’s Crunch Time!

ChrisBear: I’ll never get bored of that.

Granddad Tommy: No mercy, lads.

Joey Shinobi: Let’s start our own little Zombie Holocaust, shall we?

Uncle Joe: Dude, that’s fucked up. Hustle’s Jewish.

Hustle: Damn.

Morpheus: Seriously, whichever one of you has my sword back there, just stab me in the eye. All the way through. Clean cut.

ChrisBear: Just sit tight. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Shane, I…

Shane: Shhh… I know. Go.

Granddad Tommy: I blame your mother.

Pringle: Prime, I think our ride’s just about here.

priest: Praise the Lord!

Chris ends the phone call and pockets the phone as the men look to the sky. An airplane can be seen approaching from the distance, but it is clear that it will be several minutes before it could provide an escape. Meanwhile, the growls and yells get louder as a new horde of Hardy Zombies begin to appear from around a nearby building.

priest: Hail Mary…

priest reaches into his coat and retrieves a grenade, pulling the pin and tossing it at the building in one fluid motion. The explosive arcs through the air before landing with a metallic sound in front of the advancing group of Zombies. The other men hit the pavement as the grenade explodes, killing and mutilating a dozen Zombies. As pieces of flesh, pavement, and shrapnel fly through the air, priest stands his ground and reaches inside his coat once more, retrieving the sawed-off shotgun.

priest: …Full of grace…

The other men pick themselves up off the ground and prepare themselves for the approaching Hardy Zombie horde.

Pringle: It’s Crunch Time!

ChrisBear: Ok, maybe I will.


The scene changes, and the camera shows the inside of the van back in Springwood.

Current Big Thing: Man, I hope they’re going to be alright.

Hustle: No worries, man. They’ll make it.

Mazza: It was an interesting phone call, for sure, and served as an excellent way to bring the two existing parties together to establish a rendezvous point. The ending was somewhat abrupt, though, and I would have preferred it last longer so we could hear more of what was going on over there.
Mazza Rating: B

YourAyatollah: Hang a left up here. We’re about a mile out from my place now.

Shane: I know the way.

YourAyatollah: I’m not sure I want to know how…

Uncle Joe: Yo, hit that White Castle first. I need me some sliders.

Morpheus: No time for love, Dr. Jones. We gotta press on if we’re going to make it through this mess.

Mazza: Nazi.

Uncle Joe: Dude, that’s fucked up. Hustle’s German.

Hustle: Damn.

Mazza: My bad.

Morpheus: I need like 57 Advil and a bottle of whiskey. Stat.

YourAyatollah: I hear you on the whiskey. I’ve got some at my place. I’ve got some tunes, too, so we can rock out to something other than NPR.

Hustle: Yeah, I’m not so sure I’m down with that idea.

Current Big Thing: Why not?

Hustle: Well, Steve’s taste in music is somewhat… Questionable.

YourAyatollah: What are you talking about? My taste in music is pretty righteous.

Hustle: Yeah, to you maybe, but it sure as hell ain’t my cup of tea.

YourAyatollah: What’s wrong with my music tastes?

Morpheus: Well, dude, you do like Prince…

YourAyatollah: It’s been five years and you’re still not over that?

Uncle Joe: Ain’t nothing wrong with a little Purple Rain.

Hustle: Yeah, Prince is actually pretty good compared to most of the shit he listens to.

YourAyatollah: Like what, man? Name some specifics.

Hustle: Well, for starters, name your favorite band.

Morpheus: Huss…

YourAyatollah: Easy. Metallica.

Hustle: I rest my case.

Morpheus: Oh shit…

YourAyatollah: What? What did you say? Please tell me you were not just insinuating something other than pure awesomeness about the greatest band in the history of music.

Hustle: Not insinuating. Stating.

YourAyatollah: Oh Fuck You! You have no grounds to criticize ANYTHING Metallica has ever written. It doesn’t take a whole lot of talent to make the kind of “music” you listen to, Hustle. You have some no-talent hack talking in poorly-pronounced rhymes over a beat that can be achieved by pressing a button on a kiddie Casio keyboard. You call that music.

Shane: Steve…

YourAyatollah: Any Forrest Gump motherfucker with more jewelry than brain matter can pick up a microphone, steal someone else’s music for a backdrop, and land themselves a record deal these days. It’s fucking pathetic.

Shane: Steve.

YourAyatollah: Metallica, on the other hand, has been writing, playing, recording and producing their own music for longer than you’ve been alive, son. What they do is original, flat out amazing, and has influenced an entire generation of musicians to follow in their musical footsteps. Without Metallica, the music we listen to today would be completely different than what it is.

Hustle: The music you listen to maybe…

YourAyatollah: Dude, you wanna go?

Shane: Steve!

YourAyatollah: What?!?!

Shane turns off the van and points at the house in front of them.

Shane: There’s someone in your house.


The scene changes to the interior of a car speeding down the interstate. Three men are inside having a conversation.

Sean_Taylor: Jesus Christ, how fucking far do we have left to go?

KMA_Jackson: Should only be another hour or so.

Sean_Taylor: It seems like we’ve been driving for days.

KMA_Jackson: The longest part was trying to get through Canadian customs. Once this whole Zombie shit happened, they locked the border down tight.

Mean Mark: Tight like Maryse’s ass.

Sean_Taylor: Yeah, but those fucking idiots didn’t pay attention to the fact that the outbreak was already running it’s course on both sides of the border. What good does it do to lock it down?

KMA_Jackson: At this point, I thin they’re just trying to cover their asses.

Mean Mark: I’d like to cover Maryse’s ass.

Sean_Taylor: I can’t believe this whole thing started because of that douchebag Matt Hardy.


Mean Mark: I’d like to fuck Maryse.

KMA_Jackson: So what the hell are we doing anyway? This epidemic is spreading everywhere. It’s not like we’re going to escape it by leaving Canada.

Sean_Taylor: I don’t want to escape it. I want to help put an end to it.

KMA_Jackson: And just how do you propose to do that?

Mean Mark: I’d like to propose to Maryse, too…

Sean_Taylor: I have a few ideas. But first, we have to get to Morpheus. I’m sure he’s got some folks together by now to fight the good fight.

KMA_Jackson: And how the hell are we supposed to find him in this mess?

Sean_Taylor: I just know where he is. I can’t explain it. When I focus on it, I can tell where he is, like I’m being pulled in that direction. It’s strange, but I can just feel it.

Mean Mark: I’d like to feel Maryse.

KMA_Jackson: That’s some Lord Rahl shit right there. I hope you know what you’re doing, Sean. No, I hope you know what we’re doing.

Mean Mark: I’d like to be doing Maryse.

Sean_Taylor: I do, man. Just keep driving. You’ll have to trust me on this one.

The camera pans to look forward out the front windshield of the car as they pass a sign on the roadside that says “Springwood – 46 miles.”


The scene changes to return to a view of the airfield. Eight men are leaning against the two cars catching their breath as the chartered jet lands and makes its way toward them. It stops about 50 feet from the cars, and the door at the front of the airplane opens. Stairs descend from the open doorway, and a lone figure appears silhouetted against the interior lights.

Prime Time: Alright, gents. Time to saddle up.

Pringle: It’s about damn time.

ChrisBear: Who is your friend anyway?

Prime Time: Oh, you’ll see soon enough.

The eight men start heading for the plane, and the lone man descends the steps to meet them at runway level. As he steps forward the lights from the aircraft illuminate his face for the first time.

DaveyBoy: Prime! Long time no see, mate? How have you been?

Prime Time: I’ve been better, Davey. It’s good to see your face though. Thanks for coming through with all this. We owe you one for sure.

DaveyBoy: No big shake, my friend. Glad to be of assistance. I see that you’ve got some folks with you, though a bit worse for wear.

Sheepster: Hi Davey!

DaveyBoy: G’Day Sheep!

fenixx: See, now he’s Australian. Why didn’t I end up entering with him?

ChrisBear: You’re almost as bad as Shee, you know that?

Davey: There’s only eight of you, though. I thought you said there’d be eleven.

Prime Time: Well, there was…

Pringle: We lost Davie and J-Boom to the Zombies.

priest: May God have mercy on their souls.

da_shee: Yeah, and we lost Joey Shinobi to Granddad Tommy over here.

Granddad Tommy: That was a bloody accident and you know it.

Pringle: You screamed out “Die, Chinky McJapName!” and cut off his head with your sword cane.

Granddad Tommy: Meh, tosser had it coming to him, what with all the old man jokes he was making. I had to set him straight.

ChrisBear: I’m sure he learned his lesson.

Prime Time: I think it’s high time those of us left here make our exit before more of those things show up to ruin our party.

DaveyBoy: I would agree. Let’s get this bird back in the sky where she belongs, shall we, gents?

DaveyBoy and Prime Time turn toward the airplane and begin ascending the stairs. Pringle, and da_shee follow them, with ChrisBear helping Granddad Tommy up the steps behind. Sheepster and fenixx watch as priest says one last prayer over the dead. Priest and fenixx then make their way up the stairs, leaving Sheepster standing alone on the runway.

Sheepster: Goodbye, fellas. It’s been a real scream.

Sheepster coughs, and rubs the side of his neck where he was cut in the previous fight. He looks down at his hand and sees some blood. He looks at it for a moment before wiping it on his pant leg. He inspects his hand again after wiping it clean, and then turns it over to inspect the back side.

Sheepster: Oh dear…

Sheepster’s eyes widen as he looks at the back of his hand. The camera comes around to show a full view of what Sheepster sees. Running along the back of his left hand is an elaborate Henna tattoo depicting scales of some sort, and the fingernails on his left hand are panted black.

Prime Time: Hey, Sheepster! We’re getting ready to take off! You coming?

Sheepster: On my way, boss!

Sheepster stuffs his left hand in his pocket and begins ascending the stairs.

Sheepster: Oh dear…

To Be Continued…

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