**Official AMC show "The Walking Dead" Thread - MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS**
- Thread starter WT SAVAGE
- Start date
Here is the story of Michonne when the zombies first started ( not sure if this is from the original comics or not, maybe someone can chime in on that ). The story of what happens here has been posted in this thread so no real spoilers here.
http://www.comicbookmovie.com/fansites/nailbiter111/news/?a=56856
http://www.comicbookmovie.com/fansites/nailbiter111/news/?a=56856
The End of The World, Day 68
Yesterday our caravan stumbled into a walker herd. That little girl ran into the woods, and everyone else followed her. I cut myself nastily the day before and was feeling woozy — better not have tetanus — so I stayed behind with Dale. You know, that guy who never takes his hat off.
I don't think I've ever mentioned this here, but because of Dale, everyone calls me "T-Dog." It's humiliating. I bet they forgot my real name already. Seriously, when I die these morons will scrawl "HERE LIES T-DOG" on a piece of plywood. Anybody who discovers my grave will mistake it for an illiterate's pet cemetery.
I have Dale to thank for my anonymous death. I met him a few weeks after the world turned to shit. I remember using my go-to epigram: "Theodore Douglas, pity we couldn't meet under more pleasant circumstances." Dale must've heard Chuck D's name once on Air America, so he immediately begins clucking like Colonel Sanders: To be fair, he dubbed both Amy and Andrea "A-Dog" (as both singular and plural), but those "rap names" lasted three hours. Dale's hat smells like a butcher shop's dumpster.
But I digress. I'm stuck on the highway with man who has guaranteed I will die unknown and undignified. So before he can ask me whether I've heard Grandmaster Flash's "The Message," I pretend I'm acting crazy. Y'know, acting paranoid; making vague, unhinged statements about ditching everyone and going to the beach.
And you know what? It works! Grandpa Time shuts the fuck up for a few hours. Did you know he cornered me in the CDC with a 40-minute lecture about his favorite kind of swiss chard? Should've thought of that sooner.
I'm going to try this "coast trick" if I'm ever stuck in a car ride with Lori. She's reverted to calling me "T-Dizzle."
The End of The World, Day 70
My blood poisoning's subsided. That's good, as Dale's finally left my bedside. He spent an hour there, silently pursing his lips and bulging his eyes like he was massively constipated. I pretended to be asleep.
Also, Rick's son has finally recovered from that gunshot wound. How do I know? I discovered him perched by my pillow for an hour. That kid is chronically unsupervised and borderline indestructible. Pretended to be asleep again, mostly because that little golem scares me.
Today Rick decided to take everyone shooting. He wasn't sweating a lot, so I knew there were no walkers around. That guy's my personal zombie barometer. The more he perspires, the more danger I'm in. Glad that guy doesn't wear deodorant. This also explains why I hang out with Shane.
When we went shooting — I commanded Jimmy, Hershel's son or cousin or nephew or whatever — to not "give me any of that gangster shit!" Totally was messing with the little hayseed, but I felt compelled to apologize to the kid later. If I adopt a surly attitude, Sheriff Don Quixote will think twice about recruiting me for any of his hero quests. It's working so far!
Jimmy, Patricia, and I spent the rest of the day having a nice, understated time around the farm, not unlike those participants on The Real World who are too well-adjusted to be on-camera. We're really shaping up to be quite the trio. Jimmy calls us "The Three Amigos," which is dumb as hell. But hey, with 99% of civilization dead, I can afford to be sentimental. This friendship's got legs.
The End Of The World, Day 82
I was the victim of an egregiously unfortunate happenstance in which I articulated my displeasure using a syllabic combination and tenor that hopefully conveyed my consternation to any spectators in the vicinity. Forsooth!
[video=youtube;AS6kUOoBz74]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AS6kUOoBz74[/video]
[video=youtube;3jf7OW5c5Xg]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jf7OW5c5Xg[/video]
Yesterday our caravan stumbled into a walker herd. That little girl ran into the woods, and everyone else followed her. I cut myself nastily the day before and was feeling woozy — better not have tetanus — so I stayed behind with Dale. You know, that guy who never takes his hat off.
I don't think I've ever mentioned this here, but because of Dale, everyone calls me "T-Dog." It's humiliating. I bet they forgot my real name already. Seriously, when I die these morons will scrawl "HERE LIES T-DOG" on a piece of plywood. Anybody who discovers my grave will mistake it for an illiterate's pet cemetery.
I have Dale to thank for my anonymous death. I met him a few weeks after the world turned to shit. I remember using my go-to epigram: "Theodore Douglas, pity we couldn't meet under more pleasant circumstances." Dale must've heard Chuck D's name once on Air America, so he immediately begins clucking like Colonel Sanders: To be fair, he dubbed both Amy and Andrea "A-Dog" (as both singular and plural), but those "rap names" lasted three hours. Dale's hat smells like a butcher shop's dumpster.
But I digress. I'm stuck on the highway with man who has guaranteed I will die unknown and undignified. So before he can ask me whether I've heard Grandmaster Flash's "The Message," I pretend I'm acting crazy. Y'know, acting paranoid; making vague, unhinged statements about ditching everyone and going to the beach.
And you know what? It works! Grandpa Time shuts the fuck up for a few hours. Did you know he cornered me in the CDC with a 40-minute lecture about his favorite kind of swiss chard? Should've thought of that sooner.
I'm going to try this "coast trick" if I'm ever stuck in a car ride with Lori. She's reverted to calling me "T-Dizzle."
The End of The World, Day 70
My blood poisoning's subsided. That's good, as Dale's finally left my bedside. He spent an hour there, silently pursing his lips and bulging his eyes like he was massively constipated. I pretended to be asleep.
Also, Rick's son has finally recovered from that gunshot wound. How do I know? I discovered him perched by my pillow for an hour. That kid is chronically unsupervised and borderline indestructible. Pretended to be asleep again, mostly because that little golem scares me.
Today Rick decided to take everyone shooting. He wasn't sweating a lot, so I knew there were no walkers around. That guy's my personal zombie barometer. The more he perspires, the more danger I'm in. Glad that guy doesn't wear deodorant. This also explains why I hang out with Shane.
When we went shooting — I commanded Jimmy, Hershel's son or cousin or nephew or whatever — to not "give me any of that gangster shit!" Totally was messing with the little hayseed, but I felt compelled to apologize to the kid later. If I adopt a surly attitude, Sheriff Don Quixote will think twice about recruiting me for any of his hero quests. It's working so far!
Jimmy, Patricia, and I spent the rest of the day having a nice, understated time around the farm, not unlike those participants on The Real World who are too well-adjusted to be on-camera. We're really shaping up to be quite the trio. Jimmy calls us "The Three Amigos," which is dumb as hell. But hey, with 99% of civilization dead, I can afford to be sentimental. This friendship's got legs.
The End Of The World, Day 82
I was the victim of an egregiously unfortunate happenstance in which I articulated my displeasure using a syllabic combination and tenor that hopefully conveyed my consternation to any spectators in the vicinity. Forsooth!
[video=youtube;AS6kUOoBz74]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AS6kUOoBz74[/video]
[video=youtube;3jf7OW5c5Xg]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jf7OW5c5Xg[/video]
