THE ZOM ZOM CHRONICLES chapter 2 ( I Am MacGyver (If MacGyver Cried a Lot and Used Scotch Tape )

December 9, 2025

Here is Chapter 2, followed by the "Rules for Survival," and finally, the character profile for the infamous Mister Whiskers.

THE ZOM ZOM CHRONICLES

Post Title: I Am MacGyver (If MacGyver Cried a Lot and Used Scotch Tape)

Date: Tuesday, Late Afternoon

Mood: Resourceful? Delusional.

Current Status: Still in the closet, but now armed.

Okay, update time.

I’ve been in this janitorial closet for three hours. The screaming outside has stopped, which is somehow worse than the screaming. Now, it’s just the ambient noise of the apocalypse: distant car alarms, a helicopter that sounds like it’s broken, and the occasional Zom. Zom. Zom. from the hallway.

I realized pretty quickly that a bottle of bleach is a terrible weapon. Best-case scenario, I ruin Gary’s polo shirt. Worst case, I blind myself in a confined space.

I need a weapon. A zombie-slaying instrument of destruction.

Unfortunately, I am in an office supply closet. I don’t have a katana. I have a box of highlighter pens and a mop bucket.

The Inventory

I dumped my backpack and scanned the shelves. Here is what I’m working with:

A mop handle (wooden, splintery).
A heavy-duty stapler (the kind that can go through 50 pages).
Duct tape (The holy grail!).
A box of paperclips.
A "Hang In There!" cat poster (Irony noted).
My laptop charger.

The Creation: "The Ex-Calibur"

I decided to go for reach. You don’t want a Zom Zom close enough to breathe on you. Their breath smells like raw meat and expired dairy.

Step 1: I took the mop handle.

Step 2: I found a pair of rusty scissors on the bottom shelf.

Step 3: Using an ungodly amount of duct tape, I affixed the scissors to the end of the mop handle. Open. Pointy side out.

It looked... pathetic. It looked like a spear designed by a toddler.

**To add "weight" and "stopping power," I taped the heavy-duty stapler to the other end of the stick. It’s a counter-balance. Or a bludgeon. Mostly, it just makes the stick really heavy.**

I call it The Ex-Calibur.

I did a few practice swings.

Swing 1: I hit a shelf and knocked over a gallon of floor wax.
Swing 2: The scissors wiggled ominously.
Swing 3: I almost dislocated my shoulder.

It’s perfect.

Now, I just have to open the door.

SIDEBAR: RULES FOR SURVIVING THE ZOM ZOMS

(A Draft for tomorrow's post, assuming I live)

**Since nobody knows why this is happening, we have to make up the rules as we go. Based on my observations of Gary and Mrs. Higgins, here is the working list:**

Cardio is King, but Parkour is for Show-offs: Just run. Don’t try to vault a fence unless you know you can land it. A twisted ankle is a dinner bell.
The "Zom" Rhythm: If you hear the rhythm (chew, chew, chew), you have approx. 4 seconds before visual contact. Use them.
Silence Your Phone: I swear to god, if I die because a telemarketer calls me about my car’s extended warranty, I will haunt that call center forever.
Avoid "The Zone": The Zom Zoms seem to drift toward places with high foot traffic. Avoid coffee shops, gyms, and the DMV. (Actually, avoid the DMV anyway).
Double Tap? No, Double Whack: One hit with The Ex-Calibur won't cut it. You have to knock them down, then run. We aren't aiming for kills yet; we are aiming for "not eaten."
Trust No One in a Polo Shirt: This is specific to Gary, but I’m keeping it.

CHARACTER PROFILE: MISTER WHISKERS

Name: Mister Whiskers (Full Name: Sir Whiskers of the Abyss)

Species: Feline (Allegedly)

Breed: 50% Ragdoll, 50% Demon

Age: Timeless

Appearance: A fluffy, white cloud of fur with eyes that are two different colors—one blue, one the color of a fresh bruise.

Personality Traits:

Aloof: He watches me cry and simply licks his paw.
Calculating: I have seen him open doors. Round doorknobs.
Vocal: He doesn't meow. He makes a sound like a disgruntled old man clearing his throat.

Why I Suspect Him:

Three days ago, Mister Whiskers sat on the kitchen counter and stared at the wall for four hours. He wasn't sleeping. He was waiting.

Also, when the outbreak started, where was he? He wasn't under the bed. He wasn't in his cat tree. He was gone.

Theory:

Mister Whiskers is Patient Zero. Or he is the Cure. Or he summoned them.

I miss him. If I get back to my apartment and he’s leading a Zom Zom army from atop the refrigerator, I won't even be surprised. I’ll just open a can of tuna and accept my new overlord.

Status Update: The floor wax is seeping under the door. It smells like lemons and chemical burns. Someone is walking down the hall. They aren't doing the Zom rhythm. They are... whistling?

I’m grabbing The Ex-Calibur.

Wish me luck.

COMMENTS (2)

Garys Wife: That sounds like Gary's whistling! He loves whistling! Please tell him to come home!

BladeMaster99: Duct tape on a mop? Amateur. You need to raid a hardware store. Find a nail gun.

Back to blog

Here is Chapter 2, followed by the "Rules for Survival," and finally, the character profile for the infamous Mister Whiskers.

THE ZOM ZOM CHRONICLES

Post Title: I Am MacGyver (If MacGyver Cried a Lot and Used Scotch Tape)

Date: Tuesday, Late Afternoon

Mood: Resourceful? Delusional.

Current Status: Still in the closet, but now armed.

Okay, update time.

I realized pretty quickly that a bottle of bleach is a terrible weapon. Best-case scenario, I ruin Gary’s polo shirt. Worst case, I blind myself in a confined space.

I need a weapon. A zombie-slaying instrument of destruction.

Unfortunately, I am in an office supply closet. I don’t have a katana. I have a box of highlighter pens and a mop bucket.

The Inventory

I dumped my backpack and scanned the shelves. Here is what I’m working with:

A mop handle (wooden, splintery).

A heavy-duty stapler (the kind that can go through 50 pages).

Duct tape (The holy grail!).

A box of paperclips.

A "Hang In There!" cat poster (Irony noted).

My laptop charger.

The Creation: "The Ex-Calibur"

I decided to go for reach. You don’t want a Zom Zom close enough to breathe on you. Their breath smells like raw meat and expired dairy.

Step 1: I took the mop handle.

Step 2: I found a pair of rusty scissors on the bottom shelf.

Step 3: Using an ungodly amount of duct tape, I affixed the scissors to the end of the mop handle. Open. Pointy side out.

It looked... pathetic. It looked like a spear designed by a toddler.

To add "weight" and "stopping power," I taped the heavy-duty stapler to the other end of the stick. It’s a counter-balance. Or a bludgeon. Mostly, it just makes the stick really heavy.

I call it The Ex-Calibur.

I did a few practice swings.

Swing 1: I hit a shelf and knocked over a gallon of floor wax.

Swing 2: The scissors wiggled ominously.

Swing 3: I almost dislocated my shoulder.

It’s perfect.

Now, I just have to open the door.

SIDEBAR: RULES FOR SURVIVING THE ZOM ZOMS

(A Draft for tomorrow's post, assuming I live)

Since nobody knows why this is happening, we have to make up the rules as we go. Based on my observations of Gary and Mrs. Higgins, here is the working list:

Cardio is King, but Parkour is for Show-offs: Just run. Don’t try to vault a fence unless you know you can land it. A twisted ankle is a dinner bell.

The "Zom" Rhythm: If you hear the rhythm (chew, chew, chew), you have approx. 4 seconds before visual contact. Use them.

Silence Your Phone: I swear to god, if I die because a telemarketer calls me about my car’s extended warranty, I will haunt that call center forever.

Avoid "The Zone": The Zom Zoms seem to drift toward places with high foot traffic. Avoid coffee shops, gyms, and the DMV. (Actually, avoid the DMV anyway).

Double Tap? No, Double Whack: One hit with The Ex-Calibur won't cut it. You have to knock them down, then run. We aren't aiming for kills yet; we are aiming for "not eaten."

Trust No One in a Polo Shirt: This is specific to Gary, but I’m keeping it.