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"No More Room in Hell? Then Come to DBU!"

BY WILL SUFFICE

After this glorious, emotional, and exciting Easter weekend, when we reflected on the life of our Lord who was crucified and buried and then rose from the dead on the third day, we all have this one daunting question that continues to linger in our minds:

What if zombies attack DBU? (insert lame joke about an elderly professor here)

Hear me out. What if an engineering experiment goes wrong at UTA, sending an air-born parasite through North Texas that gives freshly dead corpses an unquenchable bloodlust for pale-skinned virgins?

Or, what if there really is no more room in hell? I mean, if God is conscientious of our safety, he, like any good Fire Marshal, would naturally put an occupancy limit on an enclosed location. Perhaps God is having problems finding contractors to renovate and expand the current hell. Who knows, but for the sake of discussion, let’s just say that the living dead walk the earth and it could either be God’s fault or the fault of two non-English speaking graduate students from Taiwan at UTA. Either way, we’re screwed.

I would most be worried about the lack of defensive elements we would have to protect us. We have a wrought iron fence…with only one working gate. We have a guard shack that looks about as sturdy as Chaplin’s hideaway in Gold Rush. I think the clock tower is closed off ever since some psycho took advantage of his tower access privilege in the 1970s in Austin. We do have a long, winding road that leads up to the campus, but too bad Paul McCartney sucks. (Yeah, I said the Beatles suck. Thanks for freezing rock’n’roll for forty years, morons. And Wings, too. They suck. And then there’s Ringo. Come on, Cavemen? Gimme a break. I’ll take Abba any day before those British Buddy Holly wannabes.)

Yet I digress. How are we going to keep the zombies from the untainted blood of our virgins?

No, Mr. Hormonal Biblical Studies Major, de-virginizing them is not an option. Pervert.

Weapons are forbidden on campus, and the cafeteria sporks and splinter-thin coffee stirrers probably won’t do much good in trying to take a zombie’s head off. Plus, I don’t think we can count on our fallen heroes next door to come to our rescue…I don’t think the dead have any sense of patriotism. There will be some who run to the Gaston Chapel to pray, but, really, we all remember the church scene in 28 Days Later. Some may barge into the President’s home, but, believe me, Dr. Cook probably has a special underground lair for such a circumstance, and he isn’t letting anybody in (though I did hear that the lake by his house has a secret underwater cave entrance that leads to it).

What would I do? DBU’s University Writing Center, my friend. Underneath the library, four walls of solid cement, no windows, a couch in case we have to repopulate the earth (Patience, Mr. Hormonal Biblical Studies Major. Patience.), survival/first aid supplies, and a new comment box in case the zombies have any questions or complaints. See? The Writing Center could be the best friend you ever had.

(Wow, that was really something. This Will Suffice guy sure is weird. This is an open invitation for the afore-mentioned hormonal Biblical Studies major to email dbusnipe@yahoo.com and defend himself.)