Everyone Un-Died + My Gardener Bit Me: The Oral History of the Zombie Apocalypse

Buck Flagg, Douche Bagg

Buck Flagg, 35

Investor

Can you tell us the secret of your success?

There's no secret. I do what every good investor does: I look to buy undervalued assets and commodities and then shove them up your ass with my un-lubed fist until you scream for mercy.

Well, that's, um, vivid. And I, assume, metaphorical.

No shit, Sherlock. Except for that one time I invested in a dildo company.

What what it called?

Equifax.

Rimshot!

Fuck you.

Sorry. So what made you decide to get into toast futures?

It wasn't really on my radar until that fuckwit — Banana Bread or whatever —

His name was Banyan Bradford.

Like I give a wet fart. The point is that he discovered that toast was the key to keeping the zombies under control. And I realized, before anyone else did, what an incredible investment opportunity that was. So I bought up all the toast futures and jacked up the price into the fucking stratosphere. What used to cost, roughly, a few a quarter per slice was now costs, roughly, every fucking cent you have or the zombies will kill you and everyone you care about.

That's very shrewd of you, but you can't really call it investing, can you?

What else would you call it?

Extortion? Economic arson? Fiduciary rape?

I'm good with all of that.

You are?

Sure, whatever. I'm not going to get bogged down in fucking semantics. I'm just going to do my job.

But I really don't understand the point of your job, other than to make money.

You just answered your own question, jizz-face.

And who does that help, exactly?

It helps me, exactly. For instance, thanks to the money I made from Bananarama Ding Dong, or whatever the fuck, I was able to spend two million dollars at auction to buy Jimi Hendrix's Woodstock Stratocaster.

OK, I have to admit, that's super-cool.

You want to see it?

Absolutely!

Well, you can't. I smashed it into a thousand pieces.

On purpose?

Of course.

Why would you do that? It's irreplaceable!

Yup. Now nobody can have it. It's gone forever and there's nothing anyone can fucking do about it.

Jesus. You have the temperament of a serial killer.

Don't be a retard. I'm nothing like my serial killer friends. You know why? Because most of them want to be liked. Mostly because it makes their job easier. Hard to lure someone into your basement torture chamber if you seem like an asshole. But me? I truly don't care what people think. You don't want to come to my torture chamber, don't come to my torture chamber.

Um... I assume you're talking about a metaphorical torture chamber.

Assume whatever you want. It's no skin off my dick.

All right, I'm going to put a pin in the whole "serial killer friends" thing for a bit, but I want to dig a little deeper into your business model. Because the whole idea of capitalism is that it benefits society as a whole by harnessing self-interest to encourage innovation and invention. But you don't do any of that.

Look, I could build a better mousetrap, but it's so much easier — and rewarding — to buy an existing mousetrap company, liquidate its assets, lay off the employees and use it to leverage the purchase of another company. Rinse, repeat, go fuck yourself.

My Silicon God! How did you get this way?

I'm not exactly sure. I suspect that it has to do with my face. There's something about it that makes even people I've never met before want to take a swing at me.

You are supremely punchable.

Ha! That's what my Mom used to say!

When was that?

When she was punching me.

I see.

For a while, I tried to fight it, tried to look friendly. I tried smiling a lot, which just creeped everybody out. Then I tried eye contact which people described as "soul-chilling." I tried different angles of eyebrows, which I hoped would make me seem sympathetic, but that apparently made me look like a pedophile. So ultimately I decided to just lean into it. You hate me? Fine. But you all made me this way.

Are we really supposed to feel bad for you?

No. As far as I'm concerned you and all lick my gold-plated taint.

Charming. So let's talk about what happened at the zombie refuge. What went through your mind when you heard that, thanks to you, Banyan Bradford was bitten by a zombie?

My initial reaction was, "Ha ha ha ha ha ha! That's fucking classic!" But now with the benefit hindsight, I have to admit... it still makes me laugh.

No remorse?

I'm kind of sorry that I wasn't to see the look on Banana Hammock's face when he got what he deserved, if that's what you mean.

It's not. And come on, he was just just trying to help!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Piss me a river. But come on, deep down don't you take at least some satisfaction watching a do-gooder shit the bed?

Well... I mean... Look, I'm not the one on trial here! Anyway... what is your next move?

I'm bullish on razor wire. Now that nobody can afford toast, they'll need more of it than ever and believe me, it won't come cheap. Also, there's a possible play in the flamethrower fuel sector. Pretty sure I could make a killing there. But the one I'm most excited about? Buying the company that's working on the zombie cure.

Oh, I get it. You're going to charge an arm and a leg for the cure?

Now you're catching on! But it's even better than it seems.

Really? Even better than making everyone destitute to pay for the cure?

Yes! Because a lot of people will not be able to afford the cure at all, which means there will always be more people who turn into zombies and need to buy the cure! How great is that?

That reminds me. I was going to circle back to the topic of why you have serial killer friends, but it makes complete sense now.

Hey, I'm just a businessman, living the American dream.

Have you stopped to think that what you're planning will be extraordinarily bad for everyone — including you! —in the long run?

What is this? The nineteen fifties? Who thinks about the long run anymore?

But what you want to do could literally destroy the human race.

I'm just looking to make as much I can, as fast as I can. And if in the course of doing business I happen to destroy humanity, well, that's not really my concern. Now, if you'll excuse me, I just bought buy James Bond's car from Goldfinger for four million bucks and I'm going to push it over a cliff.