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<p><img src="https://s1.postimg.org/8j6tknq8gf/Upside_Down_Earth.png" width="806" height="800"/></p>
<p>In this episode, our voluntaryist hero fends off evil zombies at the impound lot and on the ironically named freeway. </p>
<p>So I’m waiting for my girlfriend to pick me up across the street from a building full of cages that’s run by a coercive cult called government, also known as jail. I just got out of one of those cages. You might remember from my last little episode that I was <em><strong>caged for drinking a beer on the beach.<br>
</strong></em></p>
<p>My beautiful, wondrous girlfriend pulls up in her nondescript ride, “This is the last time I’m picking you up from your cage.”<br>
</p>
<p>I grin, “You say that every time. Hard not to get caged in Evil Zombieland, <em><strong>at least if you have the huevos to throw the wrench of morality into the system of immorality.”<br>
</strong></em></p>
<p><em><strong>We drive off and head for a place where the local mafia holds cars for ransom, aka the impound lot. </strong></em> <br>
</p>
<p>Yes, here in Evil Zombieland, immorality is at such a fever pitch that cars are stolen and held for ransom constantly, and the thieves never face repercussions. I kiss my girl adios and head in.<br>
</p>
<p>A scheisty looking character with slicked back hair and ignorance-spouting eyes gives me a malevolent look as I approach.<br>
</p>
<p>“I’m here to recover a stolen vehicle,” I say straight faced. <br>
His face twitches. “We don’t have any stolen cars here, pal.”<br>
</p>
<p>I remind myself that no friend or pal will ever call you friend or pal. <em><strong>“My car was taken without my permission while I was locked up in a cage by a psychopathic dupe wearing a blue costume and a star an esoteric symbol on his chest.”<br>
</strong></em></p>
<p>He giggles, “I don’t quite get all you said, but you think your car is here?”<br>
I wonder if he’s ever read a book, “I know my car is here.”<br>
</p>
<p>“What’s it look like?”<br>
“Mediocre, light blue, four doors, a couple scratches.”<br>
</p>
<p>“You just described half the cars here.”<br>
“With an anarchy sticker on the back.”<br>
</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah, now I got it. I’ll need your name and social security number so we can get the release papers going.”<br>
</p>
<p>I cringe, “Oh, you mean my name and my slave number? The number I was given at birth and which I had no say in getting and that’s used to track me my entire life?”<br>
</p>
<p>He gives a knowing and smug smile, “That’s the one.”<br>
After signing enough papers to make a new forest, the final punch to the face comes, “That’ll be 857 dollars and 28 cents.”<br>
</p>
<p><em>Who does this math? Why do paper pushers come up with such oddball numbers for prices all the time? </em></p>
<p>“Do you take bitcoin?”<br>
“We don’t eat money round here.”<br>
</p>
<p>I almost choke because he was serious. “Steem dollars?”<br>
He gets exponentially more puzzled, “Who the hell would iron their money?” <br>
</p>
<p>Before I can get to another cryptocurrency, he stops me, “Look, we take credit, debit, and cash. American dollars only. What planet are you from, anyway?”<br>
</p>
<p>Could this guy get any deeper into the matrix of ignorance? I sigh and hand him my evil bank card. “Do you ever feel guilty about extorting people?”<br>
</p>
<p>His crusty lips twist, “I’m not extorting you.” <br>
“If I take my car right now, without paying you, what will happen.”<br>
</p>
<p>“I’ll shoot you.”<br>
“You’ll shoot me?!!”<br>
</p>
<p>After an awkward pause, I continue, <em><strong>“So that’s extortion. You’re coercing me into giving you money. Just to get my car back, which was stolen from me in the first place.”<br>
</strong></em></p>
<p>“Your car wasn’t stolen, it was towed.”<br>
</p>
<p>I facepalm. “Another dark euphemism. <em><strong>My car was taken from me against my will and without my permission. It was stolen!”</strong></em> “Hey buddy, I just work here.”<br>
</p>
<p>I bark, “Just gimme the damn keys!”<br>
</p>
<p>A few minutes later and I’m cranking up the old beast, relieved that my latest brush with the matrix mafia is over. I crank up some tunes and head onto the freeway.<br>
</p>
<p>As I’m enjoying the sun and admiring the hazy mountains over yonder, I hear and feel a “PLUNK!”. My heart jumps in my throat. I seethe, <em><strong>“All the trillions of extorted dollars and the mafia can’t even keep the roads free of potholes!”</strong></em><br>
</p>
<p>Then the car starts to do its own thing. I’m no longer in control. A flat tire gets me stopped in the slow lane and gets my hands melded to the steering wheel. <br>
</p>
<p>I step out into traffic and take a glance at the damage. Slicing a tire with a machete couldn’t get it any flatter. I manage to get it precariously placed on the ultra-narrow shoulder. <br>
</p>
<p>I pop the trunk and grab the gear to get a donut in place. As I’m sweating my face off under the car trying to get the jack in place, I hear the unmistakable blare of sirens. A <em><strong>bully in blue</strong></em> pulls up behind me. I double facepalm. </p>
<p>The bully in blue nonchalantly strides up behind me, “Hey, you’re too close to oncoming traffic. Ya gotta move farther onto the shoulder.”<br>
</p>
<p><em><strong>Extortion money hard at work</strong></em>. Offer to help? Nope, not this coward. I wipe sweat off my brow and glance at the forbidding concrete barrier about two centimeters to the right of my car that is stubbornly guarding the precious space beyond. </p>
<p>“That’s a great joke!” I yell. “Oh my God, a donut truck just zoomed by! Get him!”<br>
“Are you antagonizing me?” he huffs.<br>
</p>
<p>“No, sir. I would never do that to anyone funded by extortion. However, in all seriousness, you might want to look into an eye exam.”<br>
</p>
<p>His face twists, “That was a horrible pun attempt!”<br>
</p>
<p>“Ok, I’ll give ya that. I wasn’t trying to make a pun. Anyway, the point I’d like to make is that there is no room for me to move onto the shoulder anymore! Ants would struggle to squeeze any tighter! I’ll be done changing the tire faster than you can say mind-controlled stooge!”<br>
</p>
<p>He crosses his arms and grins ear to ear, “That’s not good enough. I need you to move it now!”<br>
I blow steam out my ears, “Your car is closer to oncoming traffic than me.”<br>
</p>
<p>He continues to get his jollies off, “We’re not talking about my car. We’re talkin about your car. Now move it, or I’ll have no choice but to take you in.”<br>
</p>
<p>“You’re joking.”<br>
“Ok, that’s it, you’re failing to comply with an officer of the law. Let’s go!” he belches as he runs to tackle me.<br>
</p>
<p>I scream, “I’m done with the tire! I can move it!”<br>
“Too late, smart ass. Tell it to the judge.”<br>
</p>
<p><em><strong>“You mean the guy in a funny gown that robs people and throws them in cages?”<br>
</strong></em></p>
<p>So now I’m sitting in a cage again, waiting to be set free. I’m sure the Steemit community will appreciate the story of my plight. Thank God for that twinkle of hope in Evil Zombieland. <br>
</p>
<p><em><strong>Thanks for your time and attention!</strong></em></p>
<p>Top image is from wikimedia commons. </p>
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