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sad.”
    â€œOh, I’m
so
sorry, I didn’t know.” I looked down at the zombies. “You hear that? You’re getting in the way of casserole!”
    The zombies moaned. Ben laughed. We waited for the police to arrive.
    All in all, just part of a day’s work.

There seems to be some confusion among my readership as to the exact nature of this blog, which is kept separate from my front-page articles and published under the “Ben Ross” byline, rather than the more formal “Benjamin A. Ross.” Because I do not care for confusion—it’s messy, and detracts from the news, which is after all, why we’re all here—I thought I’d take a few moments to explain the way things work around here.
    This is my op-ed blog. Items posted here will generally be factually accurate, to the best of my knowledge: I say “generally” because I will sometimes resort to hyperbole, humorous exaggeration, and swearing in an inappropriate manner. This is where I go to remind you that I’m human; that I have opinions of my own; that I will, for lack of a better way to describe things, sometimes fuck up. I’m a person, not just an amiable robot who reports the news.
    To those critics who have attempted to use quotes from this blog to prove me intellectually dishonest: Please know that there is nothing wrong with you that being raised by my mama wouldn’t have cured before you graduated from the third grade. Now shoo. Adults are talking.
    â€”From
That Isn’t Johnny Anymore
, the blog of Ben Ross,
September 3, 2039

    The process of becoming a naturalized American citizen is
fascinating
. I would’ve done it years ago if I’d understood how many hoops there would be for me to jump through, most of which were incredibly fun, in that “how did you people ever go from colony to country, much less world power?” sort of a way. I mean, not to teach my grandmother’s distant cousins to suck eggs, but I rather think we could have figured out a less inefficient system in twenty minutes with a dry-erase board. While drunk out of our minds on very, very cheap whiskey.
    Very cheap. Aged in a toilet bowl.
    But yes: As of today I, Aislinn North, am a fully verified citizen of the United States of America, subject to all the rules, regulations, rights, and other things beginning with the letter “r” that this nation guarantees to its citizens. I am also eligible for a divorce if I want one (and I’ll have to want one eventually: While I love my husband dearly, and our marriage was absolutely legitimate and will not invoke the wrath of the INS, he wants children and I do not). Hear that girls? Benny-boy will be back on the market as soon as I meet one of you that he thinks is worth all that paperwork. The line forms at the back door. Don’t push.
    â€”From
Erin Go Blog
, the blog of Ash North, September 14, 2037

Two
    I t took over two hours for the good people of the Contra Costa County Sheriff’s Department to organize a police response, get us down from the statue, put us through a thorough decontamination process, take our statements, put us through
another
thorough decontamination process when Ben reminded them that he’d been inside the funeral home before the zombies showed up, refuse to cancel decontamination number two when I pointed out the fact that he’d needed a blood test to get out of the place and I had never gone inside to begin with, refuse to answer our questions, and finally tell us we were free to go.
    They did not give us a ride back to our car. That would have been too much like being decent human beings, which was apparently not a part of their mission statement. The sun was long since down by the time we reached the antechamber of the long-term parking garage near the funeral home.
    Ben paid the taxi while I paid the ticket machine, verifying the credit card with yet another blood test. There had been some issues