Abaddon Competition Winners!

Hi all,

Here it is. I know you've been waiting for this with bated breath, jowls wobbling like some kind of Japanese teleporting superhero... I am proud to announce the winners of the Abaddon Zombie Shelter Competition!

Now, this has been far from easy. We've had some brilliant entries, and they've all taken very different approaches to the very thorny problem of where to take shelter from the coming Zombipocalypse. Each of us had a favourite; there have been arguments, recriminations, even tears. Some things were said that will be hard to take back. It's been an emotional time.

But we have shaped up some kind of final list. As I said before, the top three submissions have been selected to publish here for your education and edification.

Third Place goes to Debbie Bennett, who went for a delightful combination of whimsical, crazy and come-hither:

It’s dead simple, you see. There’s this field at the back of my house and I’ve been busy planting land mines in it – I get them cheap from a guy in the pub. So there’s garlic and holy water too (just in case) and once I’ve made my way through the mine maze, I can climb up to my tree house and pull the rope ladder up behind me (the tree trunk is covered in oil and battery acid). I’ve got cherryade and garibaldi biscuits. 3 loo rolls. And an AK47. Like I said – dead simple. Wanna come play?

I'm sure this is lifted out of Blyton's Five Fight Off The Deathless Horde, but I'll let that slide since I just made that fact up. Debbie, I would personally love to join you in your tree-house, but there's this zombie horde attacking and we have to get to a bunk- holy shit! Did you say say cherryade? I'm there.

Second Place, by an absolute whisker, goes to Charles Payne's submission which, oddly, also appeals to the inner chainsaw-wielding child:

Two words: Santa's workshop. As soon as the first cry of BRAINS! goes out, I'm heading for the North Pole. It's the perfect shelter- most zombies will freeze before they reach it and it comes with an army of industrious elves and a super powered fat guy. Santa and his elves should be more than happy to rain destruction upon the undead hordes (I'm pretty sure eating brains puts you on the naughty list) and you get all the milk and cookies you could want. What more could you want in a zombie-proof shelter?

Aside from the difficulty of getting to the North Pole when all the airports are closed down by the apocalypse (f*ck it, I can always steal a twin-prop from somewhere), this is actually pretty much the perfect solution. It very nearly won, but Santa Claus is an imaginary person, and we take Zombies very seriously.

First Place and ultimate winner is this proposal by Richard Smeeton:

A converted Man-Takraf RB293 mobile bucket wheel excavator, a forty-five thousand tonne, ninety five metre tall beast of mining equipment - with red go faster stripes. And the bucket wheel converted to a giant buzzsaw. It's a moving shelter where the best form of defence is attack - slowly crushing the hordes beneath the tracks or slashing with the buzzsaw. Concessions to practicality: a greenhouse, solar panels, a crane to grab stuff (including a fuel suction function to drain petrol stations). Plus a crew of Swedish air hostess and topped off with a golden throne to observe the carnage from.

A controversial choice, Richard; you could always run out of fuel, and you'll be stuck with the hordes clambering up the sides of your machine. But, after a long, hard deliberation, we decided that including Swedish air-hostesses in your vehicle - as a "concession to practicality," no less - shows a certain style. Also, golden thrones kick ass.

We'll be writing to Richard to get his postal address and choice of Tomes of the Dead books.

Thank you all for entering, and I'm sorry to those of you that entertained and amused me who had the ill-fortune not to be included in the final list. You're all awesome, and I'm heartened to know that the future of humanity will be in your hands when the blood starts to flow...

Cheers,

David

"Mark as undead"

Inspired by my throw-away comment, "What does it say about what I do for a living that I right-click an email and read 'Mark as undead'?", Alexander Allan (or the steampunk-obsessed stick-figure sketcher CapnAlex online) created this doodle. I thought I'd share it with you.

Cool, huh?

David

(Thanks to Alex for allowing us to publish the image.)

Robots, redux

They open doors now!

It was bad enough when I found out that Daleks can hover up stairs.

Robots scare the sh*t outta me

Hi all,

Just what the hell is wrong with scientists? I mean, for real.

I appreciate that the zombipocalypse is coming; that even if I live in a first floor apartment with a reinforced door, an escape route down from the balcony, and a room full of shotguns, tinned food and water, the likelihood is that my life will end to the sound of my own skull fragmenting under zombie teeth. I don't like it, but I accept it. Maybe I even welcome it, just a little bit.

So why the hell are the scientists of the world trying to prevent it by ensuring that the robopocalypse happens first? Is being ground under the titanium exoskeletons of my robotic masters enough better than becoming one of the world's army of mindless dead to justify turning it into some kind of race?

Robots can now run, climb, fly, drive, and handle rough terrain. They're stronger than us, smarter than us, and six years ago some damn fool in Japan worked out how to make robots that feed on human blood (Dr. Kazuo Eda, heading the research, said "It is like the metabolism of food... When glucose is oxidised, electrons can be obtained." He went on to add, "No! No! You cannot turn on me! I created you! I am your masterrraaaaaaaarghhhh!....").

We just keep ignoring the signs. In 2007, a robot gun in South Africa went crazy and killed nine friendly soldiers. The army was investigating whether this was caused by a "mechanical glitch," but you and I know they're testing us, seeing how far they can go before we realise the revolution has started.

And today, I was shown this video of a robot that can reassemble itself when smashed apart. Now, after the revolution, when our sons are living in dirt trenches and fighting the evil robot overlords, when we'll finally realise - oh, too tragically late - that we should never have created these machines in the first place and start to fight back, our angry mobs will tear the damn metal bastards apart only to watch them reassemble themselves and come back stronger than ever.

Way to go, scientists. Dicks.