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Announcer: This is W, A, K, E, back on the air after a temporary delay… (pause; the shuffling of paper) This is Day Three of "The Country In Crisis," and with us this morning we have Captain Tim Roman, of the State National Guard. Good morning, Captain.

Roman: Mornin'.

Announcer: We understand that you and your unit have been out trying to help round up the… the "people"… who've been…

Roman: For the past two days, me and my men have been runnin' down these things and puttin' 'em out of their misery, yeah.

Announcer: Our listeners may not be familiar with how to handle these people when they come across them. Can you offer them any advice?

Roman: Yeah: Shoot first and ask questions later. That's the best advice I can give 'em.

Announcer: Could you tell our listeners exactly what you've been doing the past few days?

Roman: Sure. Sunday mornin', we got orders to check out a report of a group of people stormin' an old folks' home. We went in in jeeps, with flamethrowers and mini-guns, and we put a stop to it.

Announcer: And these were the "living dead," as they've been called…?

Roman: They was livin' when we got there…

Announcer: What did you find when you got there?

Roman: They had the place surrounded, and they were tryin' to get in. The old folks had the doors and windows blocked off so they couldn't get in. We just mowed 'em down and put the heat to 'em. They went up like kindlin'. Then we put 'em in a pile and doused what was left of 'em with gasoline and burned 'em to ashes. End of story.

Announcer: And that was Sunday?

Roman: Sunday mornin', right.

Announcer: And then what did you do?

Roman: We cleared out a housin' project. There was a buncha assholes hidin' their dead relatives in the basement of this buildin' and we just went in and cleared 'em out. On that one, we had some help from some of the local SWAT teams. We lost a couple of men on that one…

Announcer: Any idea how many?

Roman: Twelve. Twelve men dead, just because a buncha lowlifes wanted to sleep with their dead relatives. Buncha fuckin' necrofellas, you ask me.

Announcer: Necropheliacs?

Roman: Whatever. Anyway, like I was sayin', these sons o' bitches had these dead bodies down in the basement and in the boiler room and we go in and these things just start bustin' outta these rooms and they're in the halls and they're grabbin' and bitin' everybody they can get their damn hands on, and we start tryin' to clear out our guys so we can torch the fuckin' place, and these fuckin' lowlifes, they start tryin' to stop us and the next thing we know, our guys're gettin' shot by these fuckin' lowlifes! So I tell my guys: "Let 'em have it!" and we start blastin' them, too, and the next thing we know, we got us a goddamn "Remember the Alamo!" thing goin' and these fuckin' lowlifes're shootin' at us! And the whole time, these fuckin' stiffs're tearin' everybody they can get a hold of a new asshole. So I tell my guys to pull back, but the fuckin' cops don't wanna pull back: they wanna clear this place out. I'm tryin' to coordinate a fuckin' withdrawal so we can put it to the torch, and these fuckin' cops keep runnin' in!

Announcer: Incredible…

Roman: You're fuckin' right, it was incredible. So I tell my guys to bayonet anybody who gets in their fuckin' way. They're guttin' these lowlifes and these fuckin' stiffs and the cops're runnin' around like a buncha fuckin' girls, screamin' (falsetto): "No, stop, you can't do that!" And I tell my guys if one of them pansy-ass cops gets in their way, gut the motherfucker.

Announcer: Amazing…

Roman: Ain't it? So, yeah, we ended up losin' twelve guys. (lower) Sons of bitches…

Announcer: What happened next?

Roman: Well, we got a call about a buncha these stiffs attackin' a damn shoppin' mall- a plaza, one of them outdoor malls or whatever. It was gettin' dark by this time, so we go in and all the streetlights're out, somebody's done shot out all the streetlights so they can loot the fuckin' place, I guess, so we have to use flares and, sure as shit, there they are, a hundred of these stiffs, and they're eatin' all these dead bodies out in the fuckin' parkin' lot -shoppers, I guess-, like a buncha fuckin' folks at a goddamn Sunday barbecue or somethin'. We lit their ass up! That one we really enjoyed. Like shootin' fish in a fuckin' barrel.

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