The Wheezing Dead
If I had it to do over again, I'd spend less time at the shooting range and more at the gym.
You gotta remember, we all thought physical activity was obsolete. Everybody was sure that when the corpse-flesh hit the fan, all you'd need to get through it would be a massive arsenal of weapons. Maybe some kind of compound, with lots of dripping pipes and bare lightbulbs. And goggles, for some reason. Goggles seemed essential.
Turns out a modicum of cardiovascular fitness would have been vastly more useful than proficiency with a throwing star. But, I mean, running, right? How boring can you get? If I'd known that the post-apocalyptic world was going to be so full of running, I wouldn't have even bothered trying to survive.
But that's all academic now that you've caught me. Listen, before you eat me, could you pull that throwing star out of your neck and leave it on the ground? I told my buddy Tyler he could have it after I died. Not that it'll do him much good.