Why You Should all Come to my House in the Event of a Zombie Apocalypse (Unless you're a Zombie - then stay away)

I've been thinking a lot recently about the zombie apocalypse.  I don't know why, but I've had zombie related dreams three out of the past four nights.  Perhaps it has something to with a habit I've developed of playing zombie related flash games as I'm getting ready to go to sleep?  Nah.

For example, last night I had this insane dream where our first babysitter (who in retrospect sort of looked like a dawn of the dead zombie) was all crazy obsessed with Sammy, but not in a good way, like "I want him forever" kind of way.  And when we told her she couldn't work with us anymore, we were at this playground with a bathroom stall.  She got all sad and circled around the playground, entered the bathroom stall, and came out.  She went around again, and entered the stall, but this time, when she came out, there were two instances of her.  Like the stall was some evil version of Calvin's Duplicator from "Scientific Progress Goes 'Boink'".  And in like, three minutes, there were fifty of her, all zombie-like and crazy.  Then, I woke up from my dream and realized the power went out in the house.  I looked out the window to see if other houses had their power off, and it was storming.  The zombie babysitter was standing in the middle of our backyard pointing at me.

Yeah, it was like this.

Then I woke up again to the alarm clock.  I wasn't sure if this was reality yet, so I waited (please note: I said "waited", not "hid") about ten minutes before wrenching myself out of bed to go shower, aka walk down the dark hallway to the REALLY dark part of the house.

Moral of the story?  Always add an ethicator to perfect your duplicator.

Ok, moving on.  I'll sit at nighttime sometimes thinking about the defensive characteristics of our house, and where I would create a defensive position if the country were to plunge into chaos.  The great thing about our house is that there are a few key bottlenecks inside the house with hugely advantageous spots for ambushes.  The stairs lead up to one end of a very long hallway, which allows for a machine gun nest to be installed at the end of that hallway.  This position affords that nest the benefit of also overlooking the front of the house, from which vantage provides ample opportunity for elevated sniping.  In addition, our house is on the top of a hill, which is a natural defense against attacks. 

This picture was taken at the end of my upstairs hallway.

The only problem?  No shotguns.  No sniper rifles.  No assault rifles or Bazookas.  We don't even have a handgun.  I think the most dangerous projectile in our house (besides Sammy's infrequent projectile vomit) is a set of darts.  However, we do have an unnecessarily sharp gardening tool that I've taught myself how to throw like a knife and a super sweet hatchet. 

And while I might sleep with only a small fixed-blade knife by my bedside, I still sometimes get excited about those creaks and groans of a settling house.  I get excited because I might finally get the chance to execute my fool-proof house-defense plan.

But this is where you come in.  My wife is against guns.  I have no idea why, but I imagine it's due to her aversion to being awesome.  So, if you could, please write in the comments about how important it is for a husband to have Rambo levels of armaments inside the home.  I'm talking mini-guns, an uzi, an F-14, and perhaps an M-1 Abrams or two.  If you do, I'll let you come hunker down with us during the apocalypse. 

Cigars, too.  We need cigars.