Ballin' and Hustlin', Ayyy Lmao

Jesus Christ, pregnancy's a b***h.

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A small commune of zombie apocalypse survivors is all it takes to produce capitalism at it's finest.
       

 Zombies don't give a s**t about other zombies, they exist for immediate gratification, trampling eachother. A far less advanced version of capitalism, but a surprisingly more organized one. As an entrepreneur, you always need to think of a better way to be rolling in the dough. Money isn't thought of as very valuable now seeing as people believe it's the end of the world and all, but no doubt when this ends will I be able to finish tuition.
       

Medicine is not a public service, nor has it ever been. There has never been a free doctor. When I was first invited to live in our little patch of purgatory, all jobs in the hostel had been filled but a chaplain and a medic. This isn't to say that you would be turned away if you showed up at our door and requested entry. But if you had, we would merely milk you for all you've got.
       

 I showed up with another mutual friend to fill the only positions they needed, and we've been playing them like some terrible 8-bit video game analogy.
       

It works quite simply, everybody is self dependent until some terrible catastrophie brings them together to live in a cramped mid-sized suburban home. Those who consider themselves more self-reliant than others stay in place at their own burrows in fear of marauders or looking like an idiot in wake of the new apocalypse, others, (loud outspoken 'can I talk to the manager' mothers, 'holier than thous', and the extremely religious) are much better candidates for armageddon tenants because their lives revolve around looking up to people who claim to know better.
       

These are the anti-vacciners.
       

These are the pseudo-hindu yoga swamis.
       

These are the alternative medicinal practicers.
       

None of these groups concern me and Guy as much as group number three. As hostel medic, people don't get hurt as much as you'd think with so many zombies around and what have you. That'd be a more frequent problem, but these people are too afraid of going outside.
       

Somebody needs to deliver ailments from the inside.
       

First, Guy establishes himself the hostel chaplain, holding non denominational masses Sunday, Tuesday, and Friday. Next, when people truly believe that you deliver the direct word of God, they'll believe anything else you say subsequent to that. Faith healing is monopolized by Guy. The Chaplain doesn't make much money in a society where the most the unofficial church can do with the money is polish up the one bible we own. Guy fixes this by rolling iodine and laxatives into plastic capsules I took from med school, selling them off as witch hazel and cure all pills to the more superstitious folk at the hostel, and wait for the results. This is when they s**t their brains out.
       

Upon needing more serious medical attention, they simply walk over to me, the only person there who was stopped mid-med school to attend their afflictions. Iodine laxatives are the easiest to make, and the hardest to "cure" because they last a week, but the symptoms are so bad you'd think you were zombifying yourself. Counter it with baking soda ingested in a day or two, all symptoms cease, they're on their merry little paths, laughing all the way to another sermon. This, of course, isn't before paying for the treatment heavily.
       

 Whenever the world's about to end, everybody runs for the money first. No family. No friends. Just need a few fat stacks to live in style for my last few weeks. They think this to themselves, and they waste their money on a bullshit cure for a bullshit disease. I split the money that I got for it with Guy, and nobody says another word about it.
       

I walk in with a few bags of items that I pass out to a few superiors that actually own the building. They get first dibs, and I walk the rest of it up to my shared room with Guy.
       

Guy is lying with his feet up, highlighter in mouth, a Bible, several comic books, and a few volumes of terrible manga, in deep search for some inspirational quotes for the next sermon.
       

"I sold some more bottled colonary failure." He almost fills an entire page with yellow ink.
       

I explain to him the concept of highlighting.

Author's Note

That goddamn lying tomato.