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SweetJoe

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SweetJoe    396

Its mid day and the sun is shining on a warm March day. High in the hills a communications tower can be seen poking out from the trees, at the base of which two bearded men can be seen. One dressed in all black stands beside a table atop which sits a CB radio. Beside the table sits many rows of truck batteries and a few yacht batteries, a mess of cables twines up the tower and one stretches out to a box electronical component and what looks like a circuit breaker. The other man, dressed in green, stands with his hands on his head, he seems distressed.

"Are ya sure this is gonna fuckin work?!" He exclaims to the man in black through a thick irish accent.

The other man smiles and drags his joint. "Nah man, im just hoping it doesnt electrocute us when we turn it on." The American jokes.

"Well i aint payin ya till it fuckin works." He folds his arms unapprovingly his face in a scowl.

"Dont worry, it should work and have great range. Hey man its like I told ya, ive never done this before. But it should work...in theory. And hey man i really dont even care if ya pay me. Not like i had anything else to do." He smiles and drags his joint again.

"i dont give a fuck. ill still pay ya. Turn it on already." He says back as moves to the radio. The other man flips a switch on the circuit board and a few things begin to shoot sparks but after a few seconds that ceases.

"Hello. Is there anyone out there who can hear my voice. Please respond." The irishmen says. The american clears his throat pointing towarda the radio. "You...ahh

...have to press the button if you want to speak bro..." The irishmen sighs feeling foolish, this time he presses the button down.

"Hello. Is there anyone receiving this? We are transmitting from the middle of fucking nowhere. This is a test of this broadcast station. Please respond if you are able. Again. To anyone with the ability to transmit please respond." He releases the button anticipating a response.

"How long you been living by yourself in the hill dude. We could of just scanned frequencies to see if the radio worked before trying to broadcast. I know we can transmit...that part was easy, were testin---" he is interrupted by the irishmen.

"Ahh shut up ya druggo." The irishmen says still anticipating a response. He then thinks a moment, sighs and presses the button down again.

"Fuck all that. Forget the test. My name doesnt matter and neither do I. I tink that alot of us now feel irrelevant in the grand scheme of things anyway. However if ya need to be callin me someting than i suppose ya can call me Bobby. The purpose of this message is for those of us that're livin the struggle. Lets face it, the world got fucked. If ya still here than than congratulations. Ya survived the zombie apocalyse. Now what.

How many of you are out there eating three good meals a day with a roof over your head and know what youll be doing a year from now? If ya are than up to ya. Most of us today dont know if well be alive tomorrow or even if well eat today. We value bullets like its fucking money now and we kill daily or we run, constantly lookin over our shouldas. Times are bad. 

Instead of working together they formed gangs. People fear one another or they look at us as a way to attain wealth. Nobody gives a fuck about life anymore and those who do either have to be smart or live in seclusion.

To the remaining good an decent folk. I now address you. Do not live in fear. Arm yerselves and learn how to maintain the weapon. I dont give a fuck what ya fight with to defend yerself. Ya can kill a man with anything. Dont forget a bullets just a small peice of metal. If ya got a rifle take it apart, and put it back together. Keep it oiled, make sure its unloaded first. And for christ sake keep dirt outta yer barrel. If ya got a blade keep it sharp. Run it on a stone evenly at an angle, if you seen shavings of the stone the stone is too weak, find something harder. Dull weapons are more dangerous to ya as the weilder and shit for protection.

I know some of ya dont want to fight, and i pray ya dont. But you may one day face a time that it comes down to fightin or death.

Now dont ya even think about eatin people. Fuck is wrong with ya. I know hunger can drive ya mad. Belive me. I know. But you can still find ways of getting food. Plantin is always good, but it takes time. Hunting can be easy or a nightmare, but the key is in traps. Ya put them down and check ta see if something fell inta it. Easiest method is a snare. Its a fucking wire with a slipknot tied to something that it wont break free of. A slipknot for ya city goers is a knot the allows a loop to slide up and down the rope its tied to. It aint hard and if ya spend ten minutes ya will figure it out. Basically ya tie off one end and suspend the loop where an animal will walk through it. Picture a fucking rabbot walking into a noose and hangin itself. I know its fucked but after ya cut the meat out of it ya will appreciate  its death.

Dont be afraid of stranger but dont trust them. Trust yourself. The world is a terrible place and it has no moral compass. Most wont see you as Jimbo the tailor or Shamus the barber, they see you for what you carry, and how well you are dressed. People are desperate and have done things in the last year that have made them cold. I pity them as should you, but if they act out we have to put them down like a rabid dog dont we?

Zagoria is full of foreigners. We are outsiders and to most locals we are not welcome. Dont forget, not everyone came here for good, and fuck how many of us loot  the homes and businesses of this nation. Dont fear the locals but understand that if some foreign  asshole was taking your dead uncles shit outta his house, you too would be anger would ya not? It all comes down ta the fact that we need to consider how what were doing is perceived by those around us. If your talking with someone for example, dont try to move behind them constantly. Give people thier own ground. Were all on gaurd as we should be. 

Over all dont give up hope. The whole world may be fucked but one day we can still go home. The infected seem to roam in pack looking for food but they can starve. Everything needs sustenance. Eventually they should rot out and no longer be able to stand, to hunt. When this day comes we will be able to travel with less fear of running into the former inhabitants  of a city roaming the countryside  looking to eat anything with a heartbeat. There is always hope. And as people rebuild transmission towers as we have attempted perhaps we can get news from europe.

Untill then stand tall, learn to defend yerselves and feed yerselves. Stay hidden from roaming bands of brigands, you know them when you see them. Well armed and travel fast. Keep your head down and observe large groups if ya want to approach them. Stay alive......god i hope this fuckin thing is working. Hey ya think this fucking thing is working?!" He releases the button looking towards the american.

"Bobby?" The american smirks lighting a blunt and dragging it before offering it to the irishmen.

The Irishmen takes the blunt and drags it. "Twas the first name that came ta mind." He says dismissingly hitting the blunt again before handing it back. " Good spliff." He says before caughing.

"Thanks. Hows the plants I traded ya." Says the american.

"Good man. The ladies are budding and the lad didnt so i guess its going good. Ahh before i forget. Three cans of potted ham, and three drums of 7.62, O! Cant forget the six pack of genuine Coca-Cola. Still dont know if it works yet though..." he says pulling the items from a dufflebag and placing them upon the table next to the radio.

"You realize even if its working it may take weeks for a response and even with that, someone has to be listening to this one station while your talking...you could just scan the frequencies and listen for one with people and then try to talk...its more efficient...but seems you want to do a doomsday radio or something....so have fun dude." The american laughs hitting the blunt and before passing it.

"Nah nah. Im just drunk and ive had to kill to many people this week. Got some good toys though.  Even got meself a styr like i had in the service. Not that it matter though...not really." He smokes the blunt and passes it back. He is calming down and talking alot slower now.

"Well. I got nothing to do today. Wanna play poker...cards?" The american says with a smile.

"Sure man."

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SweetJoe    396

The two men sat playing various card games while listening for a reply for many hours. Just before dark they lit a small fire a short distance from the table the radio sat on. The pair ate potted ham and drank Coca-Cola and smoked nearly an eighth of a gram of the Americans Marijuana. At one point they sang songs from thier homelands  and even exchanged a few of thier own creations. Today had been a good day and both men had what they longed for--company. However the radio endevour wasnt going so well.

"Its almost 9 and still nothing...do ya want to try scanning the airways now?" The american said before blowing smoke rings.

"Alright. I give up. Go ahead fella." The irishmen said defeatedly with a sigh. The american began switching frequencies.

They found some that talked of hunting some group of "minutemen". 

"Want to talk to these assholes?" Said the american. The Irishmen shook his head and the American continued to scan.

They then found a conversation between people looking for a Pumpkin King. "Feel like  talking to Jack Skelington?" The American laughed. The Irishmen fliped him off and they continued scanning.

The next frequency was that of a therapist offering services, some crazy asshole threatened him as they listened, then another voice mocked the lunatic and set up an appointment.

"Ya feel like getting diagnosed with an edipus complex?" The american said with a smile.

"Ya ever suggest i want to fuck me mother again and ill knock yer teeth out." The irishmen growled. And with that the scanning continued.

The next one was faint. Static, garbled. 

 "Yo--..took..*static*..f--m..me!"  "Vi--mo -e *static* Pak--.."   "Dr--*static*slav?"  "Y-u don't ne--to talk.. save *static* ener-- Hope." "I'm *static* sor-y I took *static* damn long.."  "M- own fa-u--t. I s-ouldn'- *static* mor-hine in f-rst pla-e..."  "We'r- g--ng back *static* Camp *static* H-pe. Fir-t you *static* nee- to re-t..." then nothing. The two looked at each other with concern.

"I dont think they knew they were transmitting. Signal strength--" the irishmen cuts the american off.

"This one druggo, hit the button."

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SweetJoe    396

The irishmen sighs. "Joe. Switch the station. Got what i needed from it." He leans back in his chair, the american looks at him confused but complies.

The next station was a man offering booger candy. The American listens with a smile on his face. "Im gonna talk to this one."

"For fucks sake why druggo. Its prolly a trap and ya told me yourself ya dont fuck with that shit."  He shakes his head.

"Its good for trade and its an amazing stimulant." He presses the button.

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SweetJoe    396

Some time has passed since the American and the Irishmen set up a camp beneath the old transmitter tower. Its come a long way since that day. The American Joe collected and dragged many materials through the forrest along the old dissused road for construction of lean-twos for sleeping and a shack around the Radio to prevent dirt and water from damaging it. He even made a sort of kitchen area using large stones and a few long planks of metal that had fallen from the tower and a grate that he said he found in a macdonalds but it looks as if its from one of the many street drains that dot sides of the roads along the city streets. Joe assured the Irishmen that it had been cleaned, but in truth he had eaten off worse cooking surfaces before. It was begining to look like a legitimate camp and if the American wasnt cooking or affixing random metal signs to the structures, he was landscaping, either transplanting bushes of raking up leaves and pileing up sticks and branches for firewood. 

The Irishmen still didnt like to stir before noon, but today was different, he woke up at dawn. It was a decent enough day, the sunrise was not spectacular but he watched it none the less before walking the perimeter of camp a few times.  By this time Joe was begining to ready the cooking station for breakfast.

"Your up early, you sleep at all?" Joe called over as he threw some logs into his makshift stove.

"Aye. It's  Easter." The Irishmen responded solemnly.

"Oh!" He smiled before striking a match an tossing it on the logs, the responded with a three foot puft of flame before settleing down and disappearing into the scrapmetal stove. "God damn too much Gasoline in this batch!" He screamed as he leaped into the air. " Happy Easter then. You want a breakfast burrito?" He asked with a wide grin.

"Ya know, one of these days ya goin to blow yerself up." He said calmly while shaking his head. He approached the cooking station, admiring the stones at the base of the stove and wondering to himself if they serve a purpose other than holding the thing together. "Dunno what that is, but yeah man. Im hungry." He glanced into the chamber at the perfectly burning logs.

"YOU DONT KNOW WHAT A BURRITO IS?!" He screamed loudly, his voice a few octaves higher than normal and a huge smile adorning his face. "Well your in for a treat brotha, cause it so happens you are looking at a man who has in his possession the ingredients to make such a rare and exotic foriegn delicacy, and later tonight me amigo,   im makin tacos." He smugly folds his arms awaiting an excited response, however he was left dissapointed.

The Irishmen with a blank expression says simply, "ok." Before leaning over and looking at the 'ingredients'. "Is that bread? Where the fuck did you get flat bread?" His jaw drops and he begins to run his hand through his hair. "Ive not had bread, real bread since a month before this all began."

Joe's smile seems permanent, you can almost see the dimples through the fur. "Theres a lady not far from here, shes got a grinding wheel, i brought the materials there and traded he a few things to have her help me figure out how to use the damn thing and turn it into bread. Took me a few months to find the people with the things i needed, and that old woman was in shock when i returned with it all but really im quite happy with it." Still smiling he starts warming a skillet. "Ill make you once, youll love it, and if you make it back home you need to make them every Wednesday ."

"I dont know about all that but id like some. Thanks." He said almost sadly before turning to walk to the Listening Shack.

"You Alright?"  Joe called out.

"Its Easter." He responded walking into the shack and shutting the door behind him. 

 The dead air cuts into a screech for an instant before an irish voice begins to talk.

"Good Morning. By my count of day Its Easter, give or take a day." The sound of a match being struck can be heard. "Now forgive me my sacrilege but where im from this day has a double meaning. Ya can rest easy cause im not going to be talking about our Lord and savior today. Father McAvoy would flog me for this, but todays sermon listeners, is about the revolution." If you listen closely you can hear a cigarette burn as he drags it.

"One hundred years ago, men fought for what they believed in, for what they and thier forefathers before them throughtout the generations struggled for--Sovereignty. Freedom. But not only that, they fought for the future generations to come. You see, they fought to the death so that a day might come where thier children might have a future. Not many of you would know that the One hundred years ago the fires were lit that allowed most of my country to be just that--a country. Before that we were subjected to the tryrannical nature of an opressive foriegn regime that did anything in thier power to subjugate and opress the people into a permenant 3rd class of slave labor. Men and women had to Unionize and Organize to attempt to make things better, many were arrested, some executed, but the Unions still stood for workers rights. Can you imagine having to piss in a bottle cause ya cant leave yer station during your eighteen hour shift? Complain and your on the dole, unionize and they lock the gates and hire immigrants if available for less wages. Well it was on this day that the Citizens army marched down the streets of Dublin and ceased the General Post Office, the last lockout was the last straw, so they stormed the office and Hoisted the Starry plow over it, declaring that they were finished with Britian and that they no longer recognized them within the borders of the nation." He paused to sip some water from his canteen.

"Twelve hundred men in 1916 marched into that city. Thier leader was a strong Union man, his name was James Connolly. He was a mighty man who fought for the betterment of his fellow working men. The men who followed him were not soldiers, they were farmers, tailors, factory workers, poets, and writers. They were men of all trades and walks of life, some were even protestant. The struggle united them and cast aside all other differences or disagreements. On that day they fought for Ireland, and they fought for the future.

The fighting lasted only a little over a week before a naval ship came up the liffy, a river that runs through the city and used its big guns. Sixteen of the leaders were executed over the next week without trial, and were buried in a mass grave. The people didnt stand for it, and over the next 5 or so years partial independance was gained. 

Its on this day i reflect on the past, and i cannot help but make a comparison to today. Where is our James Connolly? Chenarus, we need to unite, to organize. Wake up and look around. There is no certainty in life, there is no future. There are too many lunatics running around disrupting those of you who try to settle. Roving gangs who harass you and rob you if your lucky, torturing or killing you to eat you at worst. The only way, my dear listeners, to overcome insurmountable odds is to organize, to Unite, and to stand your ground.

We have a saying where im from. 'Tiocfiadh Ar La.'. It means 'Our day will come.', and it will. Stay strong Chenarus, and believe that our day will come. Happy Easter.

Bobby Paddy out." There is a beep followed by the americans Voice. "Transmission will repeat every" dead air "Five" dead air "minutes." The Irishmen hit a few buttons on a switch board that was rigged up before leaving the shack to investigate the heavenly smell of meat browning.

A time later he returns and awaits a response. "Ill be listening in case any of yas want to chat. Me boys going to attempt to rig up a music player, but he doesnt know what hes doing.  Until then ill be listening to the airways and yas can find me here on this one, me boys got it rigged to record ya case im not here, sos even if i dont respond right away, im here. " he leaned back thinking of the good breakfast he had.

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