Bart Allen's Keyblade

Shit.

I... I'm at work. And normally we joke about getting zombies on the phone. You know, it's tech support.

But fuck.

THEY'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO DROOL BLOOD INTO THEIR KEYBOARDS AND THEN ASK US HOW TO GET IT OUT. And if we--

--well at least we could honestly tell them there are no brains here.

But dammit, when we send out bills, OUR ADDRESS IS ON THEM. Luckily the colo has a *lot* of cages. We'll have to boot the servers out. Thankfully there's enough frozen food here to last at least a little while, and Asia brought in approximately an industrial pallet of spaghetti-o's in, yesterday.

Okay. Update later. When I figure out why I only ever brought in FAKE PLASTIC weaponry. And how to mod nerf guns to shoot the undead effectively.

...fuck.