To be fair, this isn’t my kitchen. It belongs to my friend.
Obviously, zombie pub crawl was a blast. The make-up people did an amazing job and there were a fair amount of home-made zombies that scared the living dead out of me.
As a result, I have nothing to talk about today. Except to ask whoever it was who decided to kick me square in the shin last night while aiming for zombie Jesus to send some painkillers and an ice pack. That would be radical.