In the Walking Dead, souls search for meds And food to stay alive. In The Last Ship, they search with Skip For the cure they will contrive. In The Strain, it's vampires who reign Terror upon New Yorkers. They shot Contagion after flu was ragin' That started with some porkers. But this time is real, as we all can feel, And it's gonna be different I'm bettin' 'Cause we were all confounded as numbers compounded And upon us has come Charmageddon.
Go through your things with feet like wings. Get your raincoat, shower cap, and mittens. You're about to embark, whether daylight or dark, On a quest to get what needs gettin'. You have plenty of chips and a can of bean dip. Your soda stock shouldn't run dry. You've sauce for spaghetti and decide you are ready When suddenly you want to cry. With all your preparing, it seems you've been sparing On stocking TP by the cart. With dread on your face, you must now embrace The thought of a trip to Wal Mart.
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You put on your gear and then drive 'til you're near When you stop to come up with your plan. You'll park back far from the infectious cars Yet close to a nearby trash can. With feet like rockets, and hands in your pockets, You fly to the back of the store. That's when you learn what you couldn't discern Without checking on Facebook before. The paper you sought has already been bought, And there's none to be found in the row. You ask a stocker who's not much of a talker. When more comes, he doesn't know.
You search everywhere falling into despair When your eye catches hope down the aisle. A cart piled high with TP double-ply Pushed by a kind lady who smiles. To the kind heart you go, smiling just so And then dump her purse onto the floor. She crawls all around making angry sounds 'Cause picking it up is a chore. You grab a bundle, and off you trundle While she scurries about. In glory you stride to the register side So you can quickly check out.
The items are scanned, and all is as planned 'Til it's time to put your card in. Those mittens are thick, and you just can't trick The machine to accept your PIN. You try to sign, but it just makes you whine You can't do it while they're on. You finally stop trying as the cashier is prying The bundle away 'til it's gone.
You return to your spot in the miserable lot And throw all your clothes in the bin. And shivering cold, and not feeling so bold, You go back to your home in chagrin. Charmageddon is tough when you don't plan enough. You start cutting your carpet in squares. You think you're now wiser, but then, "SANITIZER!" Five gallons you need for some spare.
Doyle McClellan
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