Bob The ZombieSlayer

He shouldn't be alive. Not like this. Even before everything turned to shit, his world was a living hell. Buying that motorcycle, even when everybody in his family advised against it, was the biggest mistake he had made. He still had two wheels though, only to be connected to a goddamn chair.
It did not matter though. Everybody he knew was dead. His family, his friends, probably that piss-drunk texting son of a bitch that rear-ended him too. If there was a god, it was a cruel one.

How Bob survived the initial days of this undead mayhem, he did not know for sure. Of course, living in Anytown America and having a respectable stock of 2nd Amendment goodness while having all the time in the world to practice his aim sure did help. Looking down, what he saw lying in his lap made him smile, despite his hardships. A custom HK MP-5N with a SD3 silencer and red dot sight. Great single-shot accuracy thanks to its closed bolt action, perfect to take these fuckers out. It was almost a shame he did not had the chance to use it tonight, he thought as he was rolling along the makeshift perimeter that was thrown down to keep the walking dead out.

Finishing his round, Bob decided it was time for a well earned beer. Only until after the world ends do people realize in what kind of luxury they all had lived. Gas, electricity, warm water, cigarettes. Goddamn, how Bob missed those cancer sticks. Luckily, one of the members of his group of survivors had found a case of 'delicious' Bud Light, scavenging a nearby mall. You can't be picky when you don't know if you will survive to see the sun come up, Bob thought, turning his wheelchair around. 

All of a sudden, his wheel got stuck behind a piece of debris, blocking his movement. When he reached down to remove the pest, he heard a faint moaning coming from behind the barricade. Startled, he readied his weapon, and turned in the direction he thought the sound was coming from.

Nothing.

Breathing heavily, Bob waited for the sound to return.

There it was again. Longer and louder this time. He checked his weapon to see if single fire was selected, and shouldered it. Looking through the visor, he scanned his surroundings, making sure to not miss a spot. From the corner of his eye, he spotted movement.

From out of the darkness came four walkers, limping in a swift, awkward motion towards Bob. One of the dead bag of bones had half his jaw missing, dripping blood and guts from a gaping hole in his neck. The others also missed limbs, but each one of them had a pair of glowing red eyes, all locked on the hapless person in his wheelchair. Shocked at how fast these fuckers where coming towards him, even though the rigor mortis had obviously kicked in, Bob quickly tried to reach the piece of debris that was still blocking his wheel, but his arm just could not reach it. The first one was almost over the blockade, as the others where scaling it at an alarming pace. Horrified at the decaying state of this once person, Bob managed to put a bullet just shy of the walkers right eye, taking out the whole ear in a shower of gore and bits of bone fragment. His second shot did not miss. The body sagged to the ground, only to be walked over by the next piece of rotten undead, followed by his undead brother. They were closing in at an alarming pace now, and Bob was glad he practiced on moving targets, back home. Taking control of his breathing, he took them both out with well placed shots between the eyes, as they stumbled to the ground, just inches away of his wheelchair.

Panting heavily, Bob remembered dropping three bodies, not four, as he saw earlier. He looked around frantically, but to no avail. The last one managed to sneak up to him in the darkness with his jaw wide open, arms outstredged, and with a low, menacing moan the thing reached for him. With a scream, Bob managed to throw his arm up, trying to fend off the walker. In a flash, he saw two rows of yellow teeth, pieces of meat still between them, sink in his forearm, ripping out huge pieces of flesh and sinew.

 Almost out of instinct, Bob switched to full auto on his HK with his free hand, jammed the gun on the temple of the zombie, and let loose with a roaring salvo. It's upper skull exploded in a rain of gore, pieces of brain flying everywhere. With a thump, the body collapsed back, parts of Bob's forearm still hanging from the lower half of this beasts head, clenched between grinning teeth.

I will NOT turn into one of them. Not this far in. I WILL survive, Bob thought while checking the remaining ammo in the clip. More than enough. Without waiting another heartbeat, he aimed at the elbow joint of his maimed hand and squeezed the trigger, until he was out of ammo.  Glowing red hot, he pressed the barrel against the gaping wound at the end of his stump, before passing out from the pain.

Column-ception

Column-ception

De bovenstaande titel leent van de 'dream-within-a-dream' film Inception. Zoals elke titel of kop boven een stuk tekst tracht deze de inhoud kort en krachtig samen te vatten. Met een column, opiniestuk of amusement in welke vorm dan ook, wil het desbetreffende medium de waan van de dag bevatten, of (be)grijpen. Wanneer een kritische kijk op de waan van de dag in een column zelf de waan van de dag wordt, en daar vervolgens meer columns over geschreven worden kan je spreken van column-ception. 

Dit gebeurde met de column van Luuk Koelman op 8 november in gratis dagblad Metro.

Als reactie op een overlijdingsadvertentie na zelfmoord van een gepeste homofiele jongen, beschrijft Koelman op een komisch-kritische, pesterige manier hoe ook de kerk homofielen pest en kleineert, om vervolgens door middel van vele haatdragende reacties op internet zelf een tsunami aan pesterijen en doodsbedreigingen over zich heen te krijgen. Veel sympathisanten van de overleden jongen pesten en besmeuren de persoon die pest om kritisch te zijn over pesten. Pest-ception?

Blijkbaar moet een samenleving altijd een zwart schaap hebben. Om te overleven, en daar kan je in de geschiedenis talloze voorbeelden van vinden, moet er een gemeenschappelijke vijand zijn. Zo blijven de neuzen van het 'gepeupel' dezelfde kant op staan, zodat onderlinge verschillen niet in de weg staan van de overlevingsmissie van het samenleven. Maar de tijd dat de inwoners van Nederland zich nog schaarden achter Willem van Oranje om tegen Spanje en de Katholieken als grote gemeenschappelijke vijand te vechten, is er tegenwoordig naast de nihile vormen van terrorisme in Nederland geen 'grote aanwezige' vijand meer. En dat is gevaarlijk, want dan keren de leden naar elkaar. De 99%, de pesters, de 'normalen', vinden altijd wel een doel om hun frustraties van alledag te ventileren. Helaas is daar altijd een slachtoffer bij te vinden. De anders denkenden, de vreemde eenden in de bijt, of terugkijkend op de waan van afgelopen dagen, homo's en columnisten.

Gelukkig duurt de waan van de dag, logischerwijs, niet langer dan een paar dagen. Het gratis dagblaadje wordt in de trein achtergelaten, om er de volgende dag weer een nieuwe column in te vinden. Zodoende vind het gepeupel weer een ander zwart schaap, of wordt het rustig gehouden met denigrerende programma's op RTL 5 en SBS 6. 

En op een gegeven moment weet niemand meer wie hij pest, of door wie hij of zij zelf wordt gepest, net zoals de karakters in de film Inception niet meer weten in wiens droom ze zitten. Het wordt tijd dat ze worden wakker geschud.

'Lang'studeren

De dag was nog grauw en grijs toen Pepijn op de fiets sprong naar zijn nieuwe werk. Sinds die klote langstudeerboete had hij alles aangegrepen om ook nog eens zijn sigarettenverslaving plus bierconsumptie te kunnen sponsoren. Zijn pa had inmiddels de handdoek in de ring gegooid. 'In mijn tijd hadden we geen 6 jaar nodig om dezelfde levenslessen te leren' had hij geschreven in de opmerking bij de allerlaatste ouderlijke overschrijving, nu 2 maanden geleden. Kon hij makkelijk zeggen, mijmerde Pepijn, als je met je snikkel in de champagne luierend uitkijkt over de zee van Dubai. Hoe dan ook, zonder hulp van zijn ouders moest hij het zelf maar zien te rooien.

 Terwijl hij zijn fiets op slot deed voor het verlaten ogende pakhuis begreep hij in welk milieu hij terecht was gekomen. Alles voor het geld, dacht hij kijkend om zich heen, lopend door de voor de ingang verzamelde meute van hippies, crea's en Duitsers. De kunstacademie. Na talloze inhoudsloze baantjes als chauffeur, vakkenvuller en callcenter-medewerker was het de beurt aan iets nieuws, iets spannends, en niet onbelangrijk, goedbetaalde opdracht als naaktmodel. Over één ding hoefde Pepijn zich geen zorgen te maken; een onverwachte boner tijdens het posseerwerk met dit soort mensen die naar zijn tampeloeris zouden staren. Wat zat hij ernaast. 18 giechelende, keuvelende sexy dames wachtten hem op in het lokaal voor de 'sessie'.

Pepijn kon zich totaal niet herinneren waar hij het over had gehad met de dames toen hij zich nestelde op het krukje. De docente had hem verteld om rond te lopen in een badjas voor aanvang om zo de druk er af te halen. Maar het bleek verdomd lastig om een gesprek aan te knopen terwijl je zo naakt als de dag van je geboorte moet kletsen met een zeer appetijtelijke dame op 40 centimeter afstand over koetjes en kalfjes. Op de sociëteit ging dat toch een stuk makkelijker. De omgekeerde parallel werd hem maar al te duidelijk. Hoorde hij nou echt gegiechel toen de badjas afviel? Zittend op het krukje wist Pepijn niet waar hij moest kijken. De precaire balans om zijn penis in de juiste lengte te houden viel hem zwaar. Een steigerende Thrustmaster was niet de bedoeling, maar een aangespoeld garnaaltje liever ook niet. Na 10 minuten intensief focussen op een ruimte had hij genoeg bekeken om er op af te studeren. Het angstzweet brak hem uit. De manier waarop de studentes hem aandachtig bekeken terwijl ze zijn maten en afmetingen opnamen trok hij slecht. De temperatuur ging aardig omhoog in het hok, hetgeen niet onaardig was om zijn Lightsabre op inactief te houden, maar toen een van de dames een ventilator aanzette om haar verf sneller te laten drogen krimpte Pepijn ineen. Een normaliter niet onaangenaam briesje maakte zich meester van de zenuwen in de lager gelegen regionen. Met stijgende schrik wist Pepijn waar dit zou eindigen.



Fuck it, dacht hij terwijl hij naar beneden keek. Pepijn, maar fijn.

Corporate Social Responsibility

We don’t mind horrific working conditions, as long as it is not happening to our work environment.

We don’t mind unfair wages, as long as we’re getting paid enough.

We don’t care if people die on their jobs, as long as they do not live in our country.

We don’t care at all, as long as we can still buy our laptops, cellphones or cheap clothing.


In this day and age, we need a thorough understanding of Corporate Social Responsibility. Especially in this time, where we, the future generation of business people, the one’s who make the world go round, will shape the earth, and all its inhabitants. When we do not condone ourselves to a global code, or at least an ethical standard concerning business practices, we lose our humanity.

This might seem a bit ideological, and it can be. It should be. For if there is not an ideology like this to reach for, what should it otherwise be? Money? Enlarging the wealth of shareholders? Those are good objects to strive for, but should not be the only goal. Too long corporations have had the excuse of ‘capitalism’ to extort, enslave, and destroy human lives. Of course, some might say that they also created live, increased welfare, brought knowledge to those who did not have, but those are not excuses to look away from the other side that some business practices might and do bring.

Everybody knows the practices of Apple. They make great products, meant for ‘everybody’ and should improve your life. Fewer people know about how those products are being made, and that not ‘everybody’ benefits from it. Intensive labour in factory’s as large as a small town, extremely low wages, suicides on the job, the list goes on. As Apple states it so beautifully in their Code of Conduct:

The Apple Supplier Code of Conduct requires suppliers to provide safe and healthy working conditions, to use fair hiring practices, to treat their workers with dignity and respect, and to adhere to environmentally responsible practices in manufacturing.

There goes your credibility, Apple.

On the other end, the LEGO Group thinks about it’s environment as Apple does, but actually does something instead of writing only nice sounding words that look great on paper. They and their parent company Kirkbi, are building a windmill park just of the shore from Germany. Not to power up their factories, but for "making a positive impact on the world".
Now that is what I’m talking about.

This is what doing business should be all about. Of course, the first and most important goal is to make money. Nothing wrong with that. But as a company, especially as large as LEGO or Apple, you leave a mark on your environment. Not only speaking about the impact on nature, but on people’s lives. And that’s a responsibility, as a company, you cannot walk away from. They owe it to them, and to the world, from the moment they had an idea of starting a venture.

Alas, the words written above are all so well known, and heard so many times before. And it is not up to me to convince you of ways to do business different, or better. But you should think about how, in the modern world, business is conducted. And if you can change certain aspects that will benefit to more people, other than the shareholders, do it.

[Recensie 3voor12] As I Lay Dying + Amon Amarth, Metropool Hengelo

Wederom bewijst Poppodium metropool zijn bestaansrecht in de regio. Met de diversiteit aan artiesten laat het podium zien hoe mooi en belangrijk muziek is in het leven van alledag. Guus Meeuwis naast Seasick Steve, Lamb of God naast Anouk. Was die saamhorigheid maar alom vertegenwoordig in de wereld. Nu wil ik niet te filosofisch worden in deze recensie, maar de vergelijking mag gemaakt worden. Want op zaterdag 22 oktober stonden de mannen van As I Lay Dying naast de formatie van Amon Amarth. Beide keiharde Metal bands, met een lichtelijk verschil in subgenre. Metalcore naast Melodic DeathMetal. Een harde, ruige, strakke band naast, nouja, een harde, ruige, strakke band. Een prima ouderwetse Metal avond in Hengelo dus.

De opgewektheid was te zien aan het publiek die avond. Iedereen leek zich te verheugen op een mooie avond van hun favoriete band. Van over heel Nederland kwamen de fans om de grote namen in het echt te aanschouwen. Het blijft elke keer mooi om te zien dat jong naast oud geniet van dezelfde muziek. Amon Amarth draait al een tijdje mee, en heeft in die tijd een trouwe schare fans opgebouwd. Het zelfde geldt voor As I Lay Dying dat, ook al is het een ander genre, prima de hoofd act had kunnen zijn. Eerlijkheidshalve moet ik erbij zeggen dat ik de allereerste, lokale band van de avond niet heb kunnen zien wegens problemen met het openbaar vervoer naar Hengelo. Maar aan de reacties van het publiek was het een prima opwarmer voor Amon Amarth. Zoals een voorprogramma hoort te zijn.

As I Lay Dying betrad het zeer kleine podium om de avond goed af te trappen. Het bizar grote drumstel van Amon Amarth zorgde voor een opstelling van de metalcore band, die ik eigenlijk wel kon waarderen. De drummer van As I Lay Dying stond met zijn apparaat tussen de overige band leden te spelen, en dat bracht zijn bijdrage goed naar voren. Als een bezetene droeg hij hij de band gedurende de hele set. Ondanks wat kleine technische problemen met de gitarist was de show degelijk te noemen, in de positieve zin. Zonder al teveel poespas, bracht de band harde metal ten gehore, met zowel oud als nieuw materiaal. 'The Sound of Truth' zweepte de zaal goed op, om aan het einde van de set 'Nothing Left' van hetzelfde album te spelen. Tussendoor veelal ouder werk, wat voor een goede balans zorgde. Op het eind kwam er zelfs nog een redelijke Wall of Death aan te pas, iets dat het publiek prima kon waarderen als opmaat naar Amon Amarth. Met een strakke, degelijke en professionele houding liet As I Lay Dying het publiek voldaan achter.

Amon Amarth werd ontvangen met luid gejuich, en zowel het publiek als de band had er duidelijk zin in. Geheel volgens de Noorse mythologie waar de band zich graag door laat inspireren, had de frontman Johan Hegg een hoorn aan zijn riem hangen, waar helaas geen godendrank in zat. Hij had het in ieder geval niet nodig gehad om zijn stem te smeren, want wat een grunts kwamen uit zijn strot! Heerlijk rauw. De combinatie in deze band tussen vocals, bruut gitaarweld en slopend drumwerk stemde mij zeer vrolijk. Het kan eigenlijk ook niet anders als je alleen al kijkt naar het drumstel. Drie (!) bass drums en nog veel meer tom's waar de drummer compleet loos op ging. En dat werkte aanstekelijk voor het publiek. Er werd zwaar genoten, door iedereen. Voor deze avond was Amon Amarth onbekend voor mij, maar het moge duidelijk zijn dat ik al die tijd wat gemist heb. Werkelijk 'Guardians of Asgaard'.

Maar om te zeggen dat Amon Amarth de duidelijke hoofdact was zou ik As I Lay Dying te weinig eer aandoen. Het zijn allebei grote namen in hun respectievelijke subgenres, maar verschillen teveel in stijl om elkaars voorprogramma te zijn. Dat gezegd hebben, twee ontzettend goede, grote namen, die voor een geweldige avond hebben gezorgd. Hengelo, en poppodium Metropool mogen trots zijn.

Facebook, revolutionary or just a waste of bandwidth?

Facebook. For some time, it has been in our lives as a way of staying in touch with friends and to socialize. Newspapers, talk shows and baby-boomers tell us that this phenomenon is the most revolutionary social tool of the 21st century. It's on every one's phone or tablet. Work gets delayed because of it, and people tend to miss out on somebody's birthday if they don't have an account. But is it really that revolutionary? Despite a ridiculous large amount of 800.000.000 users, the so called revolution might be in a way other than it's social aspect.

Of course, we can share and post our interests with friends from across the globe. We can look up what events are being held in our hometown, but does that make it a revolutionary social tool? We already did the exact same things before Facebook, it only offers a combined site for these activities. Even if we have this 'portal' for all these social interactions, what is it used for the most?

Often, I find myself browsing on Facebook when I should be studying. I see what my friends are up to, which is nice. I see updates on upcoming movies, games and music I'm interested in, which is also pretty nice. However, this information is probably only ten percent of the messages showing up on the wall. The rest are just pictures of: a) home-made meals, b) Starbucks coffee, or c) people being drunk. Or status updates about, well, nothing. Everybody knows the infamous 'I took a #2, here is a picture, it was a relieve!'. Of course, the last one is pretty hilarious, but does the ability to upload that kind of information make it revolutionary?

There are innovative ways members use Facebook. The recent uprising of students against the government was largely a success because of Facebook. In a matter of moments, a large audience is reached. The same goes for the uprising in the Middle-East. This does not mean however, that Facebook started these collaborations between protesters. It was just a nice, nifty tool to reach a bigger goal. In other words, without Facebook, Twitter would have been used, or E-mail, or paper notes pinned to the wall of the local church. The uprising was just made easier because of Facebook. Still not revolutionary in the way the Ford Model T car was, at the beginning of the 20th century for example.

The revolutionary part of Facebook lies in the fact that it is the perfect tool for marketeers. More specific, it allows for a complete direct marketing approach, something that has been a holy grail for companies. During the rise of the Internet during the 90's, companies saw a potential platform for their advertisement strategy in the form of banners on websites. While it was, and still is, a successful way of advertising, it only benefits products that have a homogeneous target group. That's where Facebook steps in. By 'liking' topics and talking about things that you are interested in, users create a miniature database with their account, so that advertisements on Facebook are personalized to each user. Every action people make on the site are recorded, and used by companies that want to sell you something. This makes the amount of 'clicks' on advertisements a lot higher, and thus more effective.

It is not entirely clear that users of this social network are aware of these underlying business models that make Facebook such a big player. For one, the line between privacy and marketing goals is easily crossed. Especially if people post and share their whole life on-line. Facebook inventor and owner Mark Zuckerberg got a lot of criticism about this way of advertising, for it violated the privacy of its users. This might be a bit exaggerated, for the fact that people choose to make an account on Facebook, and are themselves responsible for what they do with it. Interests and personal information are two different things, and should be posted accordingly. Awareness is key. A great person once said about Facebook: If you’re not paying for it, you’re not the customer. You’re the product being sold.

I would like to conclude this story with my personal thoughts about Facebook. For starters, it is awesome. The world just keeps becoming smaller and smaller. Information reaches us more quicker, and in greater quantities. We can explore and learn about personal interests and share them with friends. Just keep in the back of your mind that this is a business model, and we are the product that is being sold. We have been given a great tool which is, sadly, often abused with nonsense. So, use Facebook wise. Try to make this digital world a better place. Engage in discussions about awesome stuff, add something positive.

Because most of all, we don't want to see pictures of you being drunk. And I'm not interested in the fact if somebody is left or right handed. Or that he thinks Grolsch is better than Heineken, or that FC Twente will become the national champion instead of Ajax, or that somebody's birthday is in the first 10 days of a month, or what kind of browser you are using, or if Facebook has more guys than girls. You get the point.

And especially, I'm really not interested in a picture of your #2. For all you know, you could be de-friended. And you wouldn't want to post those pictures on any wall in real life.

Being a freshmen

'Come on! I'm late for my first class, have you seen my shirt..?', Jack said, while downing his last sip of coffee. His head was pounding, and vaguely he remembered the evening before. After only being in Enschede for over a week now, he had seen more parties, drank more alcohol and met more new friends than in his years before. 'Is this the shirt you were looking for?' a sweet, sexy voice came from behind him. Turning his head, Jack saw a gorgeous girl, only covered by his shirt, with a naughty look on her face. Looking at his watch, Jack returned the smile and walked up to her.

Thirty minutes later, Jack was running, tucking in his shirt while entering the college hall, only to discover that the lecture was in full progress. 'Please, take a seat. I'll make an exception for now, because you are a freshmen, however, be on time for the next lecture or stay at home', the teacher said. With his cheeks turning red, Jack took his seat, tried to make some notes and wondered how he would uphold this ridiculous pace of life, called studying. This week, he had two more classes, seminars, tippling evenings with his new society. Plus they even asked him to write columns for the local magazine of his student union. Where would he get the time? And after that, how would he be able to maintain the relationship with his new girlfriend?

After class, Jack picked up his bike and drove back to his dorm room. While the fresh air blowing through his hair he suddenly remembered the old comfortable life and the harsh reality of being a university student.

A lot had changed since high school. Now, the teachers do not care if you attended class or sleep in. They do not care if you make your homework. A number, a lone student amidst the ten thousand other ones. It's part of the learning experience at any university, they told him. Figure things out on your own, with little or no help from anyone. It should make you more mature, less dependent. The only thing that had not changed, was his mother, constantly asking him how he was doing and if he changed his underwear every day. She was still the caring mother as always, but Jack did not listen. It was all the responsibility of Jack now, as a student. He had to learn this over time. At first, it was difficult, missing classes because of the late night drinking during week days. Or other activities that did not had anything to do with college, such as the initiation process of his student fraternity. But after a while, Jack started to get the hang of it, figuring out the balance.

The next months, his life was a roller coaster. New faces, new parties, unearthly sleeping times and some good lectures where he actually learned something. After putting in a lot of hard work, Jack received his first grade and remembered the words of his mentor during the introduction. Smiling, Jack looked forward to the next four years.

Laboris gloria Ludi

Work hard, play hard.