The Domestics

---

1

You probably

already know what happened.

Then again, you might not.

You might not even give a sh*t.

But I'm gonna tell you anyway.

We all went about

our daily lives,

oblivious to how bad things

were in the world.

And then they hit

the reset button,

erasing all of their problems along with hundreds

of millions of lives.

No one saw it coming.

The end.

The lucky ones

were dead in seconds.

As for the rest of us,

immune to the black poison,

we had to decide.

Hang on to the civility

of the past,

or become savages

in a new dark future.

Hey, kids, this is 99.2 KILU...

and you're listening

to Crazy Al's radio party,

The Last Radio Show.

Here's another safety update

for all you domestics

out there,

just trying to stay alive.

If you're new to the area,

listen up,

and I'll fill you in

on all the sh*t

we've been dealing with

here, in the

once beautiful Midwest.

Still no word

from the US government.

What a shocker.

But I suppose when you make

the decision to crop dust

your country

with deadly chemicals,

there's really not

much more to say.

I guess that's what happens

when a democracy turns

into a dictatorship.

You thought

we had problems before?

Debts, disease,

dwindling resources?

Some barista put too much syrup in your macchiato

f***ing Frappuccino?

You know what I saw

the other day?

A guy wearing a goddamn

deer head holding an AK-47.

The crazy thing is,

the son of a b*tch

used to be my neighbor.

This once great nation

on God's green earth

no longer belongs to God.

It belongs to the gangs.

That's right, daddy-o,

the Midwest may have been

the land of macaroni casserole, fresh cut lawns

and Schlitz beer,

but we've got some

of the worst gangs

in the country.

Nailers, Plowboys,

Gamblers, Cherries, Sheets,

just to name a few.

They're all bad news.

So keep your eyes open,

your guns loaded,

because in this world,

you shoot first,

then run like hell.

You dig?

Well, that's enough

of my bullshitting,

let's play some music.

We're on day 902 of our weekend oldies marathon.

You might be asking,

"Crazy Al, is this not

the weekend anymore?"

Well, honey,

I just don't give a f***.

With that said,

here's Roosevelt Nettles

on the Chess label

- with Drifting Heart.

-

So you're really doing this.

-Yep.

-Why?

You got everything you need

right here.

You think

I don't know that?

I know it's probably

the stupidest thing

I've ever done.

But I still love her.

- You see, this is why

I never got married.

Look, Mark,

I'm not gonna tell you

what to do,

because I know you know

what's out there.

You get one flat tire,

you're f***ing dead.

If you still feel this is

the only way to save

your marriage,

for the love of God,

take a different car.

I fixed it.

-You fixed it?

-Yep.

Uh, are we still talking about

the same car?

I fixed it.

Crazy Al's radio party.

The music time machine...

Hi, this is Crazy Al.

It looks like it's gonna be

another shitty-ass day,

daddy-o.

Thanks for tuning

into KILU radio.

No requests, no dedications,

just a kick ass soundtrack

to your new way of life.

Stay off the freeways

and watch out

for those snipers.

And if you see someone

dressed like a ghost,

shoot that motherf***er

because Sheets

ain't trick-or-treating.

As that great philosopher

Baba-Oom-Mow-Mow once said

"Doo-wop unto others

as you would have them

doo-wop unto you."

Come on, let's make this quick.

Those f***ers

are still out there.

F*** the Sheets.

F***ing pussies.

Those f***ing pussies

just kicked our asses.

Come on, let's eat some beans

and get the f*** outta here.

We still got that town

up the road.

Open the door.

Hold down the gas.

You guys want

any salt and pepper?

Come one.

Here's another safety update for all you domestics out there

braving the barren countryside.

It's official that Sheets and Nailers are in a turf war.

I know you f***ers

can hear me out there.

So do us all a favor

and just kill each other

so we can get on

with our lives.

With that said,

it's time to get safe.

Pull off the roads,

find some shelter,

because the sun is going down.

thirty-five past the hour

and you're listening

to Crazy Al's radio party...

We should

stay off the roads.

Crash here for the night.

Do you think it's safe?

We'll find out.

This will never be us,

I promise.

Miss Milwaukee,

this is Eagle. Over.

Miss Milwaukee,

this is Eagle. Over.

Mom?

Okay.

I just wanted to let you know

that we're on our way.

I wish I could hear your voice.

I know Mark wants to fix things between us.

I just don't know how. We've been broken for too long.

I wish you could tell me

everything's going to be

all right.

I miss you.

You remember when

we used to complain

about the Milwaukee drive?

Five hours.

Seems like nothing now.

You think

I'll be able to, uh...

To get your dad to give me

his gun this time?

The one you always steal

from his safe?

Mmm. The Wildey Magnum? Yeah.

I doubt it.

He doesn't like you.

No, he does not.

I'm actually pretty sure

the last thing

he said to me was

- "Get your sh*t together,

you clown."

It was nice.

That sounds about right.

Good night, Markus.

All right, kids,

it's 20 past the hour

and this is Crazy Al,

bringing you words of wisdom

and a whole lot of good goddamn music, too.

Hey, we are on day 903 of our

weekend oldies marathon.

- With that said,

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