Speaking of The Walking Dead — not the videogame or the TV show, but the comic that started it all, and which hits its #100 issue tomorrow, Wednesday the 11th! — how about I announcement the winners of this weekend’s amazing TR contest? There are nearly 50 honorable mentions, followed by five runners-up and one grand prize winner, so let’s get right to it …after I thank Walking Dead and its new Skybound imprint for sponsoring this amazing contest, and giving away so much awesome swag. Seriously, pick up Walking Dead #100 tomorrow, or a zombie will eat your brain. Until then, the results are on the next page.
When there’s no more room in hell, Honorable Mentions will walk the earth.
I would take any zombies that were reasonably intact after I had put them down and carefully drain them of fluids, embalm them and then string them up as animatronic puppets. I would then carefully stage them all so that they would be re-inacting my favorite musicals. To top it off I would rig the whole thing to activate whenever someone walked by. That way when another survivor stumbles across my long abandoned base they would be treated to zombified renditions of “Sweet Transvestite”(Rocky Horror Picture Show) “Brand New Day” (Dr Horrible) and “Everyone’s a little bit racist” (Avenue Q).
Oh and I would also rig a polaroid on a timer so that they would recieve a snapshot of themselves right as they reached the dawning “WTF?!?” moment of realization of what’s happening.
I’d live at Bill Murray’s house and I’d bring a typewriter so we could hammer out an acceptable script for Ghostbusters 3.
Real Life (drunk) Crazy Taxi
Get in my truck. Music setting: Extremely Loud. First song: Danger Zone.
Driving around, with a friend riding shotgun, drinking some beers, picking up survivors (they ride in the back), and dropping them off at random locations…while racking up the vehicular manslaughters and doing my part to end the apocalypse asap.
I guess since I am playing RL Crazy Taxi…I guess I will be listening to The Offspring the rest of the time.
I give myself 20 mins.
1. Go to mall.
2. Steal Trench coat(or Duster), a vest, Combat boots, and a wide-brimmed Fedora.3. find weapons(most malls have a store with a sword or two, at least the ones nearby to me anyway).
3. steal car.
4. I turn on my MP3 player with the following song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v…
5. run over Zombies.
6. Jump out of car at some point.
7. Zombies+Sword+ the”Smile Song” = http://www.youtube.com/watch?v…
8. “Run for your life!”
9. repeat again the next day.
Step 1: Jury-rig an SUV with the largest lawnmower blade and engine imaginable.
Step 2: Re-enact the finale of Dead Alive on every major highway feasible, where not crowded with abandoned traffic
Step 3: Find Bill Murray
Step 4: Put a bullet-proof vest on Bill Murray, to avoid any Zombieland incidents
Step 5: Get balls-off ripped everyday, play Ghostbusters with vacuum cleaners
Step 6: How many fucking more steps does anyone truly need?
Big Jim Slade:
I would put on my dad’s cowboy hat, run off when everyone is distracted, and cause a panic. When they realized I was gone and came looking for me (after scrapping their perfectly laid out plans), they’d inevitably be killed by zombies. I would watch in the distance….chuckling to myself as I would ultimately become the last living person on Earth. That’s how you survive in style.
Three words. Army. Of. Bears. First, I would raid as many nature survival stores as possible. I would then recruit a number of bear trainers (from my bear trainer database, of course), get them whatever supplies they need, and lead them into the frigid wilderness, where the zombies are fewer and likely slower. Having confirmed that bears are immune to zombie virus, I will spend however as long as I need to create an army of bears trained to detect and attack zombies. Then I shall load them onto the trucks, return to the ruins of civilization, and retake America for the living. Having recorded the epic bear/zombie war for posterity, I shall take my place as Bear King of the new US, and distibute the footage to my subjects, so they and their descendents shall know, for all time, that they live in a country founded on sheer, unalderated awesome.
Bowties are Cool:
IF I WAS HUNGRY, I would walk up to survivors and say, “I’m Bob Kirkman.” They would feed me. IF I WAS SLEEPY, I would walk up to a house and say to the man with the shotgun, “I’m Bob Kirkman.” They would house me. IF I WAS LONELY, I would walk up to the woman (or man) of my choice and say, “I’m Bob Kirkman.” They would love me. IF I WAS CHASED BY ZOMBIES, I would turn to the group, stretch out my hands and say, “I AM BOB KIRKMAN!” /zombiesplosion
Apocalypse Diary Entry 42:
My plan has finally come to completion. I have surrounded my complex at the local Sam’s Club with high def big screens and Xbox 360 Kinects, just behind a fleet of automatic adjustable speed jogging machines. Once the Kinect senses a walker, the movie Battlefield Earth starts playing. Curiously, I have noticed one of two reactions from the walkers. 1. They reach toward the screen, starting the jogging machine, only to be eventually trampled by a walker behind it. Obvious. 2. But every now and then, the walker’s head explodes right after a soulless scream of horror.
As I watch from my roof top location eating Chex Mix and drinking Fat Bastard Wine with my supermodel girlfriends and uglier than me male minions, I would say that is win win.
Being an Asthmatic I only get to live about as long as I can make my medicine last. So I really don’t get to live long, so I might as well go out large. So I am going to try to reproduce the TMNT Partywagon, get a red headband, cut out slits for my eyes and wear it like a mask. I will put speakers on top of the Van, then roam to a small band of Zombies, crank up the 80’s TMNT theme song and charge in screaming, “GO GREEN MACHINE!” Who knows I may be good at it.
After declaring myself a benvolent dictator, my first rule right off the bat would be any and all children dumb enough to go wandering around are just S.O.L. This will save a great deal of time for other important projects such as zombie fights using anyone that annoyed me in pre-zombie life. When things get boring, I would set up a Mini-golf course. Sure anyone can get through the windmill,but a windmill WITH a zombie chained to it is a whole ‘nother ball of wax. Just to keep my minions on their toes,I would randomly hold Shirley Jacksonesque Lotteries where the
“winners” would go out to forage for Spagetti-o’s and other essential supplies. Since I’m not completely heartless, before departing the winners can chose from random weapons bags that could contain anything from a crossbow to a large wheel of cheese fastened to a heavy rope. In my downtime, I would train zombies to carry me around in a sedan chair to better receive the adoration of the commoners. And there better be adequate adoration if they don’t want to end up outside the stronghold with just the flesh eating zombies and the Havarti rope.
Step One: Locate and capture zombie George R. R. Martin.
Step Two: Chain him to a typewriter.
Step Three: Wait for him to produce a satisfying conclusion to the Ice & Fire novels.
Step three may take a while- I’ll let you guys know when he’s finished
Survive in style, hmm? I got one word for you: treehouses.
A whole bunch of interconnected treehouses. You travel between treehouses via ziplines, shoot down approaching zombies sniper style, live like a squirrel….it’d be great.
Plus, if one of those treehouses happened to be conveniently located near somebody’s house, they could slip down onto the roof and steal supplies while the zombies are distracted by the community of people in trees.
Round up and capture all living and undead members of the Firefly cast and Joss Whedon, and live out my days coercing them to create a second season. It is likely the only way it will ever happen. As a bonus, this allows me to expand the plot past Serenity by claiming all previously dead crew members are now undead zombies due to some sort of Alliance experiment.
I will hunt down Kanye West, protect him from ever being infected, pull up a chair,and just watch his reactions to the zombie apocalypse. I would gladly get devoured by zombies while Kanye screams at them for paying attention to me and not him if it meant I got to watch Kanye yell at a zombie to get him some coffee or mistake a walker for Kim Kardashian.
Plus: Champagne Molotov Cocktails.
Do you remember the zombie appocalypse? So do we.
Do you remember the fear? So do we.
Do you remember the good ol’ days? We remember them
The good ol’ days of sitting down with family and friends at your favorite fast food joint?
WELL THOSE DAYS ARE BACK!!!
Welcome to Soylent Zs
For a limited time only, every child gets a “I found Carl (at Soylent Zs)” t-shirt.
Here at Soylent Zs the only growling noise will be coming from your stomach.
I’d climb up to Isengard, break the dam, and release the river. Flood the whole city, and suddenly you have a massive pool full of zombies that can’t swim very well. I’d ride around all day on a jet ski throwing them stale popcorn soaked in pig’s blood, and watch them fight over it like carp.
Repeat for infinite happies.
I would straight up take over a zoo. Security at most of them is decent enough to keep large, dangerous animals confined (even that snake in the Bronx didn’t actually get out of its building). There’s a decent supply of food (not to mention animal-shaped plates and cups), and plenty of places to hide. Also, if the zombies did make it in, they’d have to go through scores of apes, lions, and sea otters to get to me. And while it is true that those same animals could themselves become zombies, let’s face it, once you have zombie orangutans running around, being somewhere other than the zoo is just delaying the inevitable.
I would spend the rest of my days living in the Large Hadron Collider. I would sleep in Unit 00 Entry Plug themed bed. My companions would be my pet fox and a palate of Dom P?rignon. Oh, and I would ditch my glasses and wear two mononcles .
I’d gather up as much stuff as I could, Food, water, guns, ammo, and etc. I would then bury them in random spots, and make maps to them. I’d also make maps to other random areas. I would then give maps to other survivors and watch them try to find my stuff. If they find my stash, they get to keep it, if they don’t oh well, I get to laugh at them. I think the Zombie Apocalypse world is gonna need some RPG like quests.
Trained Russian Circus Bear:500$.
Firing Russian bears into hordes of the undead:priceless.
I grab my horn, give three blasts, then run the fuck away.
My first step would be to acquire the legendary monster truck, Robosaurus. I would then slowly wake my way around the country running over, setting on fire, or robo-jaw crushing any zombies or obstacles that blocked my path. Every once in a while I’d climb down and duct tape really sharp swords to my arms and spin around in circles slicing the living dead to pieces while Billy Idol’s “Dancing With Myself” played.
Naturally, any celebrities I rescue would repay their life debt to me by agreeing to star in faithful movie adaptions of various comic books and video games, no matter how ridiculous.
Step 1: Find a kid named Carl.
Step 2: Keep him the fuck in the house.
I’m fairly convinced this will solve all zombie related problems, somehow.
I would be doing the same thing everyone else is doing to stay alive…but with my pinkie up. There is no need to stop being classy.
I used to work on the 2008 version of “American Gladiators.”
If/when the zombie apocalypse happens I would go to the show’s storage facility
and pull out a couple of the “Atlaspheres” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A…,
one for me and one for my wife. Then we would just walk wherever we wanted to
without any fear of zombies getting inside the spheres.
In fact, in
May 2010, Topless Robot listed the Atlasphere as the number one item to have to
survive a zombie apocalypse: http://www.toplessrobot.com/20…
“These giant metal balls with mesh wire between the bars will keep you and all
your gear in and the zombies out. We can’t think of a more perfect protection,
because as soon as they start pushing you, you’ll just roll away. Genius,
They are genius and I know where to get them.
Big Al Biggins:
Normal zombie apocalypse: No Pants.
Stylish zombie apocalypse: Pants.
I’d marry a zombie, because then they can’t legally eat you.
I would build an enormous labyrinth of lego bricks and wait at the center with a group of heavily armed survivors placing bets on how quickly the varous zeds would traverse the maze, utilizing canned meat and ammunition as currency.
The stadium lights illuminate me from all sides. Rotting cowflesh fills my nostrils and I almost flinch. The platform in the center of the Bank of America stadium elevates me from the turf. The bait has worked perfectly, my prey fill the stands, and I might be worried if any of them could navigate the stairs. Still, I have timed the start of my show perfectly. The PA system begins to blare out Queen’s “Gimme the Prize”. 30 seconds in, the first wave of C4 blows out the uppermost rows. A few seconds later, I begin to belt out the lyrics, not insulting Freddy by singing over an instrumental version. At the conclusion of every stanza, another wave of C4 takes out another row of seats, descending steadily as I approach the finale, where the hallways flood with controlled explosives, and fire spews forth from the railing surrounding the field. As the music concludes, in a half whisper, I utter the sacred words.
“There can be only one.”
Oh boy. I may have the most classy, stylish bit of tech for surviving a zombie apocolypse. I own a zombie proofed hearse. That I drive daily. Like.. To work and for groceries and shit. This hearse is adorned with “Zombie Response Vehicle” decals (and a 3D deceptacon logo on the back. It has no less than two hatchets, a baseball bat, Wild Turkey Bourbon, flares, a motherfucking food and water supply and reinforced riot windows. Cuban cigars because you can buy those freely in Canada. This hearse does include a zombie-proof window between the part with the coffin rollers and the cab. Oh, and the rear doors open from the outside (as in NO door handles on the inside). Oh and a double mattress for shagging that sits on the coffin rollers. Which, due to my lovely pin-up girlfriend, is much less rapey than it sounds (considering the lack of handles in the back).
A mobile fortress that can sustain any degree of zombie fuckery. In. A. Hearse.
Not to mention my folks own a self contained farm several hours out of town with its own water and food supply, a ton of guns (and the knowhow to pick walkers off) and a fucking projector (10′ x 6′) that plays Xbox and blu rays. But that’s just gravy on the zombie-survival-hearse potatoes. It also has a safe room.
This is my every day, stylish but zombie-prepared life. Cigars, bourbon, baseball bats and zoot suits.
I would load up my bike trailer with food and supplies. I figure that after biking around the country until the zombie hoard is taken care of my butt will look fantastic.
My first instinct was to get to Japan so I could hijack that full size Gundam. But obviously that wouldn’t work… not because it’s a replica, but because I’d need an emo teenager to pilot the thing and quite frankly I’d rather take my chances with the zombies than put up with that shit.
Step 1: Build machine that turns Zombies into oil.
Step 2: Harvest global zombie hordes, turn them into black crude. Use this to break America’s dependence of foreign oil (and replace it with a dependance on foreign Zombies).
Step 3: ? ? ? ? ?
Step 4: Profit
First step break into a zoo and procure myself a nice big dumb elephant.Second step find myself lots of flammable body butter (preferably mango flavored).Third step, apply body butter on myself and elephant.Fourth step, I would mount the now deliciously mango flavored elephant, find the largest horde of zombies, ignite myself and the mango elephant and charge at the zombies laughing maniacally as I watch flaming zombies being trampled.It will be well worth burning alive to see a flaming mango flavored elephant rampage through a zombie horde.Then off to Valhalla.
Easy, this would be the longest but greatest moment in my life. I would first break into every fancy dress shop possible while the country is still in a state of panic and confusion. I would stuff my bags full of a particular set of costumes, I would then prowl the streets looking for people who have been bitten but are currently in the unconscious state between human and zombie. I would proceed to dress everybody I found in a different costume. Night would come, I would lock myself away somewhere safe and then wake up in the morning, open the window and BEHOLD.
It would take months, possibly years, but I would sweep through Disneyland and clear the park out. I would make it as zombie proof as humanly possible. Then, I would build a the world’s longest crowd control line, capable of keeping zombies in line, and moving. It would stretch from the front gate, down Main Street, through Sleeping Beauty’s Castle past the Matterhorn and finally dump them all into the existing line for one specific ride. From there, simple mass motion will force them onto the boats that sail through the ride.
I will sit inside the ride, at the highest point. And I will watch. As the zombies spend the rest of their unnatural lives listening to “It’s A Small World”. Over and over and over, until their bodies rot into nothingness, or their brain dead heads explode.
And I will laugh, knowing victory was mine and mankind had been avenged.
Based on all the movies, books and other zombie related paraphernalia, I’ve realized that the biggest threat doesn’t come from zombies, but other survivors. More specifically, the stupidity of other survivors. Because of this I would enforce a “shot in the leg” policy. The tenets of this are simple, anytime someone does something stupid, they get shot in the leg. Woman decides to get hysterical and drive off in one of our cars only to total it? Shot in the leg. Random old guy keeps bitching about how we do things? Shot in the leg. Little Carl runs off when we tell him to stay put? Shot in the leg. This would eventually condition the little survivors that can still walk to be intelligent, as to avoid further shots in the leg. Eventually with this credo we would make our way to LA to live out our days in Bill Murray’s mansion.
But Enrique, you may ask, won’t all those people you shot in the leg only turn to crawling zombies? How is that stylish? The answer is simple. Stilts my friends. Stilts. In the land of crawling zombies, the man on stilts is king.
I know I’m not going to survive a zombie apocalypse. So if I’m going to go out, I’m going out in the most awesome way – I’m fighting zombie animals for dominance.
I could go to a zoo, sure, but where’s the fun in that? I’m going to Disney’s Animal Kingdom. I know all the ins and outs, since I worked there for a bit. I know where they keep all the animal control nonsense, and…well, let’s be honest, no one goes to Animal Kingdom.
I’ll start my journey by holing up in the Dinosaur ride. It’s fun, it’s got protected areas, and it’s close enough to food and water that I can survive for a bit. After that…every day, I fight a new creature. I’ll start slow, with maybe parrots. Eventually, though, I’m fighting the lions and tigers. If they’re zombies, maybe I get taken down by the ultimate zombie predator. If not, I probably get taken down by a really freaking big animal. Either way, it’s way cooler than being eaten by regular zombies. And if, by some chance, I win…I think that would make me King of the Apocalypse.
Also, I’m dressing up in full safari khaki the entire time, and pretending I’m filming a nature show.
Simply put, I would disguise myself as a zombie (whether I did it by covering myself in entrails Walking Dead-style, or simply by walking funny and going ‘Eughffrgghh’ Shaun of the Dead-style doesn’t matter) and teach them the ways of man. I would educate them in social skills primarily, before moving on to academic pursuits such as mathematics, literature and so on, then finally in the more refined skills of teatime etiquette and underwater polo. Once I had gained their respect and loyalty I would wage war on humanity, using my inside knowledge as a living man to strike the puny mortals where they least expected it. Since my zombie army would possess none of man’s weaknesses such as love, free will or fear of rhinos, I would strap them to various zoo animals and throw them at surviving homo sapiens, and put them in buses that say ‘Kardashians Inside, Seeking Men To Repopulate Earth’ in big pink letters, to attract survivors, then the buses would explode. Also I would live in the White House and rename it Zombie House, and paint it rainbow colours. I would be King of the Undead. And I would do it wearing somebody else’s kidneys on my face.
Take the body parts of the zombies I’ve dismembered and start my own chain of Build-A-Corpse Workshops.
Fun for the whole family! And possibly made OF the whole family! Yay!
I’d capture a family of zombies. One mother, one father, and a teenage one. From there I’d start a circus where they become famous acrobats. Eventually after one performance I’d rig the trapeze to break with the Mother and Father on it. After elaboratly blaming it on another zombie we’d join up to fight Zombie crime.
Six Words… New Zombie Charles In Charge Episodes
I live in Houston; while everyone else is dying horribly stuck in freeway traffic, I’m heading to the museum district. There are no misguided notions of pretension here, though.
First stop, the Museum of Fine Arts. There will be paint, purple berets, and a stereo blasting Party Man. Nothing regarding survival here; just something I have to do. I think we all know why.
Next stop, Houston Museum of Natural Science. Dinosaur exhibit. I will climb on them, I will pretend they are skeletal zombie dinosaurs and I am their lich-queen. I will enact Wash’s dinosaur scenes on the grandest scale. I will find a velociraptor and pretend it’s Dinobot.I will wire it up and control it by remote to attack. Shakespeare will be quoted. I will similarly wire up a T-Rex, and call it Grimlock. I will take a security cart, and zoom around waving a dinosaur femur about my head. I will frolic–FROLIC–all over, about, and inside that exhibit. BECAUSE I CAN.
Next stop, chemistry exhibit. I will imbibe one or two elements on that real-life periodic table in a haphazard shot at super powers. If it works, I will use my powers for awesome. If not? The
zombies will probably get me before the tumors I develop do. If the zombies get in, so be it. The warped Home-Alone-esque traps and bootleg Transformers I will have concocted in my fun-spree will see me through.
Either way I die happy.
And now for the five runners-up, winners of two Walking Dead t-shirts, the baseball cap, and a plush zombie each!
I’d spray paint the Twelve Monkeys logo everywhere except Detroit, where I’d spray paint “Z World Detroit – Now Open.” whatever happens after that, I’d be at peace, knowing my nerd legacy was safe thanks to inconsequential references nobody may ever read. I could die as I lived.
I was given a handmade Thor’s Hammer for my Birthday six years ago and Captain America’s shield as a Christmas present three years ago. If the zombie apocalypse ever presents itself to me. I will put on a Superman costume, put on some red contact lenses, grab Mj?lnir, and Cap’s shield then proceed to cosplay as George P?rez’s magnum opus that is the cover for JLA/Avengers #4. Even if I get bit while I am bludgeoning zombies to death.. Some innocent bystander will shit their pants at the fact zombie Superman is running at them with Captain America’s shield and Thor’s Hammer.
Punkin Chunkin. The Emancipator. ZOMBIES.
Location: Jefferson, VA
Given my current presence in Massachusetts, I’ve got a hike ahead of me.
But if I can A) avoid the zombies long enough and B) find the location of this
beautiful device, I can relocate it to an enormously wide field. Then, I
become bait: luring as many roamers as I can to form the largest pack I can
muster, and lead them to the other side of this enormous flatland. A fast, powerful vehicle and plenty of gas
will help me here. In my quest for the
Emancipator, a champion pumpkin cannon that won in World Championship Punkin Chunkin’s Adult
Air division in 2010, I have studied everything I need to know about firing
pumpkins as far as they can go with as much power as that mighty pistol can
pump them out. In my finest stolen
military garb, wearing an eye patch for no good goddamn reason at all, I unload
on the undead stooges using every pumpkin I’ve gathered from nearby farms and
Don’t you understand?
Don’t you see what this is?
This is Plants Vs. Zombies: Extreme Pumpkin Edition.
The best way to survive a zombie movie is simply to not care if you live or die. The grizzled, stoic loner who just doesn’t care about his/her own mortality always makes it out fine.
Thus, with no regard for my own safety, I’d seek to make the zombie apocalypse as interesting and entertaining as possible. My primary mission would be to simply staple funny hats on every zombie I came across. Sombreros, Viking helms, raccoon-skin hats, you name it.
Practical? Of course not. But picture this: You are struggling to survive the zombie wasteland. Civilization is collapsed and your family/friends are dead. There are no forms of leisure anymore, save for blasting zombie brains across the sidewalk. After killing a few hundred zombies, you’re bound to get bored.
That is until the first zombie with Mickey ears rounds the corner. Now, with an invigorated sense of novelty, you swear to seek out only funny zombies to destroy. And I shall provide those funny zombies. With my stapler and hat collection.
First: Sequester my provisions, a mode of transportation, and a dolly,
Second: Scour the country for every possible full standing Pac-Man, Ms Pac-Man, or Pac-clone arcade machine i can get my hands on. Third: carefully recreate the first maze of Pac-Man in a city center. Someplace near a high rise so people could watch the action unfold.
Fourth: find Pac-Man tables and place at power pellet locations. Place a gun with one bullet in the chamber on the table
Fifth: wrangle zombies for the ghosts
Sixth: Anyone found disobeying the rules of the Army of Eight will find themselves up with Law 8: There is only one penalty: Pac-Man
And now, for your grand prize winner! The recipient of three WD
t-shirts, the baseball cap, the plush toy, a hoodie, a Dale-style bucket cap, a lunch box, a messenger bag, and The Walking Dead
comic compendium, signed by writer/creator Robert Kirkman himself!
1. Along with fellow survivors, capture and de-tooth group of zombies.
2. Red hats to distinguish team, use surplus army outfits for zombies.
3. Commandeer eight MiGs, stow zombies aboard.
4. Make our way to the North Pole Environmental Observatory.
5. Live off of Arctic supplies, hunt reindeer meat, use pelts for warmth, antler hats.
6. Train zombies in art of manufacturing pharmaceuticals.
7. During yearly supply-gathering missions, fly planes over groups of survivors at climactic moments, dropping fancily-wrapped medical supplies and ammunition.
8. Be the apocalypse’s personal Santa Claus.
Sorry, folks — not only is that stylish, it makes the entire zombie apocalypse cooler for everybody. Like, I’m kind of jealous that I’m not living in a zombie-infested world, just because I’d love to have General_Apathy, dressed as Santa, drop a load of supplies on me just when I’m cornered by zombies. And if you’re jealous that General_Apathy won, let me remind you that when the zombies do inevitably rise up, all the swag he just won will slow him down, making him among the first to be eaten. So it kind of evens out.
So that is that! Congrats to the winners, and thanks to everyone who entered — but most of all, thanks to Skybound and Walking Dead for giving away some many damn prizes to you knuckleknobs. Please, show your appreciation by picking up The Walking Dead issue #100, in comic stores tomorrow (or Wednesday the 11th, depending on when you’re reading this). And please, when the zombie apocalypse does inevitably begin, please email me where I can meet you guys before the power goes out — I’d much rather spend the end of the world with you guys than whatever rag-tag group of psychotic survivors I’d almost certainly end up with.