It would be expected of me to write something along the lines of, “My name is Gina, I’m a mom, I have brown hair, and blah, blah…”

But that’s boring, and we are on the eve of a zombie apocalypse, so none of that really matters anyway.

Keep reading if you want; I’m headed to the bunker with my spawn, a wind-up flashlight, and a two year supply of Twinkies. Send me an email when the zombies are dead. Thanks! Bye.



Warning: If you are at all put off by sarcasm, the Oxford comma, or if you are offended by people referring to human children as “spawn,” please consult with your mental health professional before visually ingesting any content on this site.


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