Nothing is impossible to kill. It's just that sometimes after you kill something you have to keep shooting it until it stops moving
...they come to us, these restless dead,Shrouds woven from the words of men,With trumpets sounding overhead(The walls of hope have grown so thinAnd all our vaunted innocenceHas withered in this endless frost)That promise little recompenseFor all we risk, for all we've lost...
Alive or dead, the truth won't rest. Rise up while you can.
I just find it interesting that kids apparently used to cry when Bambi's mother died. George and I both held our breaths, and then cheered when she didn't reanimate and try to eat her son.
And then everything was in the hands of gravity, which has never had much love for the terminally stupid.
There is nothing so patient, in this world or any other, as a virus searching for a host.
And to those who would choose the safety of inaction over the danger of taking a stand, I have this to say:You bloody cowards. May you have the world that you deserve.
If you want to go foraging into the wilds of Canada without proper gear, you deserve what you get, even if that happens to include being attacked by an undead moose.