The island of Mipos. They've got to have outstanding lamb gyros there.

I was on the fence before, but this seriously calls into question the integrity of the MTV Movie Awards.

I'm a big fan of $3 Cristale, also.

From our own AV Club, at the end of the third paragraph:

I get that, but until recently they haven't shown anyone even grabbing one fresh change. Extra socks, or even one extra set of lightweight clothes, does not break a zombie bug-out ruck. One case of trench foot and you're zombie chow.

My mom (who is mostly a square) has only told me one drinking story from college in the late 60's, and it involves Boone's.

I think Hamm's was mine. Or maybe some bourbon from a "hidden" bottle in the cabinet above our refrigerator.

True, it wasn't a shocker. But I thought it was effective because it showed us that Darryl holds on to that and maybe looks down on himself. Or thinks that others wouldn't place such trust in him if they knew he was just some redneck who used to get drunk with meth-heads and hunt squirrels.

It always annoys me when they go out on a run, at any time in the show, and they don't grab fresh clothes. The stores they're raiding are probably as awash in them as Alec Baldwin is in gay dudes.

If they didn't puke after the first.

As a Former American Teenager, even the hardiest drinkers I knew thought moonshine was rough. She would make a death-face, at the very least.

Yeah, did anyone else think the show telegraphed that? When they stood the clock back up, I was like, "Wouldn't somebody have done that intentionally so it doesn't chime?"

I liked this episode, too. Some of the dialogue was hackneyed, but I was genuinely nervous for Beth — don't hate her, but she's a really undeveloped character — mostly because Darryl was already carrying a lot of survivor's guilt. I thought some of the suspense scenes in the car trunk and the country club galley were…

Agree. I grew up in a rural area and was in the Army for a bit. I was like, "Oh, fuck. I know what kind of drunk Darryl is." I was waiting for it to get way worse.

I found myself cringing in the last minutes, as I was giving Beth 50/50 odds of survival. Didn't think it might be a ghost hallucination; that's an interesting thought.

Or, somewhat satisfactory job, Great Job Internet.

The Hurt Locker. It's war-tourist fan-fiction that got a lot of people to nod their heads about what the war in Iraq must really be like.

My wife and I have driven back and forth from Seattle to the Bay Area twice in the last few months and we almost always have to remind each other not to pump when we get gas in Oregon. Sometimes we forget and the methed-out pump jockey shambles towards us like we're in a zombie movie and we made too much noise.

I haven't smoked since 1999, mostly because I got the waking day terrors a little more than half the times I smoked.

Went to my wife's college reunion at Stanford a couple years ago. The first night, they had dinner on the Quad in front of MemChu, if you're familiar with the layout. They basically had bottomless wine service at the tables — open bottles of red and white. Got chummy with the biochemistry professor/wife's former…