Three days of the worst grueling pain afflict me with torment; I beg for God to smite me where I lay; I try to kill myself with a toaster but I can’t get the leverage to bash myself in the head; I beg and cry that I don’t want to be a zombie; then I shit my guts out onto the dining room floor and die.
As much as I want to dream about being a lone hero in a zombie apocalypse, five-o’clock shadow, and chainsaw for a hand, chances are I’ll end up being that zombie who gets a machete to the face from an ornery biker circa Dawn of the Dead. The reality is always much lamer than the fantasy.
Nevertheless, lets play pretend.
I just got done with a long day of work, stuffed my face with Cool Ranch Doritos, cranked one out to some high definition porno, and forgot to lock up the house. Then a zombie walks through the front door, finds me passed out in a pile of chips and cum and proceeds to bite the shit out of me. I’d probably wake up and fight it off, but I’m infected now because I have a weakness for sloppy stroke-fests.
So, now I’m a zombie.
The first thing I would do is kill and eat my parents. Better me to do it than any other ignorant, selfish wanker. Then, I would set about trying to find the answer to zombie life. Ask the important questions: Who is the father of this virus? Is he now technically my dad? Could my zombie parents have been walking around if I wouldn’t have eaten them with such greed and cupidity?
Eventually, I would get bored of randomly biting things, playing with my lips, bumping into other zombies in an unsexual manner, and waxing philosophical about the future of our putrid society. So, I would reinvent zombie lifestyle and find some order within the chaos. This really gets going after the formation of committees, townships, and a government system that benefits the most grossly incompetent zombies who have garnered respect by using highly controversial human-corralling tactics.
This would segue into an attempt to bridge a relationship with the surviving members of human civilization: the most grossly incompetent people who have garnered respect by using highly controversial zombie-corralling tactics. Both tribes would get along fine and two political parties would be established: the skin-bags and the gas-bags.
When the bridge has been made, I will be at the top of the zombie crop vying for presidency as the first undead man elected to Head of State. Believe me, my seedy tactics will incorporate a system I call “bite marks,” where every time I benefit from corrupt bureaucratic practices I will bite an opponent or an incumbent in return. They’ll die, lose their seat because they’ve switched parties, and I’ll move ahead with more supporters.
With a zombie Necrocracy firmly established, world domination is the next logical step. I was thinking I could get a platform running on the Necrocratic Peace Theory. That is, because zombies don’t kill each other Necrocracies could prosper all over the world in harmony. There would be no more squabbling over minutia and the human condition is a thing of the past!
