The Zombie Zoo – Introduction


How in god’s green earth did I think doing this was going to be a good idea? There I was, just sitting around and enjoying some brain and kidney stew when the thought pops up that maybe, just maybe, the living might like to know what it’s like to be a member of the living dead in a world overwhelmingly populated by the living. I figured it might be of interest to the living, no alterior motives, no intention of bringing in unsuspecting victims, just a desire to impart some undead wisdom on the living, so I called up a still living friend of mine to ask him what he thought, and that’s when some rather sharp dressed men showed up. Would you like to know what they asked of this zombie, of course you do, otherwise you wouldn’t even be reading this. They asked me if I wouldn’t mind sending them a first draft before I post any article pertaining to undead habits, this of course after they took me for a little trip. Really? Why in the fuck would I trust those ass hats? It’s not like they gave me any reason to distrust them or their motives. Not like they promised me that the little glowing white room with all the nasty tools wasn’t for zombie experimentation, but now they want some kind of first rights to any info I care to divulge about the lifestyles of the dead and not really famous. They want first dibs on what it’s like living in a world full of arrogant, close minded, and scared of their very own shadow humans.

I get it, this is punishment for years of consuming human flesh and getting away with it. Can’t I have my own damn opinion? No, I can’t. Shit. This is horse shit. As if being a zombie among the living isn’t bad enough. Okay fine, you suited meat sacks want a first look, here it is ******* ***** ***** **** **** son of a p**** piece *****. How dare you **** with my ******* you son of a *****. Yeah, what of it you **** monger, and that is what I think of both you and the living.

We, as the watchers of this creature, would like to apologize for the vulgar treatment The Undead Review has given to you, the reader of his Zombie Zoo. Please understand that we will correct the matter as soon as is convenient (never upset an angry zombie, that’s Zombie Lifestyle 101). Still we would like to offer our humblest respects to anyone he might have offended. Thank you very much kind, kind reader.


Okay, so I’ve just been informed that calling all members of the living ***** whore ******* sack **** burgers is not something you prissy air breathers much like. Fine, I’ll do this “by the book”, but I’m warning you if I get one little piece of hate mail…well, actually I kind of like hate mail…hmmm. Well, if I get one little iota of…wait, no that won’t work either, I like it when humans come after me with pitchforks (much as I might protest otherwise). Okay, okay, I got it, if one person says this jazz saved their life, I’m outta here, you got me. I don’t feel like any touchy feely Oprah moments, nor do I want any Dr. Phil “how to save your life by listening to a useless tool who isn’t really a doctor” moments. I’m not here to make you feel better about yourself, I’m not here to make your day shine, and I’m certainly not here because I care whether or not you get run over by a bus on your way to work one day. I’m just a regular guy who happens to be dead, loves the taste of human flesh, and sometimes has the occasional pound of rotten meat fall to the ground. That’s it.

He’ll do it whether he gets love letters or not, he’s under contract at this point.


You know, not being allowed to articulate my swearing as much as I might like really cuts back on how much a zombie can write about his unlife. This would be much easier if I could say ***** or ********* or even ********* whale ***** dingo ********* mother of ***** whore. There, I just had to get it out of my system one last time, yeah right. Like I’m going to control what I say just because Mr. Upstanding American doesn’t like foul language, sexual references, or rampant alcohol abuse (the Irish undead and their love for whiskey is a subject that can be brought up in a later editorial). Still, I have promised on my mother’s lack of a grave that I will refrain from calling the entire living world more useless than a diet aimed at Michael Moore, which I guess isn’t entirely true anyway since you provide a much needed snack on a very stressful day, so I guess at least I can call you people dinner. Either way, here is the promise I promised to promise you, the reader…

I, The Undead Review, being of sound yet rotten mind, do proclaim that I will not call the living **** whores, unnecessary *********, or even tired meat sacks. I will explain to the best of my abilities without constantly insulting you (emphasis on the word constantly, because if you think I’m not going to insult someone at some point you’re insane) what it’s like to live on this planet as a zombie in a world full of walking meat sacks.

There, you got your damn promise. Are you happy? If you’re not, then you are absolutely on my list of Christmas party invitees, and if you are happy than you can watch the illicit fun from my living room window. Alright, now that we’ve got this lame introduction out of the way, next week we can get onto more important things. If I’m going to do this, then I might as well do it right, so I’ll guess I’ll start out with how we members of the living dead perceive your world with our slowly deteriorating senses. I think I’ll start out with smell, that just seems like a good choice, though this may have a lot to do with the fact that I just happened to smell the meal of the day for yours truly, ahhhh, lonely jogger without even the smallest sense of basic safety, what a night this is going to be.

Anyways, I guess I can wrap this thing up now. I need a nice catch phrase to end these undead diatribes with though. Goodnight from the world’s sexiest zombie…no that sounds like something a self-absorbed zombie actor would say (come one, like you’ve never wondered how in God’s name Jack Nicholson is still alive). Okay, okay, what about “Back to Hell, Back to Hell I Go”….that just sounds lamer than lame. What about “To Infinity and beyond“…wait, are you kidding me, what the hell was I thinking there, that has to be one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard, who in their right fucking mind would ever say something…oh wait, isn’t that what the futuristic astronaut said in Toy Story, oh well. Wait, this time I got it, what about “This is your unfriendly neighborhood zombie signing out”. Yeah, I kind of like that (and I’m sure everyone just figured out how much I love Spiderman). I guess if you don’t like it you’ll just have to deal…or send me that luscious hate mail I love so much. Either way works for me.

This is your unfriendly neighborhood zombie signing out.

About The Undead Review

When I was alive I was an asshole and after I died remained pretty much the same, if not a little worse. You’d think becoming a member of the walking dead would mellow a person out, no more worrying about awkward small talk with people, no more having to be politically correct, and the entire world is your upright, bipedal buffet. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun as hell to be a zombie, just somewhat irritating at times, especially those times you have to watch a lame movie or read a lame book. Thankfully, when I am forced to watch these films or read those books, I’ve got places like The Undead Review to bitch and moan to my heart’s content. {When he’s not devouring the living or sinking his teeth into a good film The Undead Review (Andy Taylor) spends his time writing his own stories or hunting down the paranormal. Oh, and did we mention his blind dog once saved the world?)
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