There I was the other day, just shopping around Wal-Mart like a regular member of the living when this store clerk has the audacity to come over and ask that I leave the store because of “an incident”. Yeah, I knew what he was talking about, but I still didn’t start what had happened. I was just shopping around for this 25th anniversary Optimus Prime (what, just cause I’m dead I can’t be a Transformers nerd…bigot) when these damn college kids decided that I was going to be the target of their torment for the moment. Just because the undead can take it, they thought it would be funny to stab me over and over again because they wouldn’t be technically committing murder, so, just because I know humans can’t take it, I thought it would be funny to chew their throats out and leave them to bleed to death in the middle of the toy section, apparently management did not agree. While they promised not to pursue as long as I left immediately, they kept a few armed, shaking humans in the background just to let me know the consequences if I refused, as if those rust buckets could have gotten me in the head before I got to them, please, but I left anyways and went home to mournfully lament the loss of my 25th anniversary Optimus Prime. Oh, and as an antecedent to the story, when those college kids reanimated themselves, they each tracked me down to apologize for their actions, having experienced a bit of prejudice themselves. I’m easy to find if you’re a zombie, more than a little well known among the undead community.
Yes, it’s your favorite zombie back once again, here to discuss the prejudices of being undead among the living, to tell you about the pain and anguish we must continually deal with as rotting ghouls. Yeah, we sometimes smell bad (thus the reason they put out deodorant marketed specifically toward the undead) and yes pieces of us do occasionally fall off (thus the reason for Zombie Attach All, a glue designed to help us put ourselves back together) and yes, I won’t leave out the biting and I don’t want any funny looks from you people about the biting thing either. Do you see me giving you dirty looks when you tear into a piece of fried chicken? True enough your meals are usually dead when you start eating them, but a person just can’t be eaten that way. Humans have to be fresh; it’s the only way to eat them, otherwise it’s just a waste of time. Okay, so we can give off a fairly nasty odor, we fall apart, and we bite, but we aren’t bad people, in fact we can be some downright decent folk.
We give to charities, most notably The Undead Children’s Network, Blood Red Cross, Ghoul Rescue, and The Zombie League. We are very community orientated, choosing to support our own neighborhoods, which is quite hard when you have roving bands of humans constantly trying to destroy your areas. We even created a place where zombies who can’t control themselves around human flesh can get the help they need, we call it Flesh Eaters Anonymous (not to be confused with the god awful movie Zombies Anonymous). So then why are we considered less than the rest of you meat bags? It all comes down to one very simple thing, you’re our food source.
I know it can’t be easy to have to constantly worry about being consumed by some wandering ghoul, but neither is it easy to constantly worry about being shot by some wandering human. If we could eat something else we would alright…ok, we really wouldn’t because humans just taste to damn good but we still aren’t that bad. Consider it a compliment that we wouldn’t eat anything else beside you warm blooded mammals; consider it another compliment that we need you so damn much. We not only used to be you but we need you to continue looking good. I’m not going to go into the specifics of how living flesh keeps us from decomposing, that’s a story left for another day; for now, just know that there are reasons we HAVE to eat you. In the end, eating the living probably isn’t the best PR campaign, but neither is ruining a country and that dude got elected twice, so you’ll have to forgive me if I expect a little leeway in this area.
Still, walk down the street as a member of the living dead and you can surely expect to see some machete wielding maniac running up toward you with that wannabe hero look in his eyes. Sure they go down pretty quick since usually that hero look has a lot to do with the amount of hard alcohol they’ve consumed prior to their decision to become a hero and sure eating the drunken lunatic usually gets a zombie drunker than a Kennedy on New Year’s, but that still doesn’t make it okay. Ever try going to the mall on a Saturday afternoon as a member of the living dead? No? Then I imagine you haven’t felt the cold isolation of having every teenager mock you for your status as a nonliving member of the planet, having every mother hide their child from your view, or even having to deal with the occasional “We don’t serve your kind” statement. The truth is, having to deal with idiots like those I had to deal with at Walmart is an all too common occurrence, losing your pulse just opens you up to never ending assaults by members of the living. Nothing is ever as fun as having stupid kids come up to see what parts of you they can rip off. Sure, I wear the makeup to blend in a little better but people still manage to spot you every now and again and that’s when the “fun” begins.
We tried to start our own civil rights movement a few years back but it ended in absolute disaster. A bunch of us got together and decided we’d had enough of the constant harassment, it was our right as creatures of this world to eat human flesh in the same way you humans have the right to eat cow flesh. We put together the first ever incarnation of The Zombie League with every hope that it would change the lives of zombies everywhere, this was of course before the unions took over but we’ve already discussed that topic so let’s just move on. The Zombie League was to save zombie kind, to give zombies a say in the world, to lift us up from the level of filth we had been degraded down to. The League became larger and larger as more zombies found out about us and soon we were nearly an army, this was when we chose to make our move. We gathered all of us together in Washington D.C. so we could march on the White House…this was when the government decided to make their move. Hundreds of thousands were wiped out in one big strike intended to bring down The Zombie League, very few of us escaped and what’s worse is the whole thing was brushed under a rug as if it never happened…thanks humanity. Years later, when my old creation was revived again, I chose not to partake, finding more joy in the field of media review than changing the world…not to mention I’d become more than a little bitter and just didn’t really care.
Look, all I’m saying is that the next time you see a zombie, don’t go for the gun, don’t start stabbing with wild abandon, and please don’t point and stare. Just say hello and move along. If we wanted to eat you, you’d already have been attacked, so unless we’re going at you with teeth bared, than no worries, you’re going to be fine. In fact, it couldn’t hurt to maybe give a zombie a hug, let him or her know you appreciate their contribution to keeping the world interesting. I promise we won’t bite…as long as we’ve already eaten (insert ominous scary laugh here).
Until next time, this is your unfriendly neighborhood zombie signing out.