Monday, December 1, 2014
It was a very zombie Thanksgiving
Do zombies ever feel a Thanksgiving bloat like the one I felt?
“I can’t take one more bite!”
Zombies are either walking around looking for something to eat or engaged in actual eating.
That was me the last four days. The only difference with me was I at least watched a little football. While I was gorging, of course.
I wonder if it was a coincidence AMC’s acclaimed “Walking Dead” zombiefest ended its jiffy little 10-episode run on Thanksgiving weekend, the holiday renown for rapacious eating.
I’m not a zombie nut. I enjoy “Walking Dead” and consider “Zombieland” one of the funniest movies ever, but I don’t spend a lot of time planning for the zombie apocalypse.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about zombies, their diets, their social lives and if I’ll eventually make a good one.
Take this weekend. As zombies are wont to do, I overate. But I have the tactile dexterity to unbutton the top button on my blue jeans to liberate my belly press, which enables me to eat another three plates full of leftovers.
Zombies can’t do that.
I’m surprised how, on the “Walking Dead” at least, you never see a tubby zombie. They all seem zombie svelte. It’s as if dining on pounds of fellow humans helps shed pounds off the diner.
The irony is devastating.
Let’s hope the idea of the zombie diet doesn’t get around at the fitness centers.
Why are they so thin? Could it be all that walking?
I enjoy aimless walking so I’d be cool with that part of being a zombie, much more so than if the show turned out to be the “Jogging Dead.”
Another surprise: I’ve never seen a naked zombie.
When you think about this, it’s remarkable.
If you go by the “Walking Dead” timeline, these zombies have been walking around dead for four years wearing the same clothes — and that’s another assumption.
I’ve never seen any zombie lore that says zombies try and keep up with the latest fashion or take time to change into fresh duds.
But four years? They should all be naked by now. But of all the zombie hordes I’ve seen I’ve never seen so much as a single a zombie breast or butt cheek.
It’s surprisingly prim for a show that features historically high levels of heinous TV violence.
It’s like the AMC censors say, “Okay, we’re fine with Daryl using a zombie head for a homicidal bowling ball, with cannibal Gareth having a cheerful conversation with the man whose leg he’s eating and, yeah, it’s fine to show closeups of zombies yanking entrails out of screaming humans, but for God’s sake, make sure you re-shoot that scene that showed a glimpse of that exposed zombie nipple! We have standards to maintain!”
It’s true. Zombies never experience wardrobe malfunctions.
And who’s doing all the human barbering in the zombie apocalypse? My friends at the bar look more disheveled — and those are the attorneys!
It’s like Rick enforces grooming standards. Hollywood and zombie apocalypse must be the only places where great hair supersedes all else.
The zombies? Heck, my hair’s messier.
It proves to me that producers are more interested in special FX Emmys than true zombie authenticity.
It won’t be truly authentic to me until you hear one of the cast utter the obvious line, “Dammit. I just stepped in a huge pile of zombie poop!”
So how will I do in a zombie apocalypse?
Well, as a zombie I’ll be fine. It’s all so aimless. It’d be sort of like what I do now, but without all the blogging. Really, it’s like I’ve spent the past six years practicing to become a zombie.
How would I do as a human survivor?
I’ll thrive, I’m sure.
That’s because I’ll adopt the only superhero persona sure to endure. I’ll be silent. I’ll blow around with the wind, practically invisible, but always persisting in the shadows.
I’ll be The Dust!
I’ll survive when all others are doomed to become zombie chow.
Why The Dust?
Because everyone knows true zombies never bite The Dust.
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