Tuesday, October 11, 2011

A Monologue: “Guys, I Swear I’m Not Turning Into a Zombie”

Okay, okay — what happened was this, I think: Everyone is all freaked out by the zombies, and we’ve been cooped up for a while, and I thought it would be funny to lighten the mood by playfully suggesting that I eat Carol’s brains. I don’t want to eat Carol’s brains. Never have. Not going to. But you see in the context of this crazy situation, I thought it might be funny to, like, speak as one of the zombies, you know?

Carol, stop crying.

The thing is, guys, lots of non-zombies eat brains. Have you ever gone to that little taqueria downtown? The one where there’s always a line out in front during lunch? They serve all kinds of tacos, and this one time I got tacos de cabeza. I didn’t realize it then, but it turns out they were brain tacos. (Cabeza is brain. Didn’t know. Took French in high school.) I know, I know. But you’d be surprised how good they were. Like me, not knowing that I was eating brains, I ate these tacos, and let me tell you: They were the. best. tacos. that I’ve ever had. But see, I’ve already eaten brains, before this whole zombie mess started.

Alright, I see that you guys aren’t willing to listen to reason. Dennis, put the mallet down. (And where did you get a mallet that big anyway?) Now, the taqueria didn’t serve human brain tacos. I believe they were cow brains. Not totally sure. But if we’re going to have a “don’t talk about eating brains” rule here, it’s something we should put out in the open right now.

Now, to address your second concern, the wound on my arm is not a zombie bite. What I think happened — and what I think you’ll all agree is totally plausible — is that that this was a pre-existing injury. I got it while I was playing with my dog just a few days ago before the whole zombie thing started. What? No, that’s a valid point, but I think you just never noticed it before now because we previously didn’t live in a “fleshwounds equal zombification” society. And I think I can grandfather in this little wound — just a scratch, really — by demonstrating how the teethmarks could not have been made by a human mouth, zombified or otherwise. See, if ah playth mah ahrm in mah mouf wike thith, you cah thee that the bite markth ah jutht too — OH GOD DAMN IT, CAROL. Stop crying. I’m was putting my own arm in my own mouth.

Now, the last point, which I think you’re all very curious about — and rightly so — is why it appeared that I was biting Carol’s head. Now I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, and that is that we’re all a little tense, and I thought that Carol, in comparison to the rest of us, was really starting to lose her shit. YEAH, I SAID IT, CAROL. EVERYONE WAS THINKING IT. Oh, for the love of — blow your fucking nose, Carol. (I mean, look at her. She’s a mess. I’m thinking maybe she’s the zombie. NOT THAT THERE’S A ZOMBIE HERE, Dennis.) Now, Carol was doing her whole hysterical woman thing, going on about her sister again, and I thought maybe a little physical affection could calm her nerves. I mean, everyone else was trying to sleep, and I simply embraced her and was leaning in to kiss her on the back of the head as a sign of platonic affection. And then she heave-sobbed, like she’s been doing this whole time, and bucked her head right into my tooth. That’s it, I swear.

Hmm? Yeah, well, okay, I think that’s a valid point. I don’t think I would have wanted any kind of physical contact with Carol before this either, but things are different now, people. We’re looking at the end of our society as it existed before the zombies. And we all have to make sacrifices. And is it really so incredible that I’d be willing to subject myself to physical proximity with Carol?


Guys, this is neither funny nor fair.


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