The Zombie is a real jerk, but he’s clever. I had him all wrong. It turns out the Zombie wasn’t pointing at Flannery O’Conner’s The Complete Stories but one of my Jack Handy’s Deep Thoughts books. He was going to bag himself some easy prey.
Watching the Olympics made the Zombie come to a realization. While I was impressed with their athleticism and strength, he was too. Maybe more so. The Zombie realized, when people put their minds to it, they’re pretty tough to chase down and eat.
You know who is not tough to eat? People who aren’t athletes.
The Zombie smells just like Whataburger. With a hint of trash. And the usual death, and decay.
It’s gross. He apparently spent the whole time I was gone (plus some) hanging out at the Whataburger. Based on some intricate charades I figured out that his favorite time of day was when this bar that is right near the Whataburger lets out. Chow time, folks.
He knows I don’t really like when he eats people. But I have to admit, I was the least mad I could possibly be when I found out the bar is this one that is a hot spot for racist rednecks. The Zombie is no Dexter, but he’s got a certain style to his mealtime choices.