DumbFunnery

My Zombie Roomy (11/1/12)

I’ll admit, I stereotyped. I feel bad having done it (but only because it turned out I was wrong).

On Wednesday I didn’t see the Zombie at all. Tuesday he was gone by the time I came home from work. Today? Still no sign of him. But I did see a little pumpkin thing. You know, one of those little plastic pumpkins kids get to hold their candy when they trick-or-treat.

Here is a slow-motion capture of the thoughts that raced through my mind.

“The heck? Why is … Oh it’s the Zombie’s … Oh God it’s probably got human parts in it … Oh man it’s probably a kids hands … Oh no oh no oh no …”

The last one I thought over and over as I slowly approached it. Mental pictures of this weird, gross scene I had imagined kept repeating in my mind. I don’t know why, but I kept picturing a kids hands in the bucket.

I reached the bucket and … instead it was candy. Regular old candy, like any kid would have after a night of trick-or-treating. I hate to admit it, but I was a little disappointed.

My dear, dear Zombie roommate did not have the crazy Halloween I expected him to have. I really expected some morbid sense of humor kind of thing. A little kids trick-or-treat bucket filled with zombie-snacks. How funny would that be in a dear-God-what’s-happened-to-my-sense-of-right-and-wrong-oh-wait-I-have-distanced-myself-from-reality sort of way? I’ll tell you – it would be very funny.

But nope. Just candy.

Of course, I still won’t eat it. My stereotype that the Zombie is secretly playing morbid Halloween jokes remains intact (but shh, I’m admitting this only in a rare moment of clarity known as drinking and blogging). My assumption (hope? what’s happening to me?) is that under those loving exteriors of my favorite candy bars (tiny Crunch bars, a regular sized Twix, some Peanut Butter Cups, M&Ms!, …) … are tiny, chopped up bits of people.

Is that weird that I think that?

My parents are coming in to town tomorrow so I told the Zombie to get lost for a while. He stinks up the place something awful, and I don’t want my parents to have to deal with it. The time apart could be good for my apparently skewed moral compass.