Southside Zombie Notes

Won’t bother with the obvious jab at drunks. It’s clear and obvious and hideous and true. It’s easy, like the blondes, but true all the same. Still, the zombie walk still have nothing on the Superbowl.
Zombie strippers. Scream queens. Rubber mas…wait, that’s some Yinzer’s face painted white! Yeah gods, what are they feeding these people?
Zombies were conceived in their modern, undead sense as an analog for mindless consumers. The way they amble down past the shops of Southside is enough to keep hack comedians going for years. But like the drunks, it’s too obvious to be funny.
The best are the ones who don’t get it. They look at it, the zombies ambling down the way. One shouts from a tow truck “What’s this world coming to”? What indeed. The guy with the pink mohawk is here every day. What sort of world permits an afront to his model of Southside conservatism?
I want to have sex with the undead tonight. I am young and virile and have a bottomless thirst for Red Bull. Carpe noctem, undead legions. I am not dead, just bloodthirsty. I am, after all, a man of letters.

Then again, if I have gin after this can I’ll probably end up behaving like the beast in some Victorian horror novel. Some things even zombies shouldn’t be subjected to.

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