The Trouble With Brains

by Bernie Mojzes

 

It's the texture, really, that I can't stomach.

Not that there's much stomach left. At least, not of my own. Being a zombie is an ugly and inglorious job, but I suppose someone has to do it. Doesn't mean I have to like it.

So I go through the motions, moaning, groaning, waving my arms like an imbecile. Pretending to die when they whack me with a baseball bat or shoot me in the head. Chainsaws are the worst. And there's always some smartass with a chainsaw.

Terrible mess, and sewing in replacement parts afterward is just plain tedious.

Stupid chainsaws.

Still, it's a job, and in this economy you gotta take what you can get. And lets face it, when it comes to benefits, you can't beat working for the government.

Well, you should run along now. It's getting dark. Time to change into my rags and stumble around town.

Catch ya later.