Ode to the Equal Opportunity of a Zombie

Seriously, Zombie, get out of that trash can. You are not trash. You do not even have a banana peel on your head. It is imbedded in your arm from the last time we had to sew it back together. Remember? You said it looked pretty. At least, I THINK you said it looked pretty. Honestly, all I heard was “Unggggrabllflarrrgbraaaaaaaainsssss….” Really, Zombie, you need to take some speech classes. No one is going to understand you if you keep talking like a three year old cavechild. And you need to get a better suit than the one you have now. It’s all tattered and covered in entrails. How do you expect to get a job like that, Zombie? You’re never going to get that fancy office with a window and an espresso machine unless you dress for it. And we might want to get some exfoliating products for your skin. It’s looking kinda green and peely. Seriously, I can see your bones through it. And we need to talk about your diet, Zombie. Brains are a good source of protein, but you need to get some fiber and citrus fruits in your diet. Everytime I see you, another clump of hair or piece of tooth or lump of flesh has fallen off you. You are not a pirate, Zombie. You probably can’t even get scurvy. And is that a rat on your head? Get off his head, rat! You are not a hairpiece, and your hair is mangy enough as it is. Zombie, you should know better than to let creatures jump on your head. You know how easily it falls off. Remember that time when that feather fell on your head and we had to reattach it using duct tape and glue? Remember how the only glue we had was glitter glue? You’re still shimmery in the sunlight. This isn’t right, Zombie. You are not Edward Cullen and zombies don’t sparkle. And when was the last time you got your hair cut? It’s absolutely dreadful. Really, there are patches missing everywhere and I can see your brain through your scalp. I think you need to cover up that extreme bald spot, Zombie. It’s not attractive. How do you expect to attract the lady zombies when you look like death? The ladies want you to smell nice, too. You smell like a deceased pile of garbage-infested rodents. At least wear a flower in your lapel, Zombie–or even a scented handkerchief. Would it kill you to try some flair once in a while? And don’t take your dates to Old Man Grumblefeld’s farm. They don’t want to work for their food, they want it to be completely prepared for them. And they don’t want to be shot at either! I know you’re undead and everything, but seriously, Zombie, getting shot in the face with a shotgun round isn’t fun at all. You really don’t know how to treat a lady, do you? You can’t just go up to her and start casually nomming on her brains. You have to show her that you respect her and show her a good time first. Let her nom on your brains for a change, Zombie. Do you have any sense of gentlemanly behavior at all? No wonder you could never hold down a job. Remember that time you tried to eat Bob in accounting? He didn’t appreciate that, Zombie. Not one bit. That’s why your boss fired you. Eating people is wrong, especially when they’re still alive. You need to get with it, Zombie. There’s a whole world out there to enjoy, and all you want to do is eat any living thing that crosses your path.

To all of you who endured this monologue, thank you. You are scholars and gentlemen. Or gentlewomen.