Zombies, man

All right. I have a confession to make. I am a twenty-three year old, reasonably muscular, college educated person, and I am scared to death of zombies. Ever since the remake of Dawn of the Dead, I have been scared of them in a way that perhaps can only compare to the fear and trepidation that is felt by this monkey.

Allow me to elucidate my reasoning.

1) Zombies come back from the dead. That's freaking scary. They decide amongst themselves in, I would guess, some sort of zombie parliament that they're tired of being dead, and so they vote "eerhh" or "eghh" depending on whether they want to come back from the dead or not, with a two thirds "eerhh" majority needed to defy the laws of nature. Back when I had two roommates, I couldn't even get two thirds of us to wash the dishes in a timely manner, which is probably not a fair comparision in that washing the dishes is probably much more difficult than defying death.

2) Zombies don't like to eat Burger King, although they would probably like to eat The Burger King, which I think would provide for some of the creepiest entertainment I'd ever seen. (When looking up Burger King, I found this. There are a couple of things wrong with this: 1) the name, and 2) the name in conjunction with the fact that it's apparently wearing a garter belt.) Anyways, zombies want to eat me, and not in the crude teenage sense of the word either. Zombies don't even need me for nourishment; there's no FDA recommended daily percentage of me that they need. They're just gluttons, especially this one; geez, you'd think wandering around being dead and having to catch the living would make you lose some weight. Perhaps I should start marketing zombie slim-fast (a shake for breakfast, a shake for lunch, and then a child for dinner).

3) Zombies keep me from sleeping. Two nights ago, as I left my girlfriend's apartment, I heard a sound that could have come from the undead. It freaked me out, so I ran to my apartment, climbed the stairs hurriedly, and when I entered, I found my roommate asleep on the couch, which is something that he rarely does. Assuming him to have been turned in to a zombie, I sneaked into my room, got into bed, and tried to stay awake to see if he was going to eat me. It was one of those almost fall asleep, wake yourself up and see if there's a zombie in the room, almost fall asleep, wake up, etc. It was pretty lame. But it apparently worked as I am not yet a zombie.

In conclusion, I'm a big sissy. I probably should have just written that and foregone my reasoning.