Ok, this whole being sick thing is getting old. It’s been days. Tomorrow is my karaoke Halloween party, and I not only want to sing, but I want to dress up too…as something other than a zombie, thank you very much. But as far as that goes, my voice is shot, and the rest of me looks a little too much like the walking dead. I guess if I’m looking at the up side, at least I’ll save money on a costume.
But all this talk of zombies sort of freaks me out. Especially after Mike watched that documentary on the zombie apocalypse the other day. I wasn’t watching, but it was hard to tune out. I didn’t want to see the screen, but I couldn’t look away. Sort of like that part in the movie Wild Things when Kevin Bacon steps out of the shower and you can totally see everything. Are you paying attention? He flashed EVERYTHING. Right…I sheltered my eyes that time too. Sure I did.
But this time, there was no naked Bacon in a shower. This time I was transfixed by a world filled with flesh eating zombies. A world where no one was safe from the madness. Dogs devoured dogs. Husbands devoured wives (and not in a good way either.)
Somebody make it stop!
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…we need to prepare.
Well, I’m not much for preparation, but I’ll happily oversee. My son is the zombie warrior and my husband is the one who prepares for the apocalypse. I basically stay out of the way for fear of breaking something.
But I don’t want the world to disappear. I don’t want to be eaten by zombies. I don’t want to be a zombie. I don’t find brains the least bit appetizing. Not cow brains. Not monkey brains. And sure as hell, not people brains. First of all, they’re really messy, and everyone knows I hate getting my hands dirty when I eat. I would need a whole lot of napkins…just saying. And while it’s true, I like my steak on the rare side…ok, I like it practically mooing…I’m still not up for munching on raw neighbors. No. I want to turn back the clock to a simpler time. A time when Frank, Dean and Sammy were the coolest cats on Earth.
Come to think of it, I’m certain the Rat Pack would have been the coolest zombies in the world, but the coolest zombie hunters on the planet. Sinatra would never run from a zombie. He would walk right up to one (singing Witchcraft, of course) tip his hat with a grin, then Dean would take him out with a swift kick in the head.
I think a zombie apocalypse would be almost fun if Frank, Sammy and Dean were out front, killing zombies in the desert and driving around in a baby blue convertible, stopping off to do a show along the way. Of course, the old Sand’s hotel would be their base of operations, and they would report directly to President Kennedy.
I don’t know about you…but I’d totally buy tickets to that show.
Until the next time…I’ll be watching the original Ocean’s Eleven while I get ready for zombie karaoke.