Night of the Living Dead. I’m talking about the original, George Romero black and white flick. Scariest. Zombie. Movie. Ever. It certainly scared the crap out of me. I mean, what could be more terrifying than being trapped in an old farm house with an army of flesh eating zombies just outside the doors?
Hey, wait. I live in an old farm house in the middle of nowhere. I have the scariest basement ever. And I have four barely legal adults living in the house…most of which freak me out almost as much as zombies, on a regular basis. I would be willing to bet, at least a few of them plot to feast on my brains at least now and then. Hey, but if you’re reading, kids, I bought the cherry vanilla ice cream. Eat that instead.
But why am I obsessing about scary things like zombies, in the middle of the night? I have no freaking clue. But I do wonder if the rooster will at least warm me of their approach.
Hey, do zombies eat chicken?
Until the next time…I’ll be having nightmares.