I love zombies. Like, a lot. That’s probably one of the first things you’d find out about me if we met. I usually introduce myself like “Hi. I’m Chan and I love zombies.” Cut to you, backing slowly out of the room and breaking into a run as soon as you clear the doorframe.
I wasn’t always such a zombie fanatic. I’ve forever been into the horror genre but it was the Mister’s love of zombies that really turned me on to the terrifying thrill of the coming undead apocalypse. You know how there’s a whole mess of Christians in the Midwest who are SURE that Jesus is coming sometime next May? Well I’m double that amount of sure that the zombie apocalypse is imminent and we all better get our shotguns and our game plans ready.
I like to fancy myself an undead expert and in the post-apocalyptic future I imagine I’d be all buff and shaved headed, leading a group of survivors through the deserted streets of our zombie ridden brave new world. I’d have a zexy armband and maybe I’d be a little dirty and bloodstained from combat, but in a hot zombie hunter way. I would know the ins and outs of our compound (did I mention we have a compound?) and I would easily be able to venture out into Zombieland (not the movie) and come back unscathed because I’d be hot like that.
Apparently in my head I’m GI Jane.
Here’s the reality.
1) Small insects make me panic. I might be able to take on a fresh zombie, but God forbid that undead sucker has maggots (MAGGOTS! EWW!) crawling on him, it’s all over for me. I would scream like a bitch and make the Mister kill it. That’s what Misters are for.
2) I get hopelessly lost less than a mile from my apartment. I have no sense of direction whatsoever. If I were ever allowed to wander alone I would inevitably walk in circles until I either starved to death or accumulated an unshakeable undead army on my tail and died a miserable wretched death probably 3 blocks from my intended destination. But it’s not even that tragic because I was never going to make it there anyway, that’s how lost I was.
3) There are morbidly obese people in better shape than me. But as long as the zombie apocalypse involves running at a moderate pace on an elliptical trainer for no more than 40 minutes at a time it should be no sweat.
All this to say if zombies really happen, I am EFFED.