We were discussing the zombie menace at work. Smurf said he didn’t like the new breed of running zombie. He likes the slow moving zombie. I agreed and added that I don’t like it when the zombies seem to get smarter. You end up with that moral quandary when cutting their heads off. We also discussed the half zombie, half vampire phenomenon that can be found in some areas. Spider Fingers said that he was fairly certain that they were taking over the world but I said that Australia would be safe.
I said that because I accidentally became an expert on border security after once getting caught in an eight hour marathon of Border Security Australian Style, on cable telly. Smurf knew exactly where I was at with that because I had regaled him with tales immediately after seeing the marathon. It mainly featured people who are determined to bring in exotic and strange smelling animal by-products, disguised in nothing but a doona cover and, despite the fetid odour coming from the bag, will strenuously deny they are doing anything wrong.
With the zombies threatening our shores, the two things collided in our minds.
“Anything to declare, sir?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Did you pack your own bags?”
“Yes.”
“Did you pack any zombies?”
“No zombies.”
“If I open this bag, will I find any zombies?”
“No. There are no zombies in that bag.”
“Sir?
“Yes?”
“Sir, I just heard your bag say, ‘Brains’”
“That was me. I just said ‘Brains’”
“Sir, I’ve opened the bag and I can see you’ve got a zombie in it.”
“Oh that bag. Yes… well that’s a trade zombie. Export quality.”
“How about these other bags, sir. Any zombies in them?”
“No. No zombies in them.”
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