Zombies

Emergency Contact and I recently watched a film that was pretending to be a zombie movie and while 28 Weeks Later is a total stinker, it did lead to a revelation. I suddenly understood why we love zombie movies. They’re actually revenge stories.

Vampire movies are aspirational. You’re lying to yourself if you don’t want to be a vampire. Immortality, great wardrobe, no Monday mornings on public transport, finally being able to take advantage of bank interest rates by waiting, waiting, waiting. Bitey bitey slurpy slurpy. What’s not to like? But, it’s fantasy. You know you’re never going to get bit by the right gang-fanga who just wants to look after you in the lap of decrepit luxury.

Superheros are a bust. Their stories are too easily dismissed. Superman in particular is as boring as Batman’s poop. Quite frankly, I’ve never understood the attraction to fighting crime the minute you can levitate. Sure, the meek might inherit the earth, but in the meantime the strong are going to have pretty nice time of it. Again, it’s not going to happen. You are not suddenly going to wake up being able to leap small ponies in a single bound and being invincible to anything but Samsonite.

Zombies though – that can happen, brain owner. We’re all just one useless penicillin shot away from world-wide, dawdling apocalypse and we always imagine ourselves as one of the few remaining survivors. Here’s what dawned-of-the-dead on me the other night.

It’s a chance to kill your neighbours.

Guilt free.

Admit it.

The instant the first syllable of Braaai… is halfway of the mouth of the selfish son-of-a-bitch who always parks across two car spaces, he’s getting his moronic head caved in.

The second that fucker across the landing, the one who always screams at the football late at night, lifts two arms up in front of herself, she’s getting two of Remington’s best in the face.

The tiniest hint of a shambling walk from that idiot in the post office and we’re finally going to see how sharp that axe really… what… he only had a hip injury? He wasn’t really a zombie?

Let’s just chalk that one up to a mercy killing. But you know what I mean. Come the zombie apocalypse, all bets are off and some of those painful bastards who make the world a worse place are finally going to get what’s coming to them without all the hand-wringing that goes with assisted suicide.