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skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com

Tuesday, 25 October
All These Zombies

I might as well start off by saying that it was a pretty boring weekend, really. Hurrah! Tell us more, Skot!

All right!

On Friday, as the wife trundled off to do her show (note that I have abandoned the Ethel Rosenberg thing, as it was only ever funny to me, I'm pretty sure), I did my usual thing and . . . sat around. Then I ate some pizza. Slow down, tiger! It had been a while since I had a whole Friday night to myself to . . . stare at the awful things they put on Friday night TV. Is that shit even legal? I think I watched a whist tournament on the ESPN You're Too Tired To Even Masturbate channel, and then some reality show where the contestants ate their own feet.

Eventually, the wife came home. "How was your evening?" she asked brightly. "Boring," I snapped back. What a great husband! "We could go out," she offered tentatively. "Nah!" I spat. Honest to God. No, wife! I want to stew in my own manufactured misery! What's not to understand? Basically, what you need to get here is that I am a ridiculous child and that the wife is a patient, patient woman.

[Let's shoehorn in a story here to illustrate this, from earlier tonight! A sample bit of marital dialogue; it is of note that the wife's birthday is approaching:

Skot: (teasingly) "I got a special someone a gift today!"

Wife: (faux-naively) "Ooooh! Who was it for?"

Skot: "This bitch I've been banging."]

I eventually (back to Friday now) got out of my stupid-ass funk, probably, sadly, because of the fact that trolling through the cable listings, I noticed: Resident Evil 2. Oh God! Thank you Starz! "You mind?" I inquired, and the wife replied--as if I needed more proof of her fundamental goodness, "That actually sounds perfect."

So we watched. It was . . . Resident Evil 2! I mean, what the fuck do you expect? It's a video game movie. With Milla Jovovich and some other hot skinny broad. It's 2! 2! 2 times the hot! Whatever.

Although really it must be said that at some point we stopped asking enough from our zombies. Early on in the movie, it's established that you need to shoot the poor moaners in the brain. Hey, fuck that! I'm of the old-school zombies, where you sever an arm? THAT ARM STILL CRAWLS AROUND! Killing zombies? Bah. Fuck that. THEY'RE ALREADY DEAD! IT'S THE WHOLE POINT! Body parts must crawl around. But no. This is the age of zombie adulteration, and so you get a bunch of brain nonsense.

On the other hand, you do also get some zombie hookers, who have really pneumatic chests wandering around. Apparently hooker-shirts and -bras are incredibly delicious to other zombies. And also, strangely, zombie hookers are evidently real sticklers for job performance, as they sort of stroll around being hooker-y with their dead tits hanging out. I didn't see any of the zombie accountants trying to fuss with their double-entry bookkeeping during the movie, or any zombie gas station attendants fumbling with the pumps. How uplifting that the topless zombie hookers still wanted to suck some dick for money! But only live dick Or, perhaps, chew off said dicks. For nutrition!

I spent a little too much time thinking about the zombie hookers and what they'd do when they only had dead dicks to deal with. On the other hand, I was really overthinking the zombie thing anyway. They always fall on a live human with a real appetite--it is a standard scene in any zombie movie to show these folks gnawing the fuck out of any living person, preferably all as a group. So how come all these other fucking zombies are suspiciously un-gnawed? All you ever see are these gray, shambling bastards with barely a tooth mark on them! Who forgot to chew on these guys? Is there some sort of unspoken (or, maybe, unmoaned) zombie code for when it's no longer really flavorful to eat the bodies?

"Ah, leave it be, Earl. She ain't even wriggling no more."


"You are boring as shit, Earl. Oh, hell, you might as well finish up that ear."

I think I could write these things, really. It's apparently not difficult to get Milla Jovovich to take off her shirt. Eat my dust, Uwe Boll.

Note: Comments are closed on old entries.


I said the same thing about zombie attacks: Oh, and oddly enough, there is a scene in 'Land of the Dead' where a zombie gas station attendant does actually try to pump gas. So apparently it's not just the zombie hookers who are nostalgic for their old careers.

Comment number: 006089   Posted by: Robin on October 25, 2005 01:13 AM from IP:

Hey, I really liked the Ethel Rosenberg thing! True, it did seem like something that would get old fast -- and yet everytime I would read about your wife betraying our country and getting the chair, I would chuckle.

Ok this might sound sarcastic, but I am serious. Please bring it back. Then you could have been like, "this commie spy-bitch I'm banging." See?

Comment number: 006090   Posted by: Amanda on October 25, 2005 02:07 PM from IP:

"This DEAD commie spy-bitch I'm banging." Hey, zombies again!

Comment number: 006091   Posted by: Kate on October 25, 2005 03:42 PM from IP:

I did, in fact, happen upon a whist tournament on tv the other day.

the world is coming to an end.

Comment number: 006092   Posted by: amy on October 25, 2005 08:02 PM from IP:

I mourn the passing of the Ethel Rosenberg joke.

May we have a moment of silence?

Comment number: 006093   Posted by: C Ro on October 27, 2005 09:28 AM from IP:

...those hooker zombies going for the dicks? You know there are little brains in there, right? They just wanted a small snack!
(as per the old school zombie rule: "braaiiiinssss!!!")

Comment number: 006094   Posted by: a different Kate on October 27, 2005 01:16 PM from IP:

A couple insights, for what they're worth:
1. They weren't hookers, but strippers. They were evidently infected mid-lapdance.
2. The point is made that infected people can sense other infected people (cf. scene with Milla and Cute Freckled Girl) which could explain why these particular zombies don't eat one another.

I'm just saying.

Comment number: 006095   Posted by: Kirk on November 2, 2005 12:45 PM from IP:

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