And the best part is that they always think that they can outlast them. Guys, these things are already dead. They’ve got all the patience in the world and yet time and again, many a moronic movie hero has decided to test that infamous calm by sitting around with some girl that’s keen on screaming at every dust bunny that rolls by, some guy who thinks living to the end credits is overrated by comparison to fighting legions of hungry monsters and some little kid who has no survival instinct and will happily wander off into the brain eating masses. I always wondered why this only ever seemed to bother me. Meanwhile, all my friends would rave about whatever film they just saw and talk about how scary it was like there was something different about the walking corpses this time. They walk. They’re corpses. Oh how original.

You know, it’s not fair. I spent years boycotting those movies out of the sheer stupidity of the concept. I even used to read up on real zombies from Haiti so I could be the annoying guy who could debunk everyone’s impression of what these things were. If I could still read, I’d been even more pissed off but what little I can remember is sufficient for now. And the stupid image that zombies have.

These things are supposed to be the living dead. That means they’re supposed to be rotting and leaving bits and pieces around. I don’t know about anyone else but I want to know since when have there been so bloody many fresh corpses that just stay so well preserved over the course of a week or two? Does the nuclear dust or the comet radiation or whatever it was that caused this also come with some kind of pickling power that somehow allows your limbs to still function and your skin to stay in place? And then there’s this idea in everyone’s head that these creatures just wander around in packs but no one really knows why. Stick twenty people in a room and tell them to make a salad and chances are that it will take less than ten minutes before people are bickering about what kind of tomatoes to include.

People just don’t get along so why would a plague rendering them mindless knuckle-draggers be enough cause to band together for the greater good? Don’t you think that at least some of the zombies might form a sort of hierarchy like everything else in nature? And how would they feed everyone? Do you really think the zombies at the back of the pile are getting any of those juicy brains that they want? They’ll be lucky to get the entrails, which, if you know anything about eating humans, is something akin to getting the giblets in a turkey. Sure some people like them but some people also think that unicorn paintings on black suede embellished with rhinestones constitutes high art.

You know, people always used to make a big fuss over me being a vegetarian. I got to hear all kinds of crap about how difficult I was to feed and how inconvenient it was. Some days, when I actually have the extra brain power to get fired up about it, I really wish that I could drag those people out of their graves and give them a good, sound chewing out. Granted, this time it probably wouldn’t involve eating their vital bits. Seriously though, it was so much easier being veggie. I had so many recipes that I could work with. Now with the constant hunger for human flesh, I couldn’t eat animals even if I wanted to. And the worst of it is that humans are so difficult to prepare. While there’s all kinds of interesting shapes and colors to contend with, it’s not like all the parts are all that forgiving when I want to include them in a dish.

Oh so you thought that we zombies just tear the guts right out of peoples’ still living bellies and just eat them right like that? Well excuse me for having some class. Sure, there might still be some half-wit out there who still does that but I, for one, would actually like to enjoy my food. Besides, if you’re not careful, you damage other parts. You know, those stupid movies make it look like all we want are your brains but seriously, what about the rest of the human?

I’m appalled at the sheer waste of all those perfectly good organs that other zombies just toss aside. I’ve actually seen some of my zombie brethren just bypass the chest cavity completely and go for the head. Not that I associate with those types. Show me a walking dead man who doesn’t get excited about human hearts basted in a nice wine sauce with a side of mashed potatoes and liver strips and I’ll be willing to bet that he got attacked coming out of the grocery store with his bags full of chips and ranch dip.

I will admit, though, that not many other dead people in my position would bother to actually cook up the kinds of dishes I do but sometimes a guy has a difficult day, particularly when he can’t remember where he put the left over pieces of his girlfriend. Sometimes a guy gets tired of having to field phone calls from her extended relatives asking if she’s back from vacation yet. Sometimes all a guy wants is to sit, massaging his lady’s left over foot and have a nice meal.

That reminds me, Carol’s godmother is a heavy drinker. I’ll have to stock up on the whiskey before she comes over next week. At the very least, it makes it easier to get away without having to explain the eye patch and yellowing skin. I only hope that she’s not the lush Carol’s mother was. Folks, pickled livers taste disgusting no matter what sauce you prepare them in.

And that’s another thing. People think that we who are unfortunate enough to be undead are going to take to the streets, flopping about and dragging our feet to your doorstep to feast on your delicious living tissues. Okay, for one, what makes you think that I’m just going to pop on over? Don’t you think that I have better things to do than wander into a stranger’s home and tear them apart? Second, remember what I said about all that rotting business? Well it happens. Not fast, for some reason, but I’m pretty certain that people are going to notice a guy when he’s taken on a wonderful jaundice look and one of his eyes has fallen out. Sure I could still pop it back in if I wanted to but it’s not looking so good anymore and it’s not like it works anyway.

And then there’s the little issue of smell. You ever smell the dead? We’re not exactly easy on the nose. It was easier a few months ago but I had to pack my pots, pans and my spice rack up (along with the pieces of Carol that I can’t find a way to cook) and move to another place where I wouldn’t get so many complaints about the putrid odor coming through the walls. Thankfully living where I am has afforded me a little bit of privacy but no one in those movies ever seems to have to contend with living in the kinds of neighborhoods that tolerate the smell of death in the air. Do you know what that means? It means that every bloody time I invite someone over for dinner, there’s a good chance that someone else is going to kill them before I do and what the hell am I supposed to eat then? I would avenge their deaths but do you know how many crackheads are in this part of town? Do you know what kind of aftertaste that leaves? I thought gunpowder was gross but with enough tamari, you can at least work with it. Crack cocaine in the system seems just fine until about an hour after you’ve eaten. Suddenly you’ve got this awful chemical taste in your mouth and it doesn’t go away for hours. And it doesn’t even go away after you’ve had the organs in the freezer for a few months. If law enforcement knew how disgusting the insides of a junkie tastes, they would pass a bill that would require these people to stay in rehab for the rest of their lives.

Speaking of law enforcement, that’s another little annoyance that the movie characters never have to worry about. I’m not sure where filmmakers got the impression that people on the police force were selected for their complete ineptitude but I can assure you that this isn’t the case in real life. Eat a few of your former friends or co-workers and suddenly you’ve got detectives hounding you for weeks, asking where you were and what you were doing on a particular date and all. I have enough trouble trying to remember the exact measurements for the different ingredients for intestinal stew, nevermind what one of my now dead friends was doing before they got to my place for dinner.

And the worst part is that they pay attention to every bloody detail. You tell them you’ve got a cold and suddenly they want you to go to a doctor. Next thing you know, they’re asking if you saw this one doctor that disappeared and you’ve got to come up with all new reasons to avoid seeing another one. Pardon my French people, but this is huge pain in the ass. The only good thing about these police types is that with all that physical training they have to do, they’ve got some nice juices to them. Nice and healthy pink organs that freeze well.

That actually sounds like a good idea for dinner. Officer Bane’s kidneys will make a nice addition to the soup base I made up last week. If I’m going to make that curry rice dish with his eyeballs, though, I’m going to have to get started on that now. Eyeballs are only at their best when they’ve been cleaned up and let me tell you, if you think peeling potatoes is tedious, try sawing through the abundance of muscle and fat around one of these puppies. Try it now while you’re missing a pinkie on one hand and your ring finger on the other. The things I do for a good meal.