122917d

Bring It On Home

Zombies had been picketing for three days. Today the banner read ... Muglioni leaned across his desk to see ... "Braaaaaaaaaaaaaainz!" Same as yesterday. He sat back, rubbing his temples. There was just no way to function on the budget he'd been handed. Zombies work for peanuts. Well, actually, dead flesh, but the point was he could afford that. Or at least he had been able to afford it, until union organizers had convinced the walking (and test tube washing) dead to demand human brains. How was he going to manage that!? Meanwhile, he was so close to true reanimation he could almost ... well, he was very close. A knock on his door. He swung his chair around.

A comely blonde stood in the doorway, hand raised.

"Not talking to reporters," he said, making a shooing gesture.

"Lucky for me," she said, walking in, "I'm not a reporter." He'd just assumed somebody that good-looking, wearing a short skirt and blouse that didn't cover much, had to be a TV reporter.

"Checking me out is free," she said, "but I hope you listen to what I have to say. I can solve your problem."

Muglioni gestured to a chair and she sat, crossing her legs. He cleared his throat.

"What do you want," he asked. "I have a lot to do."

She handed him a card. "Laura Jolson, expediter." She appeared to work for a corporation called "Biological Imports."

"Your zombies want human brains. You don't think you can afford to supply them. I say you can. You could settle the strike and have them back at work tomorrow."

"What's the price?"

"$2100 per 1000 kg."

"That's," he did a quick calculation in his head, "less than a dollar a pound. How can you possibly do that? Legally!?"

She frowned. "I work for a reputable business. We have a reliable source of more human brains than you will ever need."

Muglioni grimaced. This could not possibly be on the up-and-up. But for sure no American-owned, reputable company could provide brains at that price. Probably not in the amount he needed at any price. He couldn't say no. When he had achieved full reanimation (for recent corpses), and people could have their loved ones returned to them as real people, not travesties, no one would ask him where the brains came from. And he was close, so close.

--

When all the papers had been signed, Muglioni didn't feel relief. He was worried. He was also horny.

"So, can I take you to dinner?" he asked.

Her smile was a knowing one. "How about Chinese food."

070317

It Began With the Rhinos

Professor Zodiac didn't mean to reanimate the entire zoo cemetery. He merely needed a couple of dead rhinoceri.

The reanimation, fueled with the pulp of countless PETA tracts, went off without a hitch. At least until the elephants. They broke through the soil, spraying dirt clods everywhere, and posing against the sky.

"Did I order elephants?" The raised eyebrow. Chunk shook his head vehemently and hung his head. He had always loved circus elephants.

"No, Master."

But then the tapir, the jaguarundi, the koala and the meerkat, the gazelle and even the stately giraffe, broke free of the ground and began staggering about, milky-eyed and trembling. Professor Zodiac launched all of them, the hippopotamus, the red panda, the giant tortoise, and even the penguins against the Witch's stronghold.

The liches turned out to have capabilities that they could only have dreamed of in their former lives, if they could have dreamed of additional abilities. The hippos could tunnel through wet earth. Pocket gophers could teleport, although only into and out of pockets. The penguins could fly. They were like giant flying fish, whizzing over the walls of the Witch's castle, crashing through windows, or bouncing off embrasures when they tried to go through arrow slits. Soon, the professor was inside. He confronted the Witch in her audience chamber.

"I want what's rightfully mine," he said. "I need the potions from my laboratory."

"You mean MY laboratory," she snapped. "It was only your laboratory until I caught you performing late-night experiments with that leggy intern from the University. I have moved the facility to an isolated tower in the Arctic Ocean. The tower is too smooth and too tall for climbing, and is surrounded by hundreds of miles of sea ice. You will never get in. I'll be wearing the laboratory smock in the family from now on."

"But I have to finish her transformation," he protested. "Now she is neither fish nor fowl, when she could be both." The Witch snorted. "Should've thought of that while her pants were still on."

*

Eventually, the professor's army returned to the graveyard and he departed. Afterwards, he pulled his assistant aside.

"Chunk?"

"Yes, Master?"

"This is not the end."

"No, Master."

He leaned down to whisper in the hunchback's ear. "We can do this. I have a foolproof plan. But we'll need more penguins."

Publ. Daily Cabal, 2007

061017

The walking dead

Eileen noticed that the ambassador was dead. Its normally scaly skin showed milky puckered patches where the scales had fallen off. In fact, it was shedding on the carpet. Its eyes were dull, not glassy, and all color had leached from its crest.

"Sir," she asked, "what happened?" Or was one supposed to pretend not to notice? She could not remember.

"I'd rather not talk about it, Deputy Commissioner Johnson," the Kaarshin replied. The tendrils around its mouth fluttered rapidly, but whether this was part of the decomposition process, or indicated some emotion, she didn't know. She'd only been on We're There a few months, and had not interacted much with the native species.

Smalltalk! What to say? "Well, uh, about your trip to the mountains. Will you be staying long?" Oh great, of course it was going to be staying long, it was going to stay forever.

"Just a few weeks, Deputy Commissioner. I have some family business to wrap up."

*

As soon as the ambassador left, Eileen hurried next door.

"Josh! What's going on? The ambassador, was it... dead? I've read about this, but..."

Josh put down his sandwich and pointed to his mouth. He was chewing a tremendous bite of corned beef on rye. Finally, he swallowed it and then picked up a glass of water. He took a long drink. By this time she was in a frenzy of impatience.

"Molting," he said, and picked up his sandwich.

"Oh. Now I feel so stupid." She went back to her office. The phone rang. It was Josh.

"Gotcha," he said. "No, he's dead all right. Been dead for about four days I would say, judging from the condition of his skin. Talk to you later." He hung up.

So was it like being a zombie? She felt sorry for it. It seemed like a long drawn out tortuous way to die.

*

After work, Eileen walked down to the Kaarshin quarter. She had never been to the narrow crooked streets flanked by tall windowless buildings. The older buildings leaned in over alleys strewn with fallen bricks. In the shadows, the walls were painted with primitive grace: herds of willowy creatures running, jumping, flying. The artists had used dozens of colors, but their choices were in no way lifelike. A mauve and lime green hidebuck, for instance, would be rendered as crimson and khaki on one wall and solid pink on another. She almost forgot to look at the Kaarshins, so taken was she with their wall art. But when she did focus on the people, she realized that at least half of them were ... deceased. Many had bleached, pitted skin. They were not simply maimed or disabled, they were ghosts in solid form. Some were missing limbs, were completely penetrated by holes, or were simply wearing down to the bone. Lying by a flight of stairs and leaning against the wall was what Eileen first took for a pile of trash. Then it moved, a brief, periodic, trembling, and she realized it was the limbless remnant of a Kaarshin. Why had she not noticed this? Why had no one said anything? It seemed to be in distress, so she squatted down beside it.

"Can I help you?" Realizing it might not understand English, she switched to Karsh and repeated her question. It rolled its eyes towards her, but said nothing. "I want to help you."

Something touched her shoulder. She screamed and leapt to her feet. It was the ambassador.

"It's you. This being seemed so sad or in pain. I wanted to help."

"You can do nothing. I assure you it feels no pain. This is a necessary process."

"I know you don't want to talk about it," she replied. Ambassador raised his hand.

"When some of our metabolic processes cease, others remain active. The body consumes itself to further the existence of the individual. We use this time to settle our affairs. Eventually, everything that must be done has been completed. At this time, an individual finds peace. For years, scholars argued about the deaths of humans. Most did not believe the stories you told. Some thought your species lived in denial; some thought we simply didn't understand your explanations, cloaked as they were in mythic language. Others thought you were misinformed. Finally the wise came to realize that you are the unfortunates you seem. Allow me to express my regrets. Your souls move to the next sphere with unsatisfied needs and unfinished business. This makes it very difficult for them to ascend and many never succeed."

Eileen left the native city and trudged up the hill towards the human settlement. Tonight would be a good time to visit her father.

Publ. The Simian Transcript (book), 2010

No Future As a Cartoonist

092316

Something about zombies, family, I don't know


he keeps dried heads in the cookie jar
she throws them out back when he's not home
after spring rain they put down roots
grow torsos, limbs
some up, some down, sideways
by mid simmer they start talkin'
this is why, he rants
I shrunk 'em in the first place
and now Thanksgiving with the fam
will have to be outside
cos I sure ain't lettin those things back in



On a more legit botanical note. I was told this morning that there are "dozens" of surprise lilies up in our yard. Alas, it is only 14. The drought is not been good for them.

Pringles dragon-flavored chips

I really must apologize


Yesterday's story
opened a Can of Wyrms
I fervently wish the Lid could be replaced
each gently toasted slice
so much like every other
it seems clear they were ground,
reconstituted, and pressed into service
you plant these in your field
soldiers ain't what you will get
software engineers? We should be so lucky!
I think we're gonna need
a case of brains.
better bring two, JIC,
and hope they don't remember
they once knew how to fly.

new horror flash

"I Ate A Zombie" http://flashesinthedark.com/ -- By me. Warning: not humor.

free lunches (zombies only)

we can remember Thursday for you wholesale

reasonable
fee taken
from your cerebellum

Warning -- tasteless humor

Zombie in my eye

When the dead rise
the unborn dead
pelt the living with their
tiny light-weight bodies
inflicting what damage they can

one more zombie poem

Blue Light Special

it's not
easy being
blue taste gone and smell bad
still welcome at some bars HEllo
BABY!

zombiku 26: stop me if you've heard this one

zombie walked down street
turned into a bar
no - still a zombie

zombiku 25: classes cancelled

dress shirt no longer white

thoughts
form
bubble
burst before
reaching cerebrum
body cruises autopilot
below water table but still digging in the muck

zombiku 24: SNACK TIME

a vampire
is empty calories
to a zombie

zombiku 23: retrospective

pigeons from hell
cluster thickly on the roof
thanks REH

zombiku 22: preventive measures

:X

you
sew
their mouths
shut so they
can't tell secrets curse
you or cast any other spells



a fib (6-line fibonacci-series-based ku

:X=zombie

zombiku 21: Dorothy eats lunch alone

zombies in Oz
take brains where they find them
scarecrow gone missing

zombiku 20: the ones that got away

becoming dead

mouth
and
eyes sewn
awaken
skin a tight fit brain
turns like gears sinking in tar still
struggling to turn thoughts scatter into infinite sea


a fibonacci-no ku

zombiku 19: he's a natural

zombie Jacques
scans help wanted pages
graveyard tour guide

zombiku 15 - in honor of Zombie Day

arms out straight
gray skin and curdled eyes
do the zombie

zombiku 14: can friendship survive

bad dog

I wouldn't let
the vet cremate him
thrown stick lies on ground
Rover eats living flesh now
neighborhood cats' glassy stares