Prologue of the New Book

PROLOGUE

    Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.
  
A guy walks into a college medical facility to be a paid guinea pig for an experimental inoculation for mad-cow disease.  Everything goes fine during the procedure except for the part where an excessively large needle is jammed into him; that part kind of sucks.  The guy collects his money and is already mentally spending the loot as he leaves the clinic.  Suddenly, without warning, he is viciously attacked by a zombie.

    It’s common knowledge that a zombie bite is fatal.  It kills you while you experience a rather agonizing full-body pain, and then it reanimates you into a genuine non-living, non-breathing member of the undead.  There is no cure, and a bite from one of the living dead boasts a one hundred percent fatality rate.

    This particular gentleman is no different.  While he manages to break free of his attacker, he suffers a bite that goes through his shirt sleeve and takes a chunk out of his shoulder.  This is before the actual announcement that zombies are wandering the Earth has been made to the public, however, so he mistakes the facts of the situation and screams at his assailant, “What the fuck are you doing, you homeless freak!  You fucking bit me!  Now I need a goddamn tetanus shot!”

    The man runs away just as fast as his legs can carry him.  Unbeknownst to him, a campus security guard heard the commotion and comes over to investigate.  He is truly an imposing figure at the spry age of sixty-eight and is armed with an awe-inspiring flashlight and a shiny whistle.  Zombies, of course, don’t feel fear, so despite his mastery of the art of calling a tow truck to remove a car parked in a fire lane, he is quickly devoured.

    The wounded science experiment makes it to his car without further incident and gets in.  He drives himself to the nearest hospital and seeks medical attention for his injury.  Even though blood from his wound drips all over the receptionist’s window, he is told that he will have to wait in line because it is simply packed in the ER that night.  His eyes dart back and forth between the group of doctors and nurses standing almost directly behind the woman discussing the latest episode of America’s Got Talent and the completely empty waiting room.  Not wanting to be a bother, he takes a seat and picks up the November 1991 issue of People from the table next to him.

    Six hours later, he dies and reanimates while idly flipping through the pages of a magazine declaring Aerosmith to be the hottest up-and-coming new band in the country.  His final thought as a human being is the following:

    “Did I remember to put the cap back on the toothpaste this morning?”

    Truly he would have become one of the world’s most profound philosophers with thoughts as insightful as that one if he hadn’t tragically passed away.

    Hi, my name is Mitch, and I want to brutally murder you and feast upon your flesh.  No, seriously, I do.  I don’t know why you’re smiling like you are, but just as soon as I figure out how to get to you, I’m going to kill you.  Afterwards, I’m going to throw all sense of propriety out the window and stuff my face full of your tasty skin before washing it down with a soothing cup of your blood.

    Just the thought of it makes me giggle like a school girl.  Tee hee!  See?  I told you that I’m giggling.

    Being the nice guy that I am, I’ll let you in on a little secret.  You know the story that I just told you?  It was about me.  I know what you’re thinking.  What a shocking twist so early in this instant classic of a manuscript!

    Fun Mitch Fact #1: I’ve killed and devoured three different game show hosts.  There have also been five of the hot chicks those shows used to introduce worthless prizes while smiling and generally looking mildly stupid.

    I was going to use a different word that ‘stupid’, but on the off-chance that someone who is actually concerned with something as idiotic as political correctness has survived the zombie apocalypse to this point, I decided to switch it at the last second.  Also, to anyone who is a moron that I may have offended by using ‘stupid’, I sincerely apologize.  I’m deeply sorry that I might have accidentally pointed out your lack of intelligence.

    But hey, consider this: we zombies are the most politically correct people the world has ever seen.  White, black, Hispanic, Asian…it doesn’t matter to us.  We’ll gladly feast on every nationality with equal joy.  The list of things that we view as irrelevant includes, but is not limited to:

    Race (everyone’s the same color when they’re in our intestines)

    Religion (or lack thereof)

    Tax bracket

    Height

    Weight (although given the choice, we’ll go with the fatties every time)

    IQ

    Type of car owned (as long as you drive nice and slow)

    Taste in music

    Diseases infected with

    Political affiliation (we’re the true bi-partisans)

    Favorite sports teams (I refuse to eat Cubs fans, though; they’ve been through enough)

    I’m so proud of the Brotherhood of the Undead when I think of how we’ve accepted every walk of life into the fold.  It would bring tears to my eyes if my body was still capable of pushing fluid through my tear ducts.

    Despite the fact that I am indeed a zombie, no, I do not know what started this wonderful little zombie apocalypse.  I want to make that clear right from the very start since it’s the most common question that I’m asked.  Everyone seems to be surprised that I don’t know, which makes zero sense when you actually think about it.  It’s not like there’s a copy of The Big Book of Undead Trivia stapled to you when you reanimate.

    Well, it appears as if you and I are going to be stuck with each other for a while.  I suppose that you could always opt to put down this book and walk away, but let me say with all do respect that you will regret doing so.  Not just because this is going to be one of, if not the, greatest novels ever written by an Undead American (that’s a pretty safe bet), but also because I will come to your house and eat your dog.  If you don’t have a dog, I’ll eat your cat.  If you don’t have a cat, I’ll eat your hamster.  If you don’t have a hamster, I’ll eat whatever pet you do have.  And if you don’t have a pet, I’ll…um…I dunno, maybe I’ll download virus-filled porn onto your computer.

    That’s right, something is going to die, whether it’s Muffy the Poodle or your computer’s hard drive.  So I’d strongly suggest that you keep reading until you’re dismissed and/or devoured.

    One thing that you’ll probably notice right away is that we zombies don’t really notice the passage of time.  Why would we?  It’s not like we’ve got any pressing appointments on the horizon.  We just tend to go with the flow, wandering aimlessly until we find something that peaks our interest.  We can’t eat time, so we don’t notice it.

    Even though I’m obviously a bit of an atypical member of the undead, I find myself often falling prey to the same disinterest.  I urge you to keep this in mind as we proceed.  If you’re looking for exact dates and times, you’re search is going to be futile.  Besides, being that anal about things isn’t good for your health or your ass.

    So come, Sherman, step into the Wayback Machine with me and journey to a time long ago, when humans were still the dominate species on Earth and people were concerned with such minor things as government-granted bailouts and whatever the hell a Glee was.  Be sure to keep all hands and feet inside the Wayback Machine until it comes to a complete stop, and thank you for your patronage.

    Flashback sequence go!