Wicked Zombies


(Warning: contains sensitive subject matter and strong language)

They say suicide is sinful. They say it’s immoral. That killing yourself is the coward’s way out. But who are they to say what they say? Who is to say that they’re right and those who believe otherwise are wrong? Is it really wrong to kill yourself? Is it still wrong to murder yourself even when you’re already dead?

That was my dilemma for a while. Until some common sense kicked in and said to me, “I’m dead! Why the fuck am I debating this?!” I felt so silly wasting so much time on whether or not should I keep on living (or more accurately non-living) as a zombie. I should’ve put a bullet to my head the moment after I reanimated. I definitely should’ve snuffed myself when I discovered my dick didn’t work after death. Not only am I lifeless, I’m also limp. Man, I used to be one of the smoothest, running sex machines ever created. Now my once ready for porn-time penis resembles a spoiled cold piece of shriveled kielbasa. Women used to ADORE me. Now they run away from me.

Along with my chiseled good looks, my muscles have gone to shit. My formerly well built bod has atrophied terribly. My posture is horribly bent out of shape. I have a growing insect problem festering within my entire body. And I have a permanent case of B.O. so pungent defecation smells good. Worst of all, my diet has become frustratingly restrictive. My raging lust for all things sweet is no more. My voracious appetite for ethnic food is history. Virtually everything I used to crave I no longer possess any desire to devour. The only thing I want to taste is RAW…WARM…HUMAN…FLESH. Nothing else will suffice!

So many people have filled my bloated belly in such a short time and I feel incredibly guilty. I wish I wasn’t so fuckin’ hungry. The urge to consume consumes my every second. I can’t fight it. I tried a thousand times. In the end, the hunger always wins. Since I ‘m unable to suppress my hunger I’ve decided to die again. I’ve attempted to end my existence several different ways, none of them were successful. The first method of suicide I tried to execute was the most obvious - a bullet to the brain. “Shoot’em in the head!” That’s what you always hear in the movies. If you want a zombie dead “shoot ‘em in the head”

Well, I tried that. It didn’t work! The movies are so full of SHIT!!!

All blowing my temples out did was leave a pair of nasty craters in my skull, one ridiculously bigger than the other. I purposely got ran over by a Mack truck and limped away. Stepped on the third rail, another tragic fail. Jumped off a skyscraper and the steep fall affected me like I was made of paper. Try after try, and no matter what I do, I just can’t die. This makes me want to cry. I pray to be an angel in heaven and fly. Or disappear forever into the black abyss of nothingness where life can’t lie.

No one, no thing can last forever. There’s got to be some way out of this. I must again be touched by an angel of death’s kiss.

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