I've seen Pops several times over the past couple of weeks. At first, he appeared as transparent as ever, but then slowly regained opacity, ultimately becoming fully visible. This is proof that he is no longer a ghost, which can logically mean but one thing.
Pops, it seems, has become a zombie.
To become a zombie, officially, one must be cursed somehow in their life, OR, become infected with a zombie virus and/or be exposed to radiation. I really do not like to think that Pops was cursed, but considering the circumstances of his existence, this avenue may not be out of the question.
I have never heard of a person dying, becoming a ghost and THEN turning into a zombie...but in a world of complete unknowns, one must not discount the probabilities. After all, there are many sorts of beliefs that are fairly outlandish. So many, in fact, that they are too numerous to list. Okay, here's a short list of the obvious ones:
1. Resurrections
2. Reincarnations
3. Ghosts
4. Angels
5. Logic
6. Bill Murray
7. Time
8. Gosh
9. Alter egos
10. Freedom
If you believe in ANY of the above items, but discount ZOMBIES, because the concept lacks credibility, you have been mechanized and conditioned, based on a lifetime of reckless brain washing. You are a clockwork orange.
So why not a bum turned ghost turned zombie? You want proof? He looked pale for a black man, and seemed really, really hungry. And in this particular entry, "hunger" is not a metaphor for being a go-getter in life (it's fairly obvious this is not that form of hunger). He seriously looked like he wanted a brain sandwich. And chips. Lots of them.
You want more proof? Sorry. I did not physically see him try to eat anyone. You'll just have to have the faith. The faith in all things seemingly improbable. The faith in life after death, resurrections, ghosts, lights at the ends of tunnels, heavens, hells, Bill Murray, and above all else...zombies.
I stopped to say hello to the old brain nibbler until he started to gaze at me like I was a Butter Ball turkey. I smiled politely, then proceeded to discretely roll my car window up (actually, I pushed that little button as there is nothing to "roll up" in today's modern vehicle). I like to think that he would spare me since I am, after all, the person that gave him his nickname when I traveled back in time last week. That being said, there is zero evidence that zombies have a strong memory bank. The infection very well could have wiped out his recollection. To be safe I ran the red light and narrowly escaped potential infection or death. Or worse yet...both.
There exists a potential light at the end of the tunnel for Pops. Yes, I'm speaking of that light and that tunnel...but it could also be the standard metaphor as well. It works both ways.
In the Biblical context, salt purifies the world of corruption. Moreover, Haitian folklore suggests that feeding salt to a zombie will restore the person to freedom. It is somewhat unclear whether the infected zombie gets to come back to life, or if they merely return to their grave to find that light at the end of that tunnel on their way to their eternal wherever.
For better or worse, Florida is in relative close proximity to Haiti. Florida also happens to be the place to be when it comes to salt as there is an abundance of the stuff. No, it's not the edible kind, unfortunately, so in a sense it's also the place to be when you're thirsty...in a rotten, doesn't do you a bit of good, sort of way. Not sure what this does to the salt of the earth, purify the zombie analogy, but thought it necessary to point out the irony.
Since I do not believe that throwing salt water onto Pops will do much other than piss him off, I think I will gather up some of the saltiest foods available and offer them to my flesh-eating friend. I will resurrect the care package that seemed like a waste of space once he had died and fill it full of salty food stuffs. This could potentially cure him of the zombie virus that has infected him, procure his hard-earned afterlife and ultimately save my life...so a risk worth taking by any standards.
I just hope that he prefers salty snacks over brains as the transaction will require close proximity.
Today I deploy my jazzing hands as a means to ward off a potential zombie apocalypse. My Jazz Hands celebrate the orange, organic nature of life. They celebrate not the clockwork mechanization of brain consumption. And since "zombies" are an extreme, philosophical representation of conformity, depicting the human, internal struggle for individuality, these Jazz Hands celebrate our differences and the willpower to abstain from following the brain craving herd. These Jazz Hands ask you to be not the sheep, but the shepherd. To be not the clock, but the orange.
Today's Jazz Hands are nibbling on your brains. Day one-hundred and forty-nine complete.
Pops, it seems, has become a zombie.
To become a zombie, officially, one must be cursed somehow in their life, OR, become infected with a zombie virus and/or be exposed to radiation. I really do not like to think that Pops was cursed, but considering the circumstances of his existence, this avenue may not be out of the question.
I have never heard of a person dying, becoming a ghost and THEN turning into a zombie...but in a world of complete unknowns, one must not discount the probabilities. After all, there are many sorts of beliefs that are fairly outlandish. So many, in fact, that they are too numerous to list. Okay, here's a short list of the obvious ones:
1. Resurrections
2. Reincarnations
3. Ghosts
4. Angels
5. Logic
6. Bill Murray
7. Time
8. Gosh
9. Alter egos
10. Freedom
If you believe in ANY of the above items, but discount ZOMBIES, because the concept lacks credibility, you have been mechanized and conditioned, based on a lifetime of reckless brain washing. You are a clockwork orange.
So why not a bum turned ghost turned zombie? You want proof? He looked pale for a black man, and seemed really, really hungry. And in this particular entry, "hunger" is not a metaphor for being a go-getter in life (it's fairly obvious this is not that form of hunger). He seriously looked like he wanted a brain sandwich. And chips. Lots of them.
You want more proof? Sorry. I did not physically see him try to eat anyone. You'll just have to have the faith. The faith in all things seemingly improbable. The faith in life after death, resurrections, ghosts, lights at the ends of tunnels, heavens, hells, Bill Murray, and above all else...zombies.
I stopped to say hello to the old brain nibbler until he started to gaze at me like I was a Butter Ball turkey. I smiled politely, then proceeded to discretely roll my car window up (actually, I pushed that little button as there is nothing to "roll up" in today's modern vehicle). I like to think that he would spare me since I am, after all, the person that gave him his nickname when I traveled back in time last week. That being said, there is zero evidence that zombies have a strong memory bank. The infection very well could have wiped out his recollection. To be safe I ran the red light and narrowly escaped potential infection or death. Or worse yet...both.
There exists a potential light at the end of the tunnel for Pops. Yes, I'm speaking of that light and that tunnel...but it could also be the standard metaphor as well. It works both ways.
In the Biblical context, salt purifies the world of corruption. Moreover, Haitian folklore suggests that feeding salt to a zombie will restore the person to freedom. It is somewhat unclear whether the infected zombie gets to come back to life, or if they merely return to their grave to find that light at the end of that tunnel on their way to their eternal wherever.
For better or worse, Florida is in relative close proximity to Haiti. Florida also happens to be the place to be when it comes to salt as there is an abundance of the stuff. No, it's not the edible kind, unfortunately, so in a sense it's also the place to be when you're thirsty...in a rotten, doesn't do you a bit of good, sort of way. Not sure what this does to the salt of the earth, purify the zombie analogy, but thought it necessary to point out the irony.
Since I do not believe that throwing salt water onto Pops will do much other than piss him off, I think I will gather up some of the saltiest foods available and offer them to my flesh-eating friend. I will resurrect the care package that seemed like a waste of space once he had died and fill it full of salty food stuffs. This could potentially cure him of the zombie virus that has infected him, procure his hard-earned afterlife and ultimately save my life...so a risk worth taking by any standards.
I just hope that he prefers salty snacks over brains as the transaction will require close proximity.
Today I deploy my jazzing hands as a means to ward off a potential zombie apocalypse. My Jazz Hands celebrate the orange, organic nature of life. They celebrate not the clockwork mechanization of brain consumption. And since "zombies" are an extreme, philosophical representation of conformity, depicting the human, internal struggle for individuality, these Jazz Hands celebrate our differences and the willpower to abstain from following the brain craving herd. These Jazz Hands ask you to be not the sheep, but the shepherd. To be not the clock, but the orange.
Today's Jazz Hands are nibbling on your brains. Day one-hundred and forty-nine complete.
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