We Hate Zombies

Scenario:
It’s October and IHOP is throwing down All-You-Can-Eat pancakes like a suicidal challenge smothered in syrup. Tell me, how many pancakes can you eat? Is that all? How many pancakes does it take to kill a man? Obviously you sense danger in this delicious deal, so you go down to the nearest IHOP and order up a short stack. Only six hotcakes in, your worst fears are realized: someone has eaten themselves zombie. Ruptured stomach? Check. Pale flesh? Check. Eating the waitress? Check. What do you do?

What you should do:
Put down the fork, champ! You need to take a stand before its too late and all those delicious batter patties are thrown away forever. Since you made it just in time, there’s still a chance for you to make it just in time.

The waitress will be turning soon, the zombie will be finding a new target, and everyone else will have eaten themself into paralysis. So it’s up to you. Run over to the floored waitress, grabbing a chair as you go. There’s no time for civility here, so just bash the ex-human’s brains before they aim a bite at your toe. Get it done fast if you want to contain this outburst.

Now, you have to understand that zombies don’t like pancakes any more than they like America, but they will still try to eat your family. Does a zombie need a stomach to be a zombie? No! They don’t need a stomach at all; in fact, a ruptured stomach is just a matter of course with zombies since they don’t digest anything they eat. This doesn’t help you kill them though, so just use the chair like before. Hopefully the zombie’s enlarged and swollen abdomen will get them lodged in their booth so you don’t have to try too hard. Good job, celebrate with sausages!

What I would do:
I would never get sick on flap-jacks without a glass of milk. Why? Because I want stronger bones? Shit no! Milk isn’t easy to digest, everyone knows that, and I don’t want to go easy on my stomach when it has everything on the line. Behind my kevlar vest and sticks of dynamite and abs of steel, I need a well-trained stomach that can stand the bitter taste of a ravaged world.

It’s that bitter taste that drives me to also drink syrup with my pancakes, so it’s no surprise that I happen to have a gallon of syrup on my table. I’d grab up the bucket of syrup and launch it at the zombies from across the room. The sugary slime would ensnare the already dumb zombies, giving me time to run into the back and bust out a hot and heavy griddle.

Then I would start cooking up a kickass batch of bacon, because everyone needs something to look forward to after a hard days work. Returning back to the syrupy zombies, I’d kick open the stomach of the dumb bastard and use his intestines to tie the two together, go grab my bacon, and use the griddle to knock their teeth out. Then, satisfied that the situation had been primarily resolved, I would sit down and wait for some more pancakes. Order up you sons of bitches.