We Hate Zombies

Scenario:
You went to bed last night with a little tingle in your throat, perhaps an ominous sign of drier days or developing illness. Just in case, you decide to call in sick to work in an effort to skip work but you advertise it as an effort to head off runny nose, dry, scratchy eyes, and a hoarse cough. That’s why you’re sitting on your couch with a beer and a bag of pretzels watching day-time television. It sucks long and it sucks hard, and you can’t help but flick through the channels. Then you stop, and your eyes begin to bulge, and you realize a fate worse than death: Teletubbies. There’s a sensation in your stomach, warm and sticky, and it climbs into your throat, into your mouth, and you begin to retch. That’s when a zombie hooker walks through your window. What do you do?

What you should do:
There’s a little known weakness among the living that few ever discover. In adults, the colorful sound-orgy of the Teletubbies triggers an instinctual vomit reflex that can rarely be overcome.¹ The force and quantity is so severe that it clenches all muscles and restricts breathing for prolonged periods of time, rendering the victim incapable of action until commercial break, if not the end of the episode. In summary, Teletubbies is a buzz kill that could end lives. That’s why it’s on only when normal, honest people are working to bring home the bacon bits.

I explain this not because it will help you survive against hooker zombies, but that it will help you survive against all that is Teletubbies. When you see a zombie, you have full opportunity to take action, but Teletubbies have first-strike and preemptively shatter your ability to resist. Add a zombie on top of Teletubbies and you. will. die.

So here’s what you do. When you feel that next wave of frothy stomach-juice coming up, convulse as best you can so that you spray the television screen with obscuring freedom. The better that subversive material is buried, the less it will be able to hold sway over you. The music, the voices, you can’t help that unless you’ve already had several beers and enough liquid to short the whole works. As soon as the Teletubbies have fallen from wicked power, move away from the zombie and regain your strength.

It’s your house, there should be no better place for you to defend against a zombie intruder. If you aren’t prepared at home, then how can you say you’re prepared at all? If you don’t have shotguns lining the walls or hidden under ever cushion, grab a mace or sword and wreck havoc. What? You don’t have maces or swords, or even a club? Then get creative and find a weapon, or just leave. Whatever, I don’t even care anymore.

What I would do:
If you thought I was immune to the corruptive power of the Teletubbies, you would be wrong. Dead wrong. I am no mere mortal, but the Teletubbies were certainly sent by the very darkest powers of Satan to ravage the earth and rend asunder all of humanity as the faux horsemen of the apocalypse.² As such, what is there to do but lash out against the breaking waves of evil before the last vestiges of righteousness flow from my body.

Thanks to my close relation with the avian family, the acidity of my stomach rivals that of the stately Vulture, yet includes a variety of noxious fumes that combust given the slightest provocation. As the Teletubbies attempt to paralyze me, I would spray liquid-corrosion out in the direction of those monsters and the monster breaking through my window. The digestive juice will quickly destroy the TV and melt the feet off the zombie, causing that nasty hooker to fall to the ground.

Then, while the fallen croaker crawls towards me in an unnerving display of determination, I’d take up my remote control, a high-powered Logitech Harmony, and switch it to ‘laser’ with an activity button I’ve labeled ‘Mission Eagle-Eye.’ Pointing at the melting zombie, I’d mash all buttons at once to send out a stream of radiation that would ignite the fumes in a minor explosion, decimating all but the upper torso of that lady of the night. At the same time, I would turn my back and catch a ride on the shockwave into another room, from which I would grab my pre-packed supplies, drive away in my Ford Escape, and remote detonate my entire house with the Panic button on my truck’s keyless entry fob. Poof. Zombie ash.³

¹ Some have proven immune to Teletubbies, primarily social workers and day care specialists. It is recommended that one be kept on speed dial at all times.
² “I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Zombies were following close behind him.” The true words of revelation.
³ Imagine U2’s “War” is blaring as the soundtrack of my victorious escape.