The most notable feature of zombies and other dead things is that they are not very smart. Something happens to their logical thinking process in the nether world just before they rise again to terrorize their chosen hero and heroin. Speaking of heros, have you noticed that there is always one of each gender of hero/heroin–male and female–everyone else is always killed off so they can be alone. Romantic, right? And they always kiss at least once and usually during the most dangerous time, when in real life they would both be having a hard time just keeping their quivering kidneys in check. I know if a dead thing was chasing me, I’d definitely have an urgent need for the closest powder room.

But, I digress. An un-dead creature’s intelligence level is obviously to be questioned. Remember Frankenstein’s monster? Bulldozes right through wooden doors designed to keep an army of bloodthirsty, marauding hordes out. Then what does he do? He forgets where he’s going and stops to smell a flower and smile at a sweet, little street urchin who’s out panhandling for her shiftless mother. When he remembers that he’s supposed to be a killer, he growls and lumbers out into the smog to find victims. Now where is the logic in that? There was a perfectly good victim standing right in front of him, easy pickings, no fuss, no muss. Did he recognize it? No. Instead he spends half the night chasing screaming peasants around cold, damp, cobbled streets and ends up going down in flames for his efforts. Duhh!

What about Zombies? They will stand and beat on a door that the hero just slammed in their faces for hours. Hello, dead things! Use the other door for Heaven’s sake. (Okay, maybe not for Heaven’s sake, but you get the idea.) Or why don’t they use the window? But nooo, they keep pounding on that one door until it splinters and instead of turning the door knob, they thrust their arms through and growl because they can’t quite reach the iron-kidney hero who just pushed the heroine out the other door so they can run away. The delay, of course, gives the hero and heroine plenty of time to get away, kiss and other assorted mushy things. Meanwhile the zombies are still trying to figure out how to turn the damned door knob.

“But they’re dead!” you say. Yes and no. Why do you think we call them un-dead? They’re walking aren’t they? Well really sort of shuffling, but they’re on two feet. And they talk or moan or groan or something along the guttural lines. And they always know exactly where the people they are chasing are because they always show up no matter where the hero runs with his heroine. That means they have control of their faculties, right?

Speaking of control, have you ever noticed that zombies never need to go to the bathroom? They devour entire human bodies, (using atrocious table manners, I might add) and drink gallons of human blood, but they never have to go. Why is that? Maybe kidneys of steel are a requirement to be in flick like this?

And their personal hygiene, UGGH! Matted hair, toothless mouths, grubby skin, and tattered clothes. Haven’t they ever heard of Colgate®? And they don’t care! They even sometimes have orgies around a bonfire and not a drop of water or a cake of soap anywhere in sight. Not even a single spray of Binaca®! What kind of logic is that? I wouldn’t think of attending an orgy without my breath mints–Ahem–er–uh–not that I’ve ever–ah–well anyway, back to zombies.

I think someone ought to set the movie industry straight. Un-dead creatures deserve the same treatment as any other monster. Heck, even The Blob took an occasional dip in the river. And did you ever saw Dracula in a wrinkled suit? Get with it Hollywood. Clean up your act. Justa Rant, Jo

Copyright 2000 S. Joan Popek. Copyright on all material in this publication is held by S. Joan Popek. Any use without expressed written permission is strictly prohibited.

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