It hurts, Jazz Fans. How much sharper than a serpent’s tooth is the bite of a zombie that you thought was your friend?
We really thought things were going to be different this time. We thought after the whole “brain-eating, head chopping” cycle had run its course that we’d be able to find some common cause against a single enemy. The National Guard from Albany seemed tailor-made for out nemesis-tic needs. First of all, they’re from Albany. Secondly, they were outsiders, interlopers, carpetbaggers, invaders. On top of all that, (literally,) they had brains. Here was a group of people that could unite New Yorkers and Zombies in a piercing, consuming hatred. Together, we could wipe them out and meet everyone’s needs. We get rid of our occupying oppressors, and the zombies get a nice meal. It was a win-win, kill-kill, shlurp-shlurp situation.
And for a brief, magic period of time, it was so sweet. We called. The zombies gurgled in response. And we rewarded their feeding frenzy with the one thing that they could never get from us before: love. Unconditional, all encompassing adulation for the service they were rendering to New York, and by extension, the civilized world as well. We made them into pop stars, threw brain-soaked panties up on stage– and that was just me. Some went even farther. J-Bo, who had never lost her head to zombies before, found that she’d lost her heart to one. Sure, they came from different backgrounds. She was a Midwestern girl with a can-do spirit and strong machete bearing wrists. He was a zombie. But J-Bo was prepared to overlook all of his undead faults and forge a life with her new hero.
And now, this.
Who would have thought, jazz fans, who could possibly have imagined, that zombies wouldn’t care whose brains they were eating? Who could have conceived that zombies are not only undead flesh eaters with no soul, but they also are incapable of loyalty?! The highest brain gets the job? Well, you can take your thirty pieces of silver-plated brain and slink off back into the grave from which you came. I’ve always been a peacenik assimilationist, but the next time I see one of you blue-blooded fuckers, I am paying someone to kill you. And if you don’t believe me, you can follow me on Twitter, Facebook and YouTube and see for yourself.
Because no one does J-Bo like that. No one.