We hate zombies because they refuse to rest in peace. Well, what about us? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, things don’t sound all that peaceful!
Heyyy, Jazz Fans! Jimmy Rudolph here. Sure, it’s Thanksgiving week, and everyone’s thinking about what piece of the turkey they’re going to get. But I want us to think a little bit about what peace we’re going to get– The white meat of brotherhood or the dark meat of understanding, the breast of love, or the wing of harmony. Or the giblets of… communication. I don’t know. The analogy kind of fell apart there, fans– much like a well done, well basted turkey will, when roasted in the oven of kindness and basted in the juices of happiness.
But you can’t partake of the feast unless you’re prepared to sit down at the table with your family. The ones you love, the ones you hate, the ones that won’t shut up, the ones that owe you money, we must sit with all of them, and break bread, though the crust of obstinance be crispy, and the crumbs of war get stuck in your eye, and make you cry tears of tears. For verily, only by sitting one unto another can the wine of comprehension be shared, and the butter of respect be passed.
Can the kids sit at another table? That little frizzy-haired girl won’t stop giggling!
Yes, fans, though the tryptophan kicks in and the lids of the eyes begin to droop, still will I preach the gospel of peace. We want zombies to rest in it. The least we can do is to live in it. Peace, fans. Peace. Because I can’t hear the fuckin’ football game!
For more endless metaphors, follow Jimmy on Twitter, Facebook and YouTube! And we’ll see you tomorrow with the harrowing conclusion of the New York City Occupation! Spoiler alert! That heavy cream is bad.