Z-day

Apparently there are lots of scaredy cats out there. After last week’s column, where I outlined different apocalyptic scenarios and why nerds wouldn’t last a picosecond in the impending global meltdown, I expected my e-mail inbox to be flooded with poindexters verbally pushing up their glasses with one finger while wagging another, irately scoffing at my doomsdaying or outlining why smartypantses would make the best survivors. Instead, I got a bevy of e-mails from people arguing exactly which apocalyptic scenario would be most likely to come true.

The results were varied, but passionate. There were some who said Mother Nature was about to bitch slap mankind into a new Ice Age, or that a super volcano was going to cover North America in volcanic ash. Still others talked about terrorism and chemical warfare, and some mentioned massive epidemics that would wipe us all out (super-swine flu).

But by far the most interesting, the most passionate and the most eerily convincing were the zombie-apocalypsers. Now, some of you may chortle at the idea of a legion of mindless walking dead taking over the streets, but Google “5 scientific reasons a zombie apocalypse could actually happen” to see what I mean. Okay fine, so it’s an article on Cracked.com… still, the science seems not completely implausible. We had Mad Cow Disease, so why not Mad Human Disease? And is it a stretch to believe that toxoplasma gondii, the parasite that causes rats to lose their shit and that is also found in half the human population, could evolve to make us go bat-shit insane and start eating each other? Well, perhaps.

But still, this whole idea of an army of Zeds (as they are called by those in the scene) got me thinking: “How would I fare in a zombie attack?” Would I be able to stop a horde of strangers hungrily limping towards me? What if some of them were my family? Or my friends? Or worse yet, the guy who makes those amazing breakfast croissandwiches I have on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the Belgian bakery up the street? And what’s my plan anyway? Would I head underground and go it solo? Or commandeer a bus and start a compound up north where I could hunt, fish and defend the harem of supermodels who have volunteered to help me repopulate the world? Maybe I should hole up in a Canadian Tire where there’s ammo, food and plenty of household items and random sporting equipment that I could use to creatively kill the undead for my own amusement, and at night we could reminisce about how shoving that toilet scrubber in the plumber-zombie’s eye was “comedy gold.”

Of course, if I couldn’t get out of the city, I’d probably just say “eff it” and let one of those suckers nibble on my arm a bit. I think being a zombie would be great. First off, all that bullshit you worry about in your life would be gone. Being a zombie must be pretty Zen; there’s no more freaking out because your rent cheque is about to bounce or because they didn’t put the right cheese in your breakfast croissandwich. Plus, imagine all the exercise and fresh air you must get, constantly wandering around looking for brains. I mean, have you ever seen a lazy zombie? Those motherfuckers never give up. They will burst through boarded up gymnasiums just to get at the young sweet kid brains cowering inside. Talk about living a focused life.

I think I would make a great zombie. First off, I love meat, and since I’m Filipino, I already have an adventurous culinary heritage behind me. Some Filipinos have been known to eat dog, which, for most people I know, is already like eating their child or best friend, so it’s not that big of a leap. Also, I’m small, so I think I could get into places that bigger zombies couldn’t get through, like air ducts and cubby holes. I’m also limber, so I could fit in weird places and be that zombie that pops out from where you least expect him, like a cupboard or from inside a small barrel of pickles.

But if I were a zombie, I think I’d have a sense of humour about it. Like I would go up to a jockish-looking guy and say “Brains!” But then examine his head and walk away, as if to say, “You’re a jock and you’re dumb.” Also, I think it’d be funny to organize a Thriller dance with other zombies in the middle of the city. But hopefully with a real zombie Michael Jackson doing the lead. That would be fun.

RIFF-RAFF@SYMPATICO.CA