Collapsing Shack, AZ—Last night, the undead rallied in front of the White House in a bid for unliving free of persecution, prejudice, and violence. The walking dead, many carrying signs smeared with blood and gore, were unable to comment.
Former President Nixon was willing to spill his guts, literally, “Uuuuuugggggghhhhhhptht.”
After dodging the teeth of numerous Walkers, I did manage to track down a vampire willing to speak for the group. I sipped the oddest tasting Merlot with him while hordes of zombies banged their fists against the outside of his darkened trailer.
“If the White House doesn’t meet our demands by sundown, we will wreak havoc on the worlds of men.”
When I asked the spokesman, known only as The Kahn, what these demands were, he said, “We want the right to be able to walk down the streets without our heads being blown off or some wannabe-hero driving a stake through our hearts. We also want a zombie housing assistance program. Do you know what happens when you die? People just start living in your home. And then who gets the flack for staggering around town all day, yeah, zombies—hardly fair when their houses are stolen, is it? And don’t get me started on the Death Tax.”
“Zombies also want to be able to date the living,” continued Khan. “This dating only other breathers is a discrimination that runs deep within your species. As far as my people go, we just want you all to admit that vampires are superior to mere mortals and your laws do not apply…take my life insurance policy, for example. Anyway, in return for letting us do whatever we wish, we promise not to enslave your race to harvest blood.”
Kahn was really nice. He even helped me escape the zombies on the way back. It was so romantic how he held me as he leapt over their snapping teeth. I loved the way the wind caressed his bald Nosferatu head. He was so handsome.
Then I found Jack Primus on the north side of the mall trying to defend a toppled school bus full of kindergartners. A ghoul had a small girl by the ankle and was dragging her out of the bus until its head exploded into paste when Jack’s sledge hammer hit it.
“Do you have a minute, Jack?” I asked.
“Not really—a little busy here.”
“So I take it this means you are not in support of the Undead Freedom Act?”
“These Nezzoroth bastards will never get my vote, just my hammer to the face, and maybe one of my girlfriends now and then. A bloody X on a ballot does not a vote make.”
“Girlfriend?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “Palin’s Undead Registration Bill is a sad attempt to find enough undead ghouls to win an election.”
Jack kept asking me to help save the children, but I have to meet the Discord’s deadline or Zano won’t feed me his family’s scraps behind the dumpster. So naturally I pressed on—Friday is fried chicken night and sometimes they leave the skin!
I caught up with Imhotep, who was on the western side of the mall, looking on at the proceedings in disgust.
“This is all mindless politics. Republicans are using zombies to help raise the dead ceiling, or some such, vampires want to be treated fairly, and Elvis wants to move back into Graceland. All meaningless, of course, for soon I will rule! My darkness will sweep like an evil tide over your puny world. Soon you will all become my slaves, pets, and in some cases my furniture.”
After I got his business card, I asked him when he planned to start his campaign for world domination.
“As soon as I find the Mystic Jars of Nyrloarlethep and get a hold of a good tailor. You’d be surprised how many men are hitting on me with this skirt. Sometimes it’s a fine line between master vampire and Goth chick.”
“Especially in this neighborhood,” I added helpfully.
I thanked Khan but knew I had one final stop to make. I found Senator McCain in one of his eight or nine houses; somehow I managed to pick the right one. He agreed to an interview after I helped him escape a mob of hungry corpses. Oh, and I told him I worked for the Koch Brothers. On a side note, I’m willing to do anything for an interview, but I swear whatever Russell Crow claims I did for him in the back of that cab is a lie!
“These ‘Life Impaired’ things aren’t U.S. citizens,” said McCain. “They don’t work, they don’t pay taxes, and they certainly shouldn’t be allowed to vote. I think they would be happier in California. Now if we could teach them to kill terrorists or pat down people at airports—”
“Without eating their brains,” I added.
“Right. If we could control the dead like Aragon did in that Harry Potter movie. Heck, if we could have raised the dead back in Nam, I might have…”
Obviously this is a complex situation when even people in the same party don’t agree or can’t stop eating one another. This isn’t an issue you can bury, because they keep digging themselves out. In some ways that’s true freedom, isn’t it? It’s what our forefather’s would have wanted. I know, I asked one of them earlier. But in the end, we have to ask ourselves, what would Conan do?”
“Or Leno,” added Zano.
No, no, the other Conan…tell you what, I’ll see you in the sword aisle, folks.