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Broke Wife, Big City
World War Z,
Part Two: The Crawling Dead
By Aprill Brandon
Guys, GUYS, I don’t want to alarm anyone, but it appears the zombie
apocalypse is finally upon us. And not to alarm you even more, but it
seems that no one, not even babies, are safe from these undead fiends.
These undead fiends who are technically illegal immigrants. Oh yeah, I
said it. Since they’re legally considered dead, that renders their
social security card invalid, which means they are in this country
illegally. Eating the brains of tax-paying citizens and taking victims
away from hard-working American serial killers.
Where is the outrage about that, Congress?
Oh, proof? You want proof, eh? Well, how’s this for proof:
My baby is a zombie.
I mean, how much more proof could you need?
I started noticing the signs a few months ago. At first I thought he
was just your standard, run of the mill cannibal. Because obviously, as
a mom, that is the first place your mind goes when your innocent baby
starts sprouting teeth and biting anything that moves. And I admit it.
I blamed myself. Oh sure, there is some debate within the scientific
community about whether or not there is a cannibal gene or if the
people-eating lifestyle is a choice. And while I fully believe that
cannibals are born that way, I did once eat some mystery meat from an
unlicensed food truck while I was pregnant, so who knows what damage
that did. And I’m sure my son being inundated with news stories about
all those face-eating bath salt junkies didn’t help.
(But that’s what you get when the mainstream media obviously has a
pro-cannibal agenda).
Luckily, I soon realized how silly I was being. Of course my child
wasn’t a cannibal. He loved pureed carrots, for crying out loud. It was
much more likely he was in the beginning stages of werewolf-ism. He
definitely howled like one. And by the claw marks on my arms, he
definitely scratched like one. Naturally I was very saddened by this,
considering we live in a world where vampires dominate pop culture;
almost all of them unaware but still benefitting from vampire
privilege. I mean, how many books have you read or how many movies have
you seen where the werewolf plays any part other than the bad guy or a
lowly side character?
But just when I was about to resign myself to a life of keeping my
child in a steel cage three days every month when the moon was full, my
son bit me. Hard. And soon after, I started noticing symptoms of my
own. I was tired all the time, sleepwalking my way through most of the
day. I hungered for red meat, as opposed to vegetables. I really,
REALLY wanted to bash the brains in of people who blocked the grocery
store aisle as they stood there for 20 minutes trying to decide between
the two-for-one Cheerio sale or the buy-two-get-one-half-off Lucky
Charms deal.
And sure, yeah, I was that way before he bit me too. But I was also
that way AFTER he bit me. So…you do the math. One plus one obviously
equals zombie, people.
While I’m not sure exactly when my baby was bit by a zombie, thus
effectively ruining our lives, I am sure of at least one thing: That I
will always love him. Even when he is biting me. Or crying because I
won’t let him bite me. Or crying even louder because I won’t let him
bite the dog. Or screaming because his sharp set of zombie teeth are
coming in. Or not sleeping because his zombie teeth are coming in.
And that quack doctor who told me his behavior is all perfectly normal
for a healthy teething baby of six months can go to hell.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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