I dreamed it was the Zombie Apocalypse.
And the only weapon I had to defend myself was a staple gun.
Everyone else in my scrappy, ragtag group of survivors had
guns, crossbows, knifes as big as hockey sticks.
Not me. I had a
staple gun.
As stressed in most Zombie movies, tales and infomercials, the only way to kill a Zombie is
to shoot it in the brain. Otherwise, it
would just keep going, like some slimy, gut-leaking Energizer Bunny.
As you can probably imagine, it is really difficult to
staple a Zombie brain. Usually I would get
pinned down by a gashing flesh-eater and be fending them off with one arm while stapling
away at their skull with the other until someone in my group would come along
and bash them in the head.
Thanks!
Our group of survivors was incredibly diverse. There was this good-looking blond man and
woman. (And when I say “good-looking”,
I mean they could both be underwear models.
They were stunning.)
These two didn’t
like each other at first, because the good-looking man had killed the
good-looking woman’s slightly less attractive and slutty best friend (she had
turned into a Zombie, so he kind of had no choice) and the good-looking woman
was going thru all these stages of grief.
I wanted to say: “Man up, Lady! It’s the Zombie freaking
Apocalypse!”
These two end up as a
couple before long; biting and scratching each other the whole way. Of course.
There was also this muscled,
cranky black guy haunted by his wife’s death; a scrappy Asian kid who was
always breaking open the backs of broken computers and making them run again; and
this incredibly buff Latina that did lots of push-ups and that everyone called
“Sanchez”.
“Sanchez, look out!”
“Sanchez, behind you!”
“Fire in the hole, Sanchez!”
I wanted to scream: “She has a FIRST name, people!”
There was also this older man in our group who constantly
needed help and would spout out words of wisdom every other second:
“Rain is coming, we best take cover.”
“No time for arguing. Night will be here soon. ”
“Rub this curry powder on that wound. It will throw off the scent.”
Old people are so wise!
Like very smart border collies or eerie genius children, you really want
one by your side during a Zombie Apocalypse.
And then there was me.
The sassy, middle-aged gay guy with a staple gun.
Clearly, I was there as some sort of comic relief. I remember feeling surprised that I made it
this far, because gay men almost never survive a Zombie Apocalypse.
Maybe that’s because we’re all taking our 3:30 disco naps
during the outbreak and get eaten up in the first wave.
Or maybe we think the Zombies are some sort of Michael
Jackson “Thriller” flash mob and try to join in.
But the most likely explanation is that the Zombie
Apocalypse occurs at precisely the same time as the Tony Awards.
Anyway, it seems my function in our little group was to come
up with quippy, deadpan one-liners.
Like, if a really gooey, rotting Zombie stumbles towards us,
I would say something like: “Oh my God, this one needs a Make-Over!”
Or if someone manages to decapitate a Zombie, I’d say
something like: “Wow! And I thought I was having a bad hair
day!”
Snap snap snap snap!
Yes, even in my dreams, I’m playing a stereotype.
I’m wearing a suit and tie in my dream, so I imagine that
before the shit hit the fan I had some sort of soul-killing office job. So I'm thinking the Zombie Apocalypse injected some much-needed excitement in my dull routine.
I was also better looking and slimmer in my dream which, I'm told, is exactly what heaven is like. Only probably without the Zombies trying to eat you.
I’m not sure how I acquired the staple
gun. It’s something you would see more
in an arts and crafts store than an office.
Who knows? But I have to say, as
the dream progressed I became more self-reliant and badass.
I learned that I
didn’t need to be near the Zombies in order to staple them in the brain. The staples could just fly right out from a
distance, so if I aimed really well at a gaping eye-socket or exposed head
wound, I could take down a zombie all by myself!
Hopefully I will
graduate to a nail gun at some point.
But I suppose that’s in another dream.
