When the Zombies Come.

Amazingly, I've tackled the zombie question to an extent in a previous blog entry.

When I die I already plan on being undead. What better way to face a massive and terrifying fear of death?

My fear of death is no joke. I'm no longer ashamed to admit that I have a serious problem here. Like the kind of problem that requires a psychologist to convince me that a person I once knew as living has ceased to do so. I think zombiism may be the answer to my problem.

Think "Shaun of the Dead," best friend chained up and playing video games in the shed type of solution.

I'd never have to face death again … and that's not so bad!

So when the zombies come, I'll be hoarding up all my undead friends, attaching them to chains with extremely high tensile strength and begin to have a wonderful time enjoying the company of my pale companions for all of eternity.

Goodbye, goodbyes! Hello, fun.