license to drive: the living dead move among us
I very rarely start the day off with a quiz but this one is about zombies and I'm sure I can make it tie in nicely to whatever it was I was going to write about today.
Sigh. I always have to refigure the quiz result code from Quizilla. Why do people use such huge images?
You are an Evil Dead Zombie. The spirits of the
dead took over your body in a lonely cabin, and
now it's your job to kick some Ash ass. Sadly,
while you'll succeed in beating the bejeezus
out of Ash repeatedly, he will ultimately wipe
you from existence. You can only be killed by
What kind of Zombie are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Of course, I knew when I started the quiz that this would be an available answer - no self respecting zombie quiz would omit Evil Dead - so I skewed my answers in a fashion that would allow this result. And there you have it, I am an Evil Dead zombie.
Which is interesting because I was thinking of zombies last night. I often think of zombies as they are fascinating creatures who have a whole genre of superb horror movies to themselves, but this instance had nothing to do with movies.
I was driving. Just cruising along in the left lane of one of the four-lane main streets around here, headed to 7-11 for various sundries. I need to get over to the right, so I turn on my directional (blinker for some of you) and wait for the little yellow car on my right to move ahead so I can scoot over.
But the little yellow car isn't going very fast. And there's a car ahead of me that's not going very fast. When I say not very fast, I mean that the speed limit on the road is 40 and both cars were barely approaching half of that.
So now I'm boxed in and 7-11 is fast approaching on the right. There's a cell-phone blabbing idiot behind the little yellow car who is oblivious to my blinking directional and my dire need to switch lanes, so unless I want to hang back and risk being rear-ended by the Coca-Cola truck barreling up behind me, I am going to crawl right by the 7-11 without being able to gain entrance to the parking lot.
I look to my right, my stoney glare and middle finger all set to go. I just want to get the attention of the person in the yellow car who has aggravated me so. Sensing my deathly gaze, she turns and looks at me. A small, whimpering scream makes it way from my soul to my throat.
It's a zombie! The person driving that yellow car is among the living dead! I can recognize a zombie immediately. The grayish skin, the hollowed out eyes, the vacant stare, the way what's left of the former living skin hangs off of the bones by very thin threads. Its gnarled fingers are clasping the steering wheel in a fierce in embrace of white knuckles and leathery hands.
The zombie glares at me. I'm sure it's thinking mmmmmm....brains. I slip my foot off the gas so I can hang back and not have to look into those dead eyes again, but the creature is riding its brake, stopping and going in jerking motions, as if its afraid of the car in front of it.
We come to a red light, well past the 7-11 now, and I am next to the yellow car. It has all the telltale signs of the driving, living dead. The box of tissues in the back window. The front seat adorned with one of those beaded back massagers.
I avert my gaze and glance at the car ahead of me at the light. Oh lord, tissues in the back window! And I can't even see the driver's head, all I can see is those same kind of gnarled fingers gripping the wheel, as if the driver is headless. I am surrounded by the living dead, the worst kind of living dead - the ones who still drive.
The light turns green and I have to tap on my horn to startle the zombie ahead of me into motion. The one on the right is also hesitating, and she swerves a little to the left, coming very, very close to me and then overcompensates with the steering wheel and swerves back into her lane looking very much like a drunk driver.
But I know better. She's not drunk. She's just old, much like the little man ahead of me, who is topping out at a fiesty 15 miles per hour. I make a left at the next corner, going well out of my way to avoid driving next to these creatures any longer.
The living dead are among us. And they have licenses.