Bob the Zombie looked over at his friend Sara. She was busy scooping
the brains out of a young man’s head. Bob had the woman’s date half
out of the car.
“Sara,” Bob said (although it sounded like “Gwddaaarrrgngg”, because,
well, zombies), “why are we eating brains?”
“MmmmNmphmmm,” Sara said (because, well, she had her mouth full of dura mater).
“I’m not sure I want to eat this brain,” Bob said.
“Don’t you like the taste?” Sara asked. (She had swallowed.)
Bob shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. I guess I’d just rather have a
nice pepperoni pizza.”
Sara stuck out the remains of her tongue. “Eww. I’m a vegetarian.”
They both let this moment pass in a short silence before Sara ripped
off the woman’s nose with her teeth.
“Seriously, Sara,” Bob said. “I don’t want to eat brains anymore.”
“You have to,” she said. “You’re a zombie.”
“You don’t have to like it Bob. Zombies eat brains. It’s one of
those things you just have to do after you die.” Sara gave the
woman’s ear a few thoughtful chews.
“It’s de rigor.”