Auntie Doris: Life on the Other Side #11: Zombie Apocalypse


A surprising number of afficionadoes of my little homilies have been in touch with me because they are worried about some variation on this question: What are the chances of the corpses of the dead being brought back to life by some malicious agency or freak accident, to roam the earth as Zombie hoardes, having limited intelligence, limited gross motor control, but an overwhelming urge to feast upon the brains of the living?”
My immediate response to this is to say “Don’t be ruddy soft” and then to ask “Who on earth put a stupid idea into your head?” But having done that, I now know that it was probably George A Romero, whoever he is, when he’s all at home. All I can say is the silly beggar wants shooting. Putting the willies up people with silly stories like that.
Fo a start, once you pass over to the other side, your body is useless, and you have nothing to do with it any more. The reason that you passed over to the other side was that your body was broken or worn out beyond repair. You now have a glorified body, much better than the useless old husk you left behind. So you are hardly going to re inhabit it and start lurching around biting people on the tops of their heads.
That’s fine, you might say. But what if the bodies of zombies are not re-animated by the return of the souls which used to inhabit them. What if they have been brought back to a semblance of life by some other force, like the electricity that awakened Frankenstein’s monster?
This is a nice idea, mainly because it would make you feel more comfortable about using a shovel to decapitate or a blunderbuss to shoot the head of a recently deceased and re-animated relative, knowing that it wasn’t really them, but again, there is no chance of it happening, because bodies need souls to make them work. You might get a few dead muscles to twitch through prodding them with electrodes, but creating movement even as simple as shambling towards a victim and inflicting a severe enough head wound to suck their brains out through, would require a serious amount of electrical manipulation. I’m not saying that it is impossible, but it would need an evil genius with a computer to control receptors which had been implanted at strategic points within the corpse in order to make it work. So it’s not going to ruddy well happen. In a month of Sundays.
Then again, for the last few years my Raymond was alive it might as well have done for all the sense I got out of him. Not that he was ever particularly interested in devouring my brains, but to be honest he never was one for brains any road. He wasn’t really capable of using his own brains, so I can see why he wouldn’t have any desire to make use of anybody else’s. He was fond of black pudding though, which is a bit gruesome if you ask me, and when he got up in a morning he did look a bit scary with his hair all over the place, his crumpled pyjamas, and all drool running down the side of his face. He had the conversational talents of one of those zombies an’all, at least until he had had a cup of tea and a couple of cigarettes. Still, I wouldn’t have tolerated him starting any ruddy apocalypse malarky in my house, so any zombying he might have had in mind never came to anything any road.
I hope that I have quelled any fears you may have had on the living dead front. But if there are any residual pangs, or you are concerned about any other issues raised by my recent homilies, don’t hesitate to come to me for succour. I’m not promising that I will be able to give it though. I’m not as free and easy with my succour as some people I could mention. So think on.

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