I Was A Teenage Deadhead


Suggested Audio Jukebox ♫


[1] Faith No More “Zombie Eaters”

[2] Rob Zombie “Living Dead Girl”

[3] Girls Aloud “Biology”

[4] Donna Summer “Bad Girls”



Being a zombie ain’t no picnic let me tell you. Alright, maybe it is a bit of a picnic, but you get my gist. That’s right, you heard me. One bite was all it took and I’m now officially one of the undead. Needless to say, this has proved something of a bone of contention as there was still so much I had planned, so many countries I hadn’t visited, and I haven’t even reached my eighteenth birthday yet. I’m supposed to be hanging about in large groups, getting blind drunk, and hurling abuse at any passing strangers like most girls my age but, instead, I’m contemplating devouring my cat Sherbert while decomposing at a rate I’m not altogether comfortable with. And to think that today started out as a day not unlike any other and my plans entailed sitting around in my pajamas watching daytime television and gorging myself on cotton candy. Talk about inconvenience and I’m starting to wish I’d just slept through my alarm as, while the early bird indeed catches something, accelerated plague isn’t necessarily what I had in mind. Randy Butterworth ain’t gonna give me a second look now and it has taken me months just to get his attention. Moreover, I heard on the grapevine that he was planning on asking me to the graduation dance and something tells me he’ll be taking a rain check once I turn up to school looking ever so slightly off-color.


I say ever so slightly when no amount of foundation is about to conceal the fact that I resemble a sixty-a-day smoker’s lung and neither is my perfume quite cutting through the dense mist of decay lingering about my personal space right now. I have to call in sick and that, in itself, poses quite the challenge when I feel compelled to moan only a solitary word – braiiins! – and half the academy have already phoned through with precisely the same excuse for their absence. Thus my only option appears to be sitting here, waiting it out, and praying that the government are secretly working on some kind of vaccine as we speak. That hardly fills me with confidence but I have to hang onto some kind of vague hope or else I reckon I’ll turn a darn sight quicker. Mind over matter seems to be the clincher here and I’m not about to join these festering flesh felchers in their maggot-ridden masquerade as not a single one of ’em appears to be having any fun. I’m a girl dammit and that’s all I really want; not skulking around suburbia all sombre in search of the nearest In-N-Out Burger. Whatever happened to the prime of my life? I kept my head down in my studies, volunteered at the local charity store, and recently took part in a 10k speed walk for breast cancer research. Does that count for nothing? Take a look for yourself if you don’t believe me; does that seem a little unfair a morning welcome party to you?


And you think I’m just menstrual. I wish! At least I’d be able to scoop up a lumpy smoothie as opposed to gnawing my own fibula to fend off the tummy growls. Listen sweetheart, I’m not the kind of gal to cry wolf over a storm in a teacup aiiit! This is as real a deal as has ever been dealt and, if I feel like bitching, then I’d say it’s high time we grant the lady her wish don’t you? The last twenty minutes have been downright desolate and there appears no conceivable way of coming to terms with such a vicious U-turn for the worse. The real shitter is that it all felt so righteous up until that point. I woke up full of the joys of spring, bounded to the shower with Katrina & The Waves ringing in my ears, hopped, skipped and jumped downstairs to prepare myself a bowl of red berry muesli, opened up the refrigerator to grab myself some semi-skimmed milk, and this is the mealy-mouthed motherfucker who greeted me.


I know right? Rats are one thing but this little bastard evidently wasn’t your domestic kind of rodent and didn’t appear best pleased with the rude interruption. Well I’m sorry for not stocking up on camembert but, the last time I checked, the fridge magnets spelled out Marcie and I don’t see you coughing up for weekly groceries. I did see him coughing up something and it certainly wasn’t doing my appetite many favors as he really dug deep to retrieve it. Part of me suggested I should slam the door shut in disgust and go retrieve the rat poison to level this undesirable. I wish I’d listened to this part instead of standing there dazed and confused, until which time as this rancid rat decided to get better acquainted. The skirmish lasted all of five seconds and, needless to say, resulted in this muculent mini-threat having his brains smashed in with a toaster. However, as I pound it into pâté, I suddenly felt a curious itch beneath my thumbnail. On closer inspection, this revealed that I had taken a bite during the fracas and the affected area was already starting to turn in color. This tingle was growing stronger and, within seconds, was coursing through my entire hand in a bid to spread the vile word. Now I’ve watched enough zombie movies to know how this kind of transaction plays out and it’s all about quick thinking damage limitation unless I’m mistaken. That meant lopping off my lower arm, to at least the elbow, and my baton twirling days were now looking more than numbered.


Talk about a bummer. And wouldn’t you know a menstrual cramp then showed up unannounced just as I was contemplating hacking off my lefty. In a way it actually assisted me as I channeled that simmering rage into a swift dash to the dish washer and retrieved the sharpest bread knife I could lay my one good hand on. It’s funny what a shot or two of adrenaline will do to your ability to take desperate measures but it’s less amusing attempting to sever your forearm gristle with a six-inch blade. Did I cry? What do you think? I haven’t sobbed like that since Marley & Me and would liken it to the most agonizing pain ever self-afflicted. However, needs must in such squalid circumstances, and I wasn’t really feeling conforming with the horde if I’m honest. Would I do it again? That depends on whether or not a zombified rodent sank his shitty little diggers into my other thumbnail. I will say this however, a lot of fucking good it did me.


You see, this particular infection isn’t backward in coming forward with regards to sharing the wealth. For all my best efforts to cleave through the marrow, I couldn’t quite beat it to the checkpoint beacon, making the whole arduous ordeal effectively one big fat waste of my time. That was ten minutes ago now and I can now feel this tainted tint flushing through my inner cranium, hijacking each neuron in turn as it bids to relieve me from active duty and make me one of them. I don’t know whether to feel relieved that it will soon be all over but any solace is tempered by the fact that I’ve never even been to The Big Apple. All those dreams and aspirations are about to be subtracted in one final labored heart beat and there ain’t a damn thing I can do about it other than bitch and gripe. The cruelest irony is that I announced myself a vegetarian only last week and something tells me that garden salad will no longer be sufficient once I have surrendered the controlling share. Speaking of reasons not to be cheerful, it would appear that my unfresh cohort have grown weary of ringing the doorbell politely.


That’s Ethan by the way, I just named him right now. Looks like an Ethan don’t ‘cha think? Ethan’s favored hobbies include feasting on frontal lobes, snacking on femurs, and chowing down on any giblets he can get his grimy hands on. Another pastime of his is inviting his pals round for one big free-for-all and I have no idea how many to set the table for as they’re all pouring in behind him looking every bit as famished. I may be mere moments away from joining their ranks but refuse to spend my last few minutes playing hostess to a rowdy rabble with absolutely no understanding of basic etiquette. Thus I shall leave them to their own devices down here and barricade myself into my boudoir for those all-important final thoughts, free of distraction. If I’m going out as is looking reasonably concrete, then I’m doing so on my terms, with as much dignity as I can feasibly cling onto. Before we do this, please tell me – how do I look? – and feel free to spin a yarn as I’d love nothing more right now than to be informed that I’m still beautiful.


Really? Not even a vague stir? Gee thanks guys. Love you too. Well that settles it then, I’m now officially repulsive and any chances of jumping the bones of Randy Butterworth are now clearly in my slipstream along with my small intestine. Then there is the craving and that is only getting more relentless with every second that passes. I’m so ravaged by hunger currently that I’m actually considering polishing off my budgerigar Burton. Ordinarily I wouldn’t entertain raiding his cage but he’s just so darned plump and succulent looking. Please avert your eyes momentarily as I don’t wish you to see me stoop so low and would like to remind you that I will be taking no pleasure from the act I’m about to commit. Perhaps I’ll have second thoughts as I cradle the little trooper in my palm and look into those big pleading eyes of his.


Nope. And do you know what? I regurgitated him just to consume him a second time. While hardly what you would call a square meal, Burton has filled something of a gap and the pangs have subsided at least temporarily. I request that you don’t think ill of me as these happened to be extenuating circumstances and I’m not hardly good about myself after using his spinal cord to floss with. I’m sure it is what he would have wanted. Okay perhaps not top of his wish list but neither was contracting T-virus particularly high up on my daily priorities so suck it Burton you pathetic little prick or I’ll spew you up a second time. Apologies for the unladylike outburst but I don’t happen to have any morphine knocking about and neither do I possess a loaded firearm to paint my back wall deep red with. What I do have is my beloved kitten Sherbert and she’s starting to look increasingly like a rack of ribs with every tummy growl. Well I’ve got two things to say to you Sherbert: firstly mommy would never dream of biting down on that soft, flavorsome skull of yours and, secondly, here kitty kitty!


In answer to your question Sherbert – yes darling you can. That’s it, I’m all out of pets to digest, and I guess that means it’s time to go mingle with my new associates. That doesn’t mean I’m about to become bosom buddies with any waif and stray that comes stumbling through my front door frame. I may be this close to deferring my pulse but I still have standards and refuse to lower them any further than is absolutely necessary. Actually what am I thinking? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em – isn’t that what they say? The way I figure it, any future with Randy Butterworth vaporized the very moment I gnawed my own lips off so I may as well skank it up some right? I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? Venereal disease? Don’t make me laugh. No really, don’t make me laugh as it hurts terribly when I do. If I’m to be doomed to eternally walk the earth then I’m not taking a solitary step without my own posse of bitches. And wouldn’t you know it, I think I may have just found myself an entourage. They even have their own theme music.


Fuck it! I’m a teenager after all and it’s only customary for adolescents to go slightly off the rails at some point so what better time than the present? Besides, walking in ten-inch heels is no simple task and this lot appear to have it well and truly mastered so they deserve a whole heap of credit for that alone. I guess those fake tits paid off after all ladies as you still have that going for you, even though larvae keep dropping out of your G-strings. Wait up and I’ll grab my boob tube, then what do you say we hit the town and paint it even more red than it is currently? I do feel obliged to warn you in advance, I was a virgin until sixteen and can’t guarantee that I can bump and grind to your standards, but I am a fast learner and have every intention of taking any initiation very seriously. You need me to prove it? Fine, Randy Butterworth lives at number 12 Willow Avenue and there’s a trellis at the side of his house that leads directly to his bedroom. How’s that for starters? It would appear that they’re conferring. What did you say your organization was called again?

zombie_strippersCatchy title. Not sure how I’ll fare up with the pole but in for a penny, in for a pound. At any rate, the girls have given me the thumbs up and, I have to say, this casts a whole different complexion on the day. Granted, my left ear just slid down my cheek and the gaping hole in my face is weeping green gunk, but I’ve found myself some mean girls to emulate and have had it with being daddy’s little primrose. Speaking of which, I’ve got my prom dress hanging up in my closet, and would hazard a guess that the graduation dance won’t be going ahead now so may as well provide it a run-out. Don’t suppose you’d zip me up at the back would you? Fine, I’ll do it myself. I don’t know, the way you’re carrying on, you’d think I was about to take a bite out of you. What makes you think I’d go anywhere near those sweet-smelling brains of yours? In a few moments time I’ll have first dibs on frontal lobes and, while I am feeling faintly peckish and they do kind of resemble ice cream floats right now, I will do nothing whatsoever of the sort. Tell you what, place one of those pretty little heads directly into my chomping range and we’ll see just how indifferent I am to them. A little closer…ignore the sound of my jaw locking…now close your eyes…no peeking…and…


Click here to read Zombies Ate My Smart Phone





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