There are a lot of zombies on Spring Garden Road today in Halifax. Maybe there’s a convention for people who like Barack Obama? In any case, they are painted up, without a lot of clothes on, and are contorting their bodies in an extremely odd fashion. No, I’m not talking about Kim Kardashian’s sex tape. These zombies are large in number, but they are not carrying any signs which explain what they are actually doing or hoping to accomplish.
So I’m going to pretend I know what they’re up to. I think they are offering us a subtle metaphor for how misguided politicians are. Politicians are no longer dressed with the robes of righteousness. They are often not dressed at all if they are not working. Of course, being at work didn’t stop Bill Clinton.
The Oxford English Dictionary defines zombie as someone who is lifeless and apathetic. Or as someone who has been raised from the dead, usually through witchcraft. Or a zombie could be someone controlled by a computer. I would love to have my own zombie. When he wasn’t working out at the gym, he would be cooking me tasty dinners and running my errands for me. He would be always sharing his feelings with me, and empathizing completely with my own constant complaints. He would never get on my nerves. He would, actually, never be lifeless and apathetic but instead full of life and he would care deeply about every facet of my life, including my past, present and future. He would be repulsed by thin women, dismissive of stupid people, and without remorse for despising any man who had ever been unkind to me. He would be very gentle with me, but rough with others; shy and reserved with others, but open and communicative with me.
I haven’t named my fantasy zombie yet, but does he really need a name?
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