Zombies Don’t Pucker:
A Living Dead Valentine's Story
They stumble up, shoulder to shoulder, crisp dollar bills clutched in their hands. I roll my eyes, which isn’t smart because I’ve heard that some zombies get stuck that way and, well, it’s bad enough shuffling around with grayish-green skin and Corn Pops yellow teeth without your eyes pointing in different directions like some cartoon character who’s just been bonked on the head with a rubber mallet.
I see their “PRESS” badges right away, but they’re bundled up against the cold in thick, black jackets with floppy hats and sunglasses, which is pretty standard fare since most chicks don’t want their significant others, or pretty much anyone else, for that matter, to know they trudged all the way out to the State Fair to… kiss a zombie.
Yeah, I was a little shocked to hear about this new “zombie kissing” trend, too. I mean, when the sign went up at Reanimation Reform School for volunteers to travel around the country and occupy Living Dead Lip Lock booths, I thought it was a joke.
But when my best new friend Benjy signed on, he was pretty adamant I should follow. “What,” he nudged, shoving his extra hoodie and Army boots in his backpack. “You want to sit around here reading kids’ books all day and eating brain smoothies? Let’s get back out in the world. If crazy chicks want to kiss us because it’s the hot new thing, let’s suck the afterlife out before they remember we’re scuzzed out dead guys!”