Have you ever realized how many body parts start with B? I mean, there’s body, obviously, along with butt, belly, belly button, breast, and beard (if you include facial hair as a body part). And then there’s the B parts we generally don’t like to see outside of bodies, like blood, bones, and brains. SO MANY OPTIONS. But, since it’s late at night and I have yet to post anything for Day Two of the A to Z challenge, I went for the one my slap-happy mind found most humorous. (Which means zombies. And gore. I do apologize, really.)
“You know,” I croaked, “I’m getting really tired of all these BRAAAAIIINS jokes. They get” — I paused to slurp my lower jaw back into place — “old real fast, you know?”
Barton hopped in a vaguely nod-like manner. “HAA-RAT TAT TAT TAT TUT!” he exclaimed. The skull wasn’t technically a zombie, but he was a nice guy and fun to have around. Plus, considering the Intact Act, we made it a point not to discriminate based on level of decay.
“Barton’s right,” slurred a young zombie — young in undead terms, as none of us were quite certain how old we used to be — who insisted her name was Bloody Bones. “Like, really? There’s more to being dead than eating brains.”
“Quite so,” said Quentin. “Not only are such jokes offensive, they ridicule zombie intelligence and imply a certain lack of perception regarding the nature of the undead. I’d say they’re told in rather poor taste, truthfully.”
There were agreeing moans all around, though chances were half of the group didn’t understand a word out of Quentin’s mouth. Words longer than two syllables were difficult to decipher when your ear drums were rotting. Though, Quentin’s curious way of speaking prompted frequent debates over whether he had once been a teacher, a politician or some sort of scientist, or possibly merely British.
“What, you mean you dead-heads don’t like brains?”
Frieda jumped out of her skin in surprise — literally. We all turned, joints cracking, to look at the small band of humans, shotguns in hand, peering over the whitewashed fence locking them in their backyard.
“Ugh,” I said, partly because humans are annoying and I was expressing my disgust, but mostly because they were too far away for me to tear them to shreds before they blew my head off with their shotguns.
“DA-TAT TAT,” Barton agreed.
“Actually,” Quentin said, “I would imagine that a fondness for brains would be more a matter of personal taste. This obsessive brain craving humans casually attribute to the undead is an unfounded stereotype, as zombies’ dining preferences vary quite as much as humans’. There are other variables too, of course, such as availability, quality, convenience–”
“Oh,” one of the humans interrupted, a tall one that smelled of cheese and sweat. “I got one. Knock knock!”
There was an awkward silence. “Uh,” said Bloody Bones. “Who’s there?”
The humans all burst out in snorts and guffaws while we shuffled uncomfortably.
“Was that even meant to be funny?” Quentin asked incredulously. “Generally speaking, a knock-knock joke involves some sort of word play, or puns, or some situational humor at least.”
“Hey,” said a squat male that smelled vaguely of broccoli, and possibly cow dung, “Here’s a good one. What do zombies wear when it’s raining?”
“Well, assuming we–” Quentin was cut off again.
“A BRAAAAIIIN-coat!” The humans descended into laughter again.
Frieda sniffed, though I wasn’t sure whether it was in disdain or an effort to hide the bluish fluid leaking from her nostrils. “Really,” she said dryly. “You can’t be more creative than that?”
Cheese and Sweat clapped his hands together gleefully. “What did the zombie say to his girlfriend?”
A thin-faced human that might have been female gasped. “Oh, I know this one! ‘I just love a woman with BRAAAAIIINS!'”
I raised an eyebrow. Or, I think I did. Did I still have my eyebrows? Frieda and Quentin were grumbling quietly, while Barton adopted a look of pained tolerance. Bloody Bones looked positively livid.
The female-ish human cackled, hooking its shotgun over one shoulder. “What do vegan zombies like to eat? GRAAAAIIINS!”
“Ha!” laughed Cow Dung. “How about: how do zombies like to travel?” He paused, sniggering. “TRAAAAIIINS!”
“Or, what do zombies like to eat for breakfast? Raisin BRAAAAIIINS!”
The humans were gulping for breath, choking on their own laughter. I peered sideways at Quentin, tempted to roll my eyes but worried I might lose one if I tried. We shuffled closer, eyeing the wheezing humans.
“Why did the zombie cross the road?”
“To get to the BRAAAAIIINS!”
I reached over the fence, grabbing Cheese and Sweat by the throat. The laughter cut off suddenly, evolving into panicked screams and shouts. A couple of gunshots rang out, and the air was tangy with the scent of blood.
As the last scream faded off into gurgles, I faintly heard Bloody Bones say, “Hey. What do you call a dead human?”
Licking my fingers, I glanced at Quentin. With glazed eyes and blood dripping from his chin, he groaned, “BRAAAAIIINS.”
You know, I used to think that brains were the most important organ in the entire body. Then I thought, look what’s telling me that.
Okay, okay, enough jokes. But really, you guys, I found so many zombie-brain jokes. I didn’t even get to use all of them. (How do zombies study for tests? by eating lots of BRAAAAIIIN food.)
Really quick, I’d like to thank my fellow A to Z challengers for stopping by, and offer a brief summary of what I do on my blog. (Which takes some considerable skill, as half the time I don’t even know what I do on my blog.) I love to write, so you’ll find a lot of poetry (usually serious) and short stories (usually humorous, and strangely rather morbid). But, as I am a creature of many faces, I’ll also post artwork, reviews, guides, humor, rants, or whatever silly thing enters my mind.
Also, I love comments. Tell me — what did you think of the story? Was the ending even remotely funny? Was any of it funny, or am I just ridiculously tired? Would you like to read more things like this? Do you have any good zombie jokes? Any good non-zombie jokes? Am I the only person who thought World War Z was comedic? I probably should have waited to post this one until Z, speaking of the letter, shouldn’t I?