Friday, April 09, 2004

Let's Blogging tried to eat your brain, but your brain has already been eaten.

You stare blankly at one another for a few moments, then lurch off in separate directions.

All along I thought it was a lobotomy.

Three weeks ago, an invitation to a party arrived in the mail. No return address, no name, no phone number for RSVPs. The card, a medley of twig scratchings on a splatter of blood, simply read, "Partee at Pot Muddy Dog Pak 3 AM."

Witch-and-Satan parties fill the Midnight slot; the more langurous vampire begins his soirees at 1 AM. Failing to heed common sense, I forgot that only zombie parties start at 3 AM.

The other tip off - again I did not read the classic signs of zombie entrapment - was the atrocious spelling. Zombies, lacking the vital part of the brain that distinguishes between pigeon and pidgin, often commit such indecencies. The English Language shudders.

When I came to the next morning, the yarmulke-sized hole on top of my skull led to an empty cavity. I looked around for my brain in the bushes. My car keys lay beside a nice shiny quarter.

In retrospect, life is easier now. My sister did my taxes. My mother wakes up before me. Tea is ready by the time I'm up. All phone callers inquire about the avian flu. My hamster's cage cleans itself. Plus, I am wealthier than I have ever been in the last twenty months.

As Jane Austen once said, "Only soggy bread is better than being a zombie."

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