Those of you who watch The Walking Dead know about Michonne, arguably one of the most kick-booty characters on television today. When we first meet her, on her own after the zombie apocalpyse, she is holding her own thanks to her katana and a pair of neutered (as it were) zombies she has put on a leash and uses to avoid detection by other zombies.
Even though we are now on Season 4 and Michonne has long since lost her zombies, it remains the only instance in which zombie power was harnessed and used for a good cause. Really, they are losing out on a good opportunity here. Yes, zombies do a lot of bad things like try to eat you and the like, but on the other hand, they aren’t that smart, being brainless for the most part. With a little careful handling, they could be of some use. I’m picturing a big hamsterwheel or the like, just stick ’em on with a pile of meat hanging out front and use it to power a generator. At least one engineer must have survived the apocalypse who could figure out how to rig one.
My point is, even when you are faced with a very bad behavior, there is the chance to manipulate it for your own benefit.
Take tonight, for example. Both of my children declared they wanted to be zombies this year, for reasons I find both charming and alarming. My daughter chose to be a generic zombie child survivalist type, while my son went for a more specialized “Football Zombie” prototype. I had bought my daughter some horrifying purse accessory shaped like a severed limb, but didn’t come up with an accessory for my son. He came downstairs this morning with a Nerf football that he said could be distressed and turned into a prop.
We rubbed it in the dirt. It looked mildly dirty.
I sprayed it with fake blood. It melted into the ball and turned fuschia.
I stabbed it with a butter knife. It just bounced right off.
All this time, Brody has been following us around the house with a mixture of curiosity and lust. You could say he’s drawn to balls like….a zombie to brains.
Like a zombie to brains.
I don’t know why I didn’t think of that one sooner.
“Go play with Brody for a little while so I can think this over,” I told my son, tossing the ball down the hall.
Five minutes later, mission accomplished. My son set off this evening with a well mangled Nerfball, Brody got a little extra playtime, and all was right with the world.