As I’ve probably already mentioned, I’m an antisocial bastard. I probably also have sociopathic tendencies. I do know that I have very flexible morality. It’s funny really. I get downright weepy when I think about those poor animals from Hurricane Katrina; floundering with malnutrition and loneliness in shelters around the country. Balance that with the fact that I would have absolutely no qualms about looking down the sights of a gun and killing a fellow human being. (The rules according to Leon, the Professional: “No woman, no children”) Anybody else, though. They’re fair game. Besides, if I went into the killing for hire business I’d probably find some absolution in the fact that, if I show up on your doorstep…you most likely did something bad to bring me there.
Anyway, as it applies to the holidays… I find it slightly amusing that I sometimes forget my outside world face and show the real me. Mrs. Zombie is especially unhappy when this happens. You see, she’s a nice person. I have to yell at her because, if I didn’t, she’d get out of her car in downtown Cleveland to give winos blankets and food. I have no such compunction or charitable vein. And, as she spends so much time with me, she sees the real Dr. Zombie more than most people do.
Take this last weekend. We went out to do some shopping. I’m already feeling very un-fucking-Christmas-y. To make matters worse, I’ve got to deal with crowds. People, pushing and shoving and writhing in the throes of some sick, twisted, orgiastic, and selfish desire to get the hottest new toy of the season. It makes me cranky and sullen. That’s not a good place to be when you know you have severe antisocial tendencies. It’s times like this that it takes everything I have not to punch someone in the throat and stand back, relishing the gurgling sound they’ll make as they lie gasping for air like that fish at the end of that Faith No More video.
So I was sitting in Mrs. Zombie’s Jeep outside of the local Target, waiting for several morons to stop walking in front of my car. One particularly cow-faced and coiffed soccer mom paused in front of the car to dial her cell phone. She actually stood there, in the middle of the aisle, dialing or text messaging or whatever. So, having had enough and having reached my tolerance for stupidity and rudeness, I honked the horn. The cow made a bleating noise and started, looking at me with disgust.
She then proceeded to flip me off.
Now, had my children not been in the car, and had my wife not yelled, I’m certain I would have either run the soccer mom down or gotten out of the car and eaten her liver. As it was, my wife, who had reached over to grab my arm angrily suddenly pulled back. I looked at her shocked face and growled, “What?”
“You’re thinking about killing her!” she breathed with a shudder, “I can see it on your face. I can actually see you imagining her murder!”
I, realizing I had been sussed out, quickly smiled, “Of course not, honey. I wouldn’t dream of harming that lovely woman. ‘Tis the season, and all. Ho ho ho?”
She looked at me as though I was crazy, shaking her head in disgust. I continued smiling. (Note to self - Be aware when you are being emotionally naked!) I pulled away in the Jeep, but not before glancing at the soccer mom as she scurried onto the sidewalk with a horror-struck look. She had seen my intentions, too.
‘You’re lucky, Ms. Cell Phone,’ I thought, ‘you’ve been saved by the fact that I’d probably never get a Harley if the Missus saw me gnawing on your liver.’