It’s hard to hit the brain aisle of the local supermarket without having your mind blown. There are so many choices: fried chicken brains, sautéed cow-brain medallions au poivre, Mama Mamamino’s brain ravioli in red or white sauce, boiled octobrains with hollandaise, filet de porc du cerveau, Funfoods Happy Treats Brain Freeze frozen pops in twelve great species, and so on and so on.
There are as many options for feeding zombies as there are for dating them.
It’s little wonder that 56 percent of women cite supplying food for their beau as the number two reason why they don’t want to date a zombie. (The number one reason? Sex. But you already knew that. Wink.)
The trick to buying dinner for your boyzomb is reminding yourself that zombies don’t have sophisticated palates. They can’t detect an insouciant hint of lemon. In fact, they can’t detect anything at all. Thirty-six hours after initial zombification, the taste buds start to break down. Seventy-two hours later, the human taste mechanism ceases to exist.
A study by researchers at the University of Wisconsin at Madison confirms this deficiency. In a blind taste test, zombies showed no preference for prepared brains over unprepared brains. “Zombie’s don’t care about taste, texture or smell,” says study author Jasmine Courtland, Ph.D., professor of applied zombie psychology. “They will eat any speck of brain you put in front of them. The only time they won’t eat something is when it’s not brains. We tried substituting spaghetti, pumpkin and kidney beans but they literally didn’t bite.”
Courtland advises women to save their money and buy the simplest, plainest, rawest, cheapest brain product they can find. “Sure, we’d all like to think that the zombie we’re dating isn’t so primeval as to suck the gray matter right out of the skull of a still-breathing animal. But the truth is, these are wild creatures that live solely by compulsion. They weren’t made to wait thirty minutes while a French chef sous-vides the cerebral cortex.”
And where can you find the simplest, plainest, rawest, cheapest brain product at the supermarket? “Well, that’s a bit of a challenge,” Courtland concedes. “Gourmet brain cuisine is big business, so managers tend to hide the cheap stuff. It’s usually in the back under Mrs. Yummikin’s Prepackaged Preseasoned Cat’s Brains.”
You’ll probably have to shift around a few boxes to find the good stuff, but savvy shoppers know it’s worth the extra effort. With all the money you save, you can treat yourself to a mani-pedi. Or a dozen.