Tag Archives: nauseated

Brainiac: a smart woman’s guide to buying brains

14 Dec

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.

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Zombie sex misconception #3: zombies are squidgy

1 Dec

OK, so you’ve gotten over the ewww and you’ve overcome the stink, but, you say, there’s still the squidge. Zombies are squidgy. They have gooshy, dampish and unpleasantly yielding skin.

You don’t want to feel that pressed up against you.

Squidginess might have been an issue with previous generations of zombies (although a recent article in The Daily Scoopage posits that this so-called pliancy problem was part of a global smear campaign orchestrated by vampire lovers), but it’s absolutely not a factor for the current crop. Modern medicine ensures that the well-cared-for zombie has the epidermis of a healthy forty-five-year-old. Apply regular firming treatments and your boyzomb will permanently retain the semisoft suppleness of early middle age forever. Banish thoughts of soggy bacon forever!

Brains—it’s what for dinner

24 Oct

Brains. Brains. Brains. When it comes to zombies, it’s all anyone can think about. Oh, no, the evil, insatiable zombie is going to eat my brain! 

Of course this is a perfectly natural response. For much of history, zombie outbreaks have meant the end of civilization as we know it and the beginning of a full-scale, adrenaline-driven, fight-or-flight existence in which the slightest hesitance could mean a bloody lobotomy and certain death. But the image of roving bands of zombies lumbering down the street with dura mater sticking to their chins is so indelibly fixed in our collective mind that we can’t see the forest for the meninges. The h1Z1 variant Y zombie isn’t that zombie. Yes, with the incontrovertible habit of his species, he eats brains, but he doesn’t eat your brain. He eats the brains of cows and chickens and pigs—animals you yourself eat with startling regularity. That doesn’t make you a monster, does it?

The difference, of course, is the ick factor, the arbitrary designation of grossness to parts of the animal your culture doesn’t consider appropriate for human consumption. But offal isn’t always awful. In many parts of the world, it’s considered a delicacy. The French, for example, love cervelle de veau, calf’s brains sautéed with beurre noir and capers, and Indonesians enjoy gulai otak, beef brains simmered in a coconut milk curry. The problem of zombies, it turns out, isn’t a lack of taste so much as a lack of condiments.

Dating a zombie doesn’t mean you have to partake of brains when out on a date. You should never compromise your own beliefs just to impress a cute zomb. (The self-administered lobotomy, like mankind itself, is so last millennium.)  But you should try to refrain from being judgy about it. A healthy relationship requires a healthy dose of respect. So if your boyzomb likes brains for breakfast, lunch and dinner, cut him some slack—and maybe wipe his chin.

Zombie scents and sexability

21 Oct

Back again? I knew you couldn’t stay away. Shiver in horror all you want, but there’s something impossibly compelling about zombie sex.

The second common misconception follows closely on the ewwwy heals of the first: Zombies are stinky.

I’ll be completely honest with you—yes, the zombie on the street smells. If you happen to be downwind of one in a park during public feeding hours, the stench will make your eyes water and your stomach roil. But this is not a new phenomenon. Very frequently, the man on the street smelled, too. Literature from the mid- to late-twentieth century recounts many instances of stinky men on airplanes, subways and buses. European men in particularly were known for eschewing artificial fresheners in favor of an au naturel pungency. Those men had the means not to smell, just as the modern zombie does, yet they chose not to avail themselves. And no doubt they got plenty of sex.

You can make a difference choice.

Scent sanitizers* neutralize zombie smells from the inside by dissolving the malodor molecules and by linking the remaining ones with the active ingredient cyclodextrin. Individual results varies but on average, a scent sanitizer takes two weeks to reach full effectiveness. Once a zombie has been disinfected, apply an external scent such as cologne or musk. What kind? That, my friend, is entirely up to you. Explore your options and don’t be afraid to take your boyzomb shopping for the scent that turns you on. You’ll be glad you did!

*There are several good scent santizers on the market. I like  Zombreeze from Geiser and Meyser ($2/dose or $90/3-month starter kit; available wherever zombaceuticals are sold).

Zombie sex. You’ll be surprised.

14 Oct

I know what you’re thinking: zombie sex—ewww.

Ewwwww.

Ewwwwwwwwwww.

All done?

Oh, wait, one residual one? OK.

Ew.

Great. Now that that’s out of your system, let’s move on.

There are many misconceptions about zombie sex—and in the coming months I will discuss all of them here—but the single most enduring one is that zombie sex is gross and disgusting and completely revolting. In a study conducted by Geiser and Meyser Zombaceuticals, 58 percent of respondents said the thought of having sex with a zombie makes them throw up in their mouth.

Fair enough.

But the revulsion women feel at the thought of zombie sex has little to do with the modern, twenty-first century zombie and everything to do with the squidgy, smelly, putrid zombie of generations past. Previous species of zombies smelled like rotten meat mixed with dog crap and decayed at a rapid rate, their skin sliding off their frame like soggy pieces of bacon. Their gnarled teeth tore at their human victims with single-minded mendacity. Their garbled voices hurled growls into the dark night with ferocious hunger.

Any sane human being would feel nauseated at the thought of touching such a disgusting creature.

However, the modern, twenty-first-century zombie is nothing like his predecessor. The variant Y zombie is able to distinguish between higher order and lower order animals. He doesn’t crave human brains. This abstention has paved the way for a groundbreaking revolution in zombie pharmaceuticals. With the right regimen of zombaceuticals, today’s zombie is cleaner, firmer, sweeter smelling, better mannered and just plain nicer than his forerunner.

Zombie sex. You’ll be surprised