To be fair, this one actually is true: Zombies can’t find the clitoris—at least, not on their own. Like the majority of human males throughout history, zombies are oblivious to the charms of this sensitive little nub. But once you make it known to them, they’re able to apply themselves accordingly for as long as you require.
The best part? There’s none of the embarrassment reportedly attached to showing an unzombified human male where it is. According to women’s magazines from the latter half of the twentieth century, few things were more awkward than telling a partner where the clitoris is. A commonly suggested technique advised silently moving your partner’s finger to the prescribed place. This method allowed you to avoid a potentially humiliating conversation.
This sort of discretion is unnecessary with a zombie. You can move him into any position you’d like without mortification. Your zombie boyfriend won’t mind because he doesn’t have one.
And while you’re savoring the results of a successful hunting expedition, don’t forget to check out Love in the Time of Zombies, a dating adventure from my cub reporter days before I became the undead-dating experts you know and love.
Listen up, Girl Guides, because this one is especially false: Zombies only care about your satisfaction. As dead creatures with reanimated life, they have no pleasure centers in the prefrontal cortex (or any cortex). They don’t eat brains because they enjoy the taste; they eat brains because they’re compelled to. It’s a thoughtless compulsion. The same with sex. Zombies aren’t in it for the orgasm. They don’t know what an A, B or C is, let alone the Big O. For them, sex is simply another drive. They do it because nature compels them to. At no point will a zombie roll off you and say, “Thanks, honey, I’m good.” You’re the one who’s going to have to do the rolling off (and much of the rocking!). Trust me, that makes all the difference.
And while you’re cuddling with your sweetie in languid postcoital repose, don’t forget to ménage-à-trois with Love in the Time of Zombies, a dating adventure from my cub reporter, pre-zombie-sex days before I became the undead-dating experts you know and love.
Available from Shebooks ($2.99).
As snow continues to blanket the Northeast on a seemingly daily basis, I thought it was time to remind my fellow Girl Guides of a few seasonal rules. Most people think that zombies are inured to the cold because they are non-blooded creatures. The sad truth is, the lack of a heartbeat is often accompanied by a lack of sense! When was the last time your boyzomb realized his hand had frozen off? Exactly.
Follow these simple rules for a happy, safe and fun winter.
Shed the sled. Few things compare with the exhilarating feeling of flying down a hill with the wind in your hair and your honey’s arms around your waist. But think twice before indulging in this cold-air thrill. A zombie’s permanent state of decay means a seemingly harmless tumble on a Flexible Flyer can result in an inconvenient amputation or disfiguring scar (aw, but you’ll love him anyway!). Even light boogie boards pose a risk: The rope used to pull it up the hill has been known to cause unexpected decapitations when not handled proper (i.e., by you).
Flee the skies. To be fair, skies are a lot less harmful to your rottie hottie than a sled. ZombSports’ new hip boots made of space-age polymers provide the extra support your zombie needs to balance on two skies. But space-age polymers can’t get you to the top of the mountain, and neither can your zombie. Remember your first time getting on the chairlift or—gasp of humiliation!—the T-bar? Remember that flop of shame? That’s your zombie every single time. Instead, cozy up in the lodge for hot chocolate and some quality canoodling.
Pummel the shovel. Just how much shoveling fun your boyzomb has depends on your goal. If you want your sidewalk to be cleared of snow and safe for people to pass, then you might want to expend a little elbow grease yourself. However, if your goal is to spread as much snow as possible on your neighbor’s walk and passing pedestrians, then your zombie boyfriend is ready, willing and able (yes, able!) to serve. There are few things zombies love more than moving snow around with a shovel and they can do it with surprising dexterity. Just don’t expect precision. A zombie doesn’t so much clear the sidewalk as make an absolute mess of it. Still, fun is fun, even if it isn’t clean!
And while you’re keeping warm this winter, don’t forget to snuggle up with Love in the Time of Zombies, a dating adventure from my cub reporter days before I became the undead-dating experts you know and love!
Available from Shebooks for $2.99.
You don’t have to tell me about the giddy exuberance of a new romance. I know far too well how easy it is to get caught up in the minutia of a new partner: the adorable hesitance with which he nibbles the edge of a cow brain before digging in, the sweet-acrid singe of his skin as he smells a burning candle, the slightly shameful tilt of his head when you catch him trying to eat your cat. The pleasures of a new relationship are many, even with a zombie boyfriend, and it’s easy to close yourself off in your own little love bubble.
Resist the urge.
Although the love bubble feels like a reassuringly warm and lovely cocoon, it’s in fact a treacherous place to be. Relationships with zombies, even the best of them, are temporary. One day, your boyzomb will disappear. Maybe he’ll follow some other woman home. Maybe he’ll get lost in a crowd. Maybe he’ll simply decay into a mound of slushy gray mushiness. At that moment, you’ll look around for your friends and they won’t be there. You won’t even be able to remember when or how you lost them. Because that’s what the love bubble does—makes you oblivious to everything but your love.
But that doesn’t have to be you, weeping alone in a dark corner, uncomforted by the warm hug of caring friends. You can overcome the lure of the love bubble by following one simple rule: girls before ghouls.
Here’s how it works: You want to take your boyzomb to the slaughterhouse for a very special, 17-day anniversary dinner but it’s also your bestie Tabitha’s birthday. You’d rather watch that adorable cow-brain nibble of your new crush, but rather than succumb, reschedule for the next night and take your BFF for dinner instead. Your pal will give you best-buddy points for pushing back such an important event, your zombie boyfriend won’t know the difference (17 days, 18 days, 1,265 days—it’s all the same to him) and you’ll get the lovely satisfaction of doing the right thing. It’s win-win-win.
Now, that’s what I call giddy exhuberance.
Summer doesn’t have to be a bummer just because your main squeeze gets extra squishy in the heat. We’ve got your fun-in-the-sun survival tips right here.
1. Lay it on thick. Increased temperatures mean increased decay, so be sure to apply two or three extra doses of skin-firming cream to your boyzomb each day. The patented hydrolipids will keep what remains of his skin supple, not slippery.
2. Keep the home fires burning. Summertime means hamburgers and hot dogs cooked on the grill, but nothing draws a zombie to his doom faster than the hypnotizing flicker of an open flame. So play it safe and bring your barbecue indoors. Prepare hot dogs in the microwave and hamburgers on the stove top. As soon as everything is cooked, bring it outside and have a romantic picnic by flashlight. Worried about mosquitoes and other nippy pests? Don’t be. The oil in your boyzomb’s decaying skin is the best bug repellent ever invented.
3. Give the beach a wide berth. If you thought getting sand out of your bathing suit was difficult, just wait until you try to get it out of the folds of your zombie boyfriend’s skin. The phrase stuck on you will take on a whole new meaning. If you’re craving the wet, check out the pool at your local country club. You’ll avoid the sand trap, and the chlorine in the water will give your zombie a healthy green glow. Plus, you can get french fries delivered poolside. Nothing says postapocalyptic bliss like eating greasy fries while your zombie boyfriend does cannonballs. Heaven!