Sigh. I just can’t keep up any more.

Space Monkey Pants would like to announce that Space Monkey Pants and Zombie Tuesday are on a break.

Space Monkey Pants takes this to mean that they can see other people.

Zombie Tuesday disagrees strongly with this policy.

Wackiness ensues!

Fig. 1: Example of proposed wackiness

Do you ever get the feeling the Zombie Tuesday is becoming a little redundant?

It’s like when you were a kid, and Mother’s Day or Father’s Day rolled around, and you asked your parents, “Why isn’t there a Kid’s Day?”… and then they said, “Everyday is Kid’s Day!”… and then you fell to the floor spasming, white froth at your mouth, chewing your own tongue to mash… and then they got the Thorazine… and then everything went grey and soft…

Well, now zombies are frickin’ everywhere. Everyday is Zombie Tuesday.

Where does that leave our poor little Zombie Tuesday posts?

Is it time to retire them? Reimagine them? Give Tuesdays to a lesser-known, hungrier-for-the-spotlight mascot?

What say you?

Do we all remember the brief rundown on the pros and cons of our cats being zombies that I jauntily posted this past Zombie Tuesday? I thought I was so clever with my masterful photoshopping of our little boys into ravening ghouls, I awarded myself four cookies. And then I ate the cookies while doing a little dance. The dance was quite elaborate.

Well, later that night I was in the kitchen with My Lovely Wife. I was starting supper. She was checking through our mail. Suddenly, her head pops up, as if she has just remembered something, and then her arm swings out and whacks me on the shoulder.

My Lovely Wife: You jerk! You’re horrible!

Me: Ow.

My Lovely Wife: I can’t believe you did that to our boys!

Me: Ow. What? Oh… the zombie picture. Heeheehee! [Ed Note: Yes -- I actually giggled. Hell, I practically tittered.] Funny, eh!

My Lovely Wife: NO! It was horrible! Look at them! Look how sweet they are! Now all I can think of is their poor little zombie faces! That was horrible! You’re a jerk!

Me: Bu-

My Lovely Wife: Jerk!

And so I looked down at out two boys — who, as we were in the kitchen, were also in the kitchen in the vain hope that we might actually give them food.

And our two boys both looked at me.

And I thought about the picture.

And I felt really bad.

And I thought about the picture some more.

And then I giggled again.

And then I felt even worse.

And that’s how they week has gone. I’ll call the boys zombies and then I will giggle. Then they’ll look at me. And then I’ll crawl into a deep hole of shame.

Thanks, Zombie Tuesday. Thanks a lot.

I was initially apprehensive when our cats became zombies, but it’s not really all that bad.

I mean, yes, we do have to buy a special brain-formula cat food from the vet, which is a little more expensive than regular cat food, but no more than the weight-reducing formula we were buying previously.

And yes, there are a few more blood stains to clean up around the house.

But, along with the mindless compulsion to eat brains, there has also been a definite reduction in the number of hairballs they’ve spit up recently.

Also, the coating of brains and viscera has made their coats really glossy and thick.

And the fact that they seem to be limited to a soul-deadening craving for feline brains is also a benefit. They’ve totally stopped begging for human food. Being able to eat chicken in peace is a real treat.

All in all, we’ve decided to look at this as a plus. It is a heck of a conversation piece at parties.

However, we are trying to be a bit more vigilant to ensure that they remain indoor cats. I don’t think our relations with our neighbours could handle that development.

And the meows are a little creepy…

And thus we have proof that, yes, even I have thrown the mantle of zombiehood upon my shoulders from time to time.

Evidence of zombiehood:

• Death-like pallor.
• Blood-stained lips and cheeks.
• Thirst for human flesh. (See? I’m pointing at some off-camera human flesh. I mean, I’m all casual, but it’s still really obvious that I’m hankering for some innocent-bystander-chops.)

Evidence that I have long ago lost any sense of shame:

• This picture.

At the age of 5, I had the most terrifying nightmare of my life. To this day, I remember every single detail of the dream.

It is not a long dream.

I am a child, playing with friends outside our home in Elliot Lake, Ontario. It is harshly sunny day, colours are washed out and everything seems sharp-edged. Everyone I am playing with runs up to the sidewalk. I follow and find everyone gathered around a smiling woman. Her hair is on fire. The flames do not burn, and everyone is happy, but I feel wrong.

Then the scissors stop, open, in the air in front of me. And then jump forward and close over my left arm, severing my forearm completely. My hand and wrist disappear. I raise the stump to my face and the inside of my arm looks like sliced bolonga, pale, pink, and dead. The woman continues to laugh. I start to scream.

And I wake up.

• The Other Side @ Matazone: “Night of the Zombie Kitties, starring Mittens and Snowdrop”

You are a dog named Snowdrop. You wander into a cemetery. Zombie kittens proceed to approach you with the “assumed” purpose of eating your brains. Thusly, you proceed to unleash destruction upon them with your Dog-matic Mortar Cannon.

Huh.

I have a problem with the underlying thesis behind this “game”.

The assumption that the zombies would be kittens strikes me as foul propaganda by the ever-more-powerful Canine Lobby.

I say, nay! — nay, I say! Stand up against this foul belief! Kittens are no more likely to single-mindedly devour your brains than dogs are likely to meekly defer from eating their own poo!

Or no more likely than I am to avoid using the word “poo”.

• Munktiki: “Monkey Zombie”

Monkey. Zombie. Mug.

Much as I would like to, I don’t think I can buy this mug. I would be forced to use it too much. Thus I would drink more. And thus I would have to pee more. Having peed, I would then need to drink more, to rehydrate. But I would drink too fast, because the mug was too cool. And then I would pee faster and faster. And drink more and more. Peeing. Drinking. Peeing. Drinking. Over and over. Until eventually, my life would careen out of control in a downward spiral of urination and beverage consumption that would not end… at least until someone got their hands on an old priest and a young priest.

But it would be super cool.

• Corante: “The Wisdom of Parasites” (Via Boing Boing)

“The Wisdom of Parasites”.

Wow. That’s one lyrical title. It’s real purty.

But it’s horrifyingly misleading. Terrifyingly horrifyingly misleading.

Insanely irresponsibly stupidly evilly gaseously demonically creepily slobberingly terrifyingly horrifyingly misleading.

The real title for this should be…

“WASPS CREATE ARMY OF ZOMBIE COCKROACHES”

God. And I’m allergic to normal wasps.

I wonder if they make an EpiPen for these.

• The Daily Mumps: “They have no souls” (via Blurbomat)

Is it just me or are zombies getting younger and younger every year?

Sigh.

I thinks it’s probably the hormones in the milk.