My Perfectly Wonderful

Zombie Christmas

Chapter Zero

How Perfectly Goddamned Delightful It All Is, To Be Sure

Bare with me on this story. I’d appreciate it. I’ll do the best I can, but I’m not in what most people would call great shape at this point. In more ways than one. If you’ve got a seat belt handy, use it, because it’s going to be a bumpy ride. I can almost guarantee it. If we’re lucky, it will eventually all make sense in the end. But no promises. I’m just being honest. At least there’s that. I simply felt the need to record this for posterity. Pencil and paper-wise. While I can. Something like that. We thank you again for your support.

So I shot Santa in the head.

Not a big deal. In fact, I think I have to admit to having a long-held secret desire of wanting to shoot Santa Claus in the head. I mean, what did the Fat Little Bastard ever do for me? I never got what I really wanted for Christmas. Then I find out, at a much-too-late-in-the-game age, that he’s not even real. I love my mom, but she seriously over-did the “you’re my little baby” thing. And what’s up with my dad and my older brother and sister playing along? I guess I was the family joke for a long while. Yeah, they must have gotten a lot of mileage out of that.

It was all a big fat lie about a little fat man. So, yes, I actually enjoyed shooting Santa Claus in the head. Sue me.

And now that I think about it, how in the hell did I survive public school so long without being razzed about it, mercilessly and cruelly teased, if not getting bullied and beat up, or, I don’t know what? When I think back on it, it’s a bit of a blur… probably some form of mental block self-protection denial or something. (maybe deep down I knew better than to mention it in polite company – as we all well know, kids can be the cruelest of all – thank god they aren’t usually armed)

Sure, I know, now, that he’s not – that they weren’t – all those bell-ringing bastards – the “real” Santa Claus. I’ve known that for quite some time, actually. I remember my brother trying to convince me that, every time you see him on a street corner, ringing that damn bell, begging for pocket change from passers-by, even as you’re driving down the road, or in the mall, or a department store – when they had that sort of thing – or on TV, that he just zips from place to place, faster than the speed of light. Faster than Rudolph and the other eight reindeer on Xmas Eve. — Eight? I think there are eight… plus Rudolph, right? — I almost believed him. I suppose I wanted to believe him, but even at an early age, I wasn’t born on the back of a turnip truck, or however that saying goes. Sure, the seventies were a different time, a much simpler time, but they weren’t that different.

You would think at around the age of seven or eight, okay, nine or ten, figuring out that all those Santas weren’t “the real Santa”, that I would have been on my way to a clue. I guess I’m a little naive, and have always been so. At least, when I was younger. Not these daze, tho. I finally learned my lessons. I’m trying to stay clear of bitter and cynical, but it’s a bit of a full-time job. Not the worst thing in the world to be – innocent. Innocence has it’s place. I wish I had a little more of that now. What’s that saying? If only I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then – no wonder that’s a famous song.

— Okay, technically I’m not actually “the baby” of the family, but I was for years, over a decade. Then Katey ‘the mistake’ came along. We used to kid her about that. I made it a point that she be raised “properly”, and not fall pray to the machinations of the rest of the family, like I was. It wasn’t hard to do, she always had a good head on her shoulders, more so than the rest of the family. And we were all older, if not wiser by then. Mostly just older.

I always wished I was closer to her, but none of us were all that close. Especially after we all graduated, high school and college (sans The Mistake, although she eventually made it, too), and left home to live lives of our own. We half-assed got together for Thanksgiving and/or Christmas for a short while, but even that eventually went by the wayside. Now we’re lucky to see one another every few years, if that. We don’t live all that close to each other. Spread around some, but to tell the truth, not that far away. Far enough to use it as an excuse I suppose. So I guess we are mostly strangers now.

And not too many years after Katey was born, Dad just disappeared one day. Haven’t heard from him since. Nobody ever really talked about it that much. I guess we didn’t really care about that, either. Mom seemed more relieved than anything. All the kids were gone by then anyway, except Katey, of course. I hope she’s doing okay.

Anyway, maybe, along with all of that “babying” I got from Mom, and the sneaky, underhanded, dishonesty, and, yes, outright disloyalty, from the rest of the family (sans Katey, there, as well), all things considered, maybe coming to terms with The Biggest Lie of the Year at thirteen wasn’t all that bad. That’s what I have to believe, anyway, to preserve any lasting sense of sanity. And self-respect. Much less a decent self-image and modicum of self-esteem. Yeah, I do real well in all of those areas. That’s my story, anyway, and I’m sticking to it. For now.

Gee. And I wonder why I enjoyed shooting Zombie Claus in the head. God, I’m fucked up. But, then, who isn’t, in their own little way? In the many ways that all of us are. Most of us in too many ways for our own good, and everyone else’s. And now, you even get to put a cherry on top. Sprinkle it with nuts. Don’t be niggardly, now. Heap it on. I’m fucked up, you’re fucked up, they’re fucked up, we’re all fucked up. And beyond that, we’re all just plain fucked. Deal with it.

And, to tell you the absolute God’s-honest truth, who wouldn’t be, in this new little world of ours? One day things are just your typical wonderful state of affairs – nation-wide and worldwide fucked-up-ness beyond comprehension, with politics, and wars, and “terrorism”, and violence, and greed, and corruption, and rape and murder, most of it at all-time highs, and all the rest of it, and that’s in Good Ol’ America. (yeah, leave it to us to co-opt that term and screw the rest of the North and South continent-wise) Most of the rest of the world has–had it a bit worse in most ways. And before you know what’s hit you, you wake up to find yourself living in Zombie HellTown, U.S.A., walking down Main Street, enjoying the sights. And could someone please change the population count on the signs at the edge of town on Route 42. It’s a full-time job these days. Don’t pay well, though. Any volunteers? (that’s one o’ them there rhetorical questions you been hearin’ so much about lately – if anyone decides to take me literally, have at it – do you have anything else better to do?)

Talk about SNAFUBAR — Situation Normal – All Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.

I, for one, could have used a little warning. Even a hint. Something. Anything. I would have paid a dollar for a clue. But, no, the so-called “Powers That Be” couldn’t have that now, could they? Don’t want to rock the boat. Don’t want to scare anyone. Fear has it’s place. The Department of Homeland Security, CIA, NSA, and other alphabet soup agencies know all about that. But that’s when they can control it and use it for their own eVile [sicK] purposes. (which, unfortunately, they never seemed to tire of indulging in) They don’t (pick) cotton to things that scare them – things that make them piss themselves, nay, shit themselves silly. Things that are real and not made up fiction like most of it, from al qaeda to zombies. Oops! News Alert! Zombies are real. Go figure. “al qaeda”, not so much. Don’t get me started on that crap. (they made one Hell of a Bogeyman, though – if there was still an Internet I’d suggest you Google it and do some objective personal research on the matter – if you can maneuver through all the hip-deep crap and find an inkling of real truth)

Don’t want people to stop going to work, making that all-mighty dollar, so they can spend it on the way home — at the fast food, and the quick mart, and the convenience, and the gas station, and the big box stores — after slaving away at some worthless, meaningless, godforsaken job making widgets of some sort or another. Can’t have that, now, can we? Hope to kiss a duck.

Everything’s fine. Everything’s going to be alright. We have everything under control. We’re from the Government, and we’re here to help you help yourself. Really we are. It’s just a bad flu that’s going around. Got your flu shot, right? You’ll be fine. No worries. Go back to work. Wash your hands. Cover your mouth when you cough. Use antiseptic lotion. They made a bundle – lotta good that’s doing them now. Wear a face mask if you’re in a high-contact position or location. The face mask people made even more than the lotion people – Burn in Hell! – the lot of you. Take a sick day if you absolutely have to. But don’t be a big baby about it. Take a day and then get right back up on that horse. Gotta keep those lines movin’. Gotta grease the socioeconomic business cogs with blood, sweat and tears. Keep the corporations and multinationals and their stockholders well fed. Bolster and enable the stock market gamblers so they can keep playing their dangerous games, and get rich beyond belief on the backs of America and the American people. Keep those dogies and doggies rollin’.

But everything wasn’t fine.

…..

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