I love zombie flicks. What a joy it is to watch mindless pasty-skinned, raccoon-eyed freaks walking around with their drooling mouths half opened, wearing tattered pants (which I believe A&F now sells for $550 a pair), sporting bed hair Clint Howard would kill for as they attempt to feed off non-zombie survivalists. Ah, the simple pleasures of life.
Yep, watching the undead thoughtlessly stagger at a mechanical snail’s pace looking for the next free lunch of flesh and then eventually getting their heads splattered with an axe, mowed down by a Hummer going 90, or dusted with a double-barreled 12 gauge sawed-off shotgun slung by the oh-so-sassy Milla Jovovich as I roast Rocky Patel’s “The Edge” whilst sipping a cold Corona in my candlelit lair (surrounded by taxidermy that rivals the London Natural History Museum’s “Blue Zone”) is what I call a fine Friday evening.
To be clear, my wife thinks my cinematic selections suck, but I’ve watched way too many of her Sandra Bullock movies for her to say crap about my zombie film penchant. Mi esposa and I have a deal now: four chick flicks for her = one zombie movie for me. Yep, for moi, zombie films rock. They are my idea of a date movie.
That said, the only thing that reeks about the zombie genre, however, is when “life imitates art,” as Oscar Wilde said. What am I talking about, you ask? Have I spotted some real life zombies? No, Spanky, not literal zombies, but I have seen in this great land during the last presidential election hundreds of thousands of everyday people become hypnotized and mechanized yes men to Obama and his socialistic big government freedom-strangling entitlement flesh pie.
In this best selling serum for the mesmerized, Mattera methodically archives how BHO, the Zombie Stream Media and the DNC effectively morphed thinking people into automatons ready and giddy to buy oceanfront property in Arizona.
For the zombie movie buffs, we know that the big screen ghouls cannot be cured. You’ve got to Jovovich them. But that’s in the movies. In real life, as JDawg points out in his book, those bitten by the Obama bug can be healed. Indeed many of them as I type and smoke a cigar are waking up from the mindless allegiance to a president who promised them the moon but instead mooned them.
Reader, if you are an Obama Zombie and that Ban Roll-On glaze is starting to come off your eyes and you’re having the sick feeling that you actually voted for this smack (and even put a bumper sticker on your car to cheerlead for BHO and Biden and had thrills up your legs when Barack bloviated) don’t despair! It can be remedied.
1. Go to iTunes and download The Who’s song, “We Won’t Get Fooled Again.” Listen to that about fifty times.
2. Block the Zombie Stream Media on your remote.
3. Start watching Fox News.
4. Go to Amazon and get Mattera’s book, Obama Zombies: How the Liberal Machine Brainwashed My Generation. Open the package and hit yourself in the face with it, really hard, about 60-100 times depending on how advanced the disease is. 5. Lastly, after you have smacked yourself in the face with Jason’s book, Obama Zombies, sit down, take a deep breath and then read it and weep.