On the Zombification of Loved Ones
I asked my girlfriend a question last night:
If I turned into a zombie, would you shoot me, or let me bite you?
This is a simple question. The hypothetical world it posits contains the following facts:
- Her once awesome and lovable boyfriend is now a mindless, brain-hungry zombie.
- She has a gun, and (implicitly) she is within firing distance.
- If she does not promptly deal with the imminent zombie-boyfriend threat, she will be bitten and herself turned.
Now, I would hope that all of us here know the correct answer (and I shall not insult your intelligence by assuming otherwise). We are here to discuss her answer, which was thusly:
"That's an odd question. Zombies aren't actually real."
I leave this with you for a moment, to sink in.
Right then, sweetheart. Regardless of the supposed "nonexistence" of zombies, this is a hypothetical question. Assume, my dearest, that you are confronted with such a situation, and actually answer the question I asked.
"I would probably try to run away and hide."
Honestly, I despair. Not only was that not in the list of options I gave you, basic zombie survival knowledge states that you do not run from a zombie. You will tire; the zombie does not tire. The zombie will pursue you relentlessly, shambling behind you at a constant pace, patiently dealing with any obstacles in his path in his attempt to reach his food source (viz. your brains).
I don't really know what to do here. The last thing you need in a zombie apocalypse is for your partner to be such a massive liability. She will undoubtedly look to me for protection, but given her gross ignorance of basic zombie protocol, what hope have I really got?
I think it's time for a new girlfriend.