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There’s A Zombie On Your Lawn – Tales From The Dark Side Of The Pub Crawl
She had short brown hair, a button nose and an eyebrow ring. Her costume was more like sexy gothic vampire than bloated decaying body. As far as zombies go, she was cute. I was interested.
“What are you?” she asked.
“I’m a plant,” I said with a confident smile. Girls like that. Always smile.
Her face scrunched up. Her voice turned pompous. “Why?”
“Screw you, lady.”
Well, maybe I didn’t say that, but my eyes did.
She had a point. Why did I go to the Zombie Pub Crawl as a plant?
It seemed like a good idea three months ago. PopCap’s Plants vs. Zombies was one of the best games I’d played all summer. My buddies and I had a lot of fun imaging what it would be like to dress up as Peashooters and throw tennis balls at zombies.
The problem is I’m not very crafty. I took drafting as an art elective—in other words, I need a protractor and a T-square to draw a picture of a table. I knew going in that my Snow Pea costume would be a shaggy piece of work.
Exhibit A: What a plant looks like.
Exhibit B: What I looked like.
Even so, I was surprised how many people hassled me about my costume. For a bunch of people dressed shabby enough that homeless people were giving them pity looks, they were pretty judgmental.
One Of Us Looked Pretty Stupid. It Was Me
I guess I should have expected this. Last year our group went as Marvel Zombies and I decided to dress as a zombified Fin Fang Foom. Fin Fang Foom is a lesser-known dragon Marvel created back in the ‘60s and he’s about as popular as herpes. I guess I just like being obscure.
My Brother Takes Down A Road Cone Zombie. One Of Our Few Victories
Last year I was never assaulted. On my way out of our last bar, a chubby female zombie grabbed me by the snout and roared in my face. I think she was trying to eat by brain, but it kind of looked like she was about to kiss me. She succeeded in neither, but actually ended up flicking a spray of drunkard spittle all over my face before I pushed her back.
The Bar, Moments Before the Spitting
Momentarily stunned, I watched her lurch back like she was about to vomit. Thankfully we didn’t exchange any other fluids, but she awkwardly stared at me while leaning against the bar, sweating from every pore on her face. If she knew where she was, she was hiding it very well.
I threw one of my painted tennis balls at her and squeezed through the crowd toward the zombified street. Dressing as a flower must have turned me into a passive aggressive pansy. Next year I’ll have to go as Kratos.
This year a lot of people called me everything from dinosaur, Yoshi and dragon. One person thought I was a dolphin. Only two people (out of thousands) got it.
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