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Zombie Hunting Season

There’s something strange in the air at the minute.

But it’s not what you think it is.

It’s not an alien race terraforming our planet to mimic their own reptile friendly homeworld.
It’s not even the tonnes of sneezing powder the pharmacutecal companies pump into our atmosphere to keep their allergy tablet interests afloat.

It’s something much sinister. . .

Let me take you back to 1999; life was much simpler then. There was no such thing as global warming and big brother was only a frightening concept from a work of fiction and not a government policy.
The only thing we had to worry about was our casio watches going berserk and exploding on our wrists upon the stroke of midnight on new years eve or (23:59.59 fr 12:31:99)
A simulation would go - beep, boom rather than beep, beep.

Unfortunately at this time some government hotshit coined the phrase, ‘The Millennium or Y2K bug’ and therefore gave birth to an entire planets worth of people who wanted and could be controlled by random buzz words.

Now I know as much as anybody how things are out of control these days; but I do find some solace in one of the whacky laws that seemed to get passed and stay passed back in the 90’s, in Majors’ Britain.

The date was the 16th. September, 1992 or (09:16:92 we). The current prime minister, one Sir Lee Majors was giving a speech on successful cigar smoking to a group of Howey Munson action figurines at the Cumwhitton arts and civics centre near Carlisle when a dishevelled looking woman burst into the hall, vaulted over the lectern and bit off his top lip mumbling, ‘mmm, brains’.
Un-amused and confused it wasn’t long before Mr. Majors’ confronted the woman for an apology and to ask why she removed his top lip rather than his delicious brain; but she only replied, ‘mmm’ brains’ and continued munching on his lip.
Suddenly it was clear to Mr. Majors what he should do; so he appointed several of the Howy Munson figurines to teach this woman and any others like her to correctly identify and remove peoples brains in a manner befitting to the current health and safety legislation.

Meanwhile back at the London h.q. ; the hotshit was verging on an irreversible nervous breakdown .

The final nail in his coffin came when he was asked by a top-lipless prime minister to set up a control facility suitable for one hundred and one or more zombies and ask them a series of questions, the answers which weren’t allowed to contain the answer, ‘mmm’, or ‘brains’.
The fisrt question was - “What’s your favourite food ?”
The answers were then to be placed into a reverse time capsule addressed to -

Max Bygraves
Family Fortunes

He was then asked to pass a law protecting Zombie rights making them eligible for tax credits, housing benefits and a government grant.

However in one of the final moments of despair before he poured ketchup and barbeque sauce all over his head and ran into the control group crying hysterically, the hotshit altered the law to state that through May to December, all British citizens as part of the poll taxes extra windows payment tax are required to cull the ever increasing population of Zombies hopefully into extinction. He concluded to state that anyone who wares a tie on a daily basis is classified as a Zombie and therefore should be slain with extreme prejudice unless said tie is worn round the waist like Robin Trip did.

This law has never been contested and still stands to this day.

So . . .

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Comments about This Article

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