Saturday 16 April 2016

Sign the Petition: A Safe Zone For Zombies Now!



Stop the Massacre of the Zombie People! Set up a Safe Zone for Zombies Now!


For far too many years, the Zombie People have suffered vivist discrimination, persecution and violence! It is time to end it now! Please use your powers to end this horrific persecution of the Zombie People!

Why is this important?

Dear Friends:

As we’re all well aware, the Zombie people who walk among us have been, and are, the target of mass anger and hysteria. They are insulted in the media and the entertainment industry, which makes entire genres of movies, TV shows, and even novels to attack them, tell vile lies about them, and openly incite violence against them. They are called by such vivist epithets as “pus bags”, “dead fucks”, “shambling hordes” and the like. There are even comic books – books which would shy away from showing a bare nipple – that openly advocate violence against the Zombie People, and tell children – growing, impressionable children – that there’s nothing more acceptable than putting a bullet through the heads of any zombies they see!

Can you imagine the amount of public rage that would have occurred if these same insults, and these same actions, had been couched in racist rather than vivist terms? What if immature fanboys wrote stories celebrating shooting off the heads of, say, black or Arab or Chinese people? What if B movie producers looking for an idea for a sleazy movie had the protagonist incinerating living humans of another skin colour? Can you imagine the reaction? Can you?

I am sure you can.

Would that it were only restricted to insults and abuse, for the Zombie People prefer to exist by the adage that sticks and stones might break bones, but words are merely words. However, it is regrettable but true that the mass hysteria created by the anti-Zombie propaganda has resulted in a mass backlash. All across the world, the Zombie People find themselves at the receiving end of awful and systematic violence, like never before.

On one end of the scale they face violence on an individual scale; a zombie, say, might be shuffling down the street, intent only on his own business, when a self-important child with a gun shoots a bullet right through his head and ends his hopes and dreams forever. Or it might be state sanctioned and organised, as in cases where family units and entire communities of the Zombie People have been isolated with walls, crushed by armoured bulldozers, and herded into areas where they were massacred by artillery bombardments and air strikes. Can you imagine the agony they must go through? Can you imagine the emotions of a zombie parent who has just seen his zombie children blown apart by a drone?

It needs to be said that the Zombie People have their own, ordained place in the ecosystem, apart from their own lives and hopes, and that by attacking them it is as though the human race is taking harpoons to an entire species of whales or chainsaws to a rain forest of trees. Let us see how.

Zombies are not just “shambling dead fucks”; they are actually the host of an entire miniature ecosystem of creatures dependent on them, from maggots chewing through their muscles to bacteria liquefying their intestines, and small rodents and other opportunistic scavengers which survive by taking bites out of their no longer living flesh. These are animals and bacteria which we, the living, cannot and will not succour with food of our flesh; but when the Zombie People do, we not only mock them for it, but would punish them by destroying them, thus also depriving these poor creatures of their food source!

And it’s not as though the poor Zombie People are actually a threat to humans, either. As we shall see in a moment, they are threats to nobody at all.

One zombie reported this heartbreaking tale of her suffering to one of our citizen reporters:

The Story of Awnghhk Grwangghk: [Translated by the Zombie-English software, GIBBERISH® developed by G Romero &Sons, Inc.]

I am nozombie special, just another of the slobbering horde. From the earliest time I gained consciousness, I wished for nothing more than to be left to my undeath, where I could do as I pleased.

Life is hard for us Zombie People. It’s not just the constant struggle to hold oneself together – it’s not easy walking along and then suddenly discovering that your intestines are slithering out of a rent in your abdominal wall, for example – or the fact that even your own smell gets overwhelming at times,  but you can’t escape it. It’s the near total lack of food; we Zombies need brains, and only a small portion of them, too, to stay alive. But almost nobody has brains any more, and after risking unlife and limb to hunt down a human and breaking a few teeth to break open his skull, you find he has a shrunken ganglion the size of a desiccated pea. Oh, you thought it was easy to break open a skull with your teeth, even if your gums aren't rotted away? I invite you to try. In any case, even when you succeed, the brain's so tiny that the end you lose ten times the energy you gain by eating it. Most of us no longer even bother.

On the day I am going to talk about, I had gone wandering for a morsel of brain that I might bring back to my baby, whom I had adopted a week before. We Zombie People love our zombiebabies just as much as living people do – even more, because of course we know they’ll never grow up and never have babies of their own, never in fact achieve anything except become converted little by little to skeletons over the months and years. So after waving away some of the more obstreperous bluebottles swarming around him, I went looking for a fragment of brain for him to eat.

That particular day, I met my lover Ghruunk Qwankk. I hadn’t seen him in several weeks, but it was as though we’d never been apart. I loved him so much, from the exposed dome of his skull to the broken ankle he dragged along the street at every step, that I am certain we knew, and loved, each other even when we’d both been alive. We walked hand in hand down the street, ghronking companionably to each other, when the first drone missile struck.

I am certain Ghruunk Qwankk had noticed the drone before I had, because he suddenly thrust me hard to one side, so I went sprawling through an empty doorway into an abandoned house. Although he had been dead longer than me, he’d retained a lot of muscle, and as you can see I am not a big zombie. As I fell, there was a huge flash and all that was left of Ghruunk Qwankk was his shoes and a bit of broken ankle bone.

That was just the start. The entire area began to tremble and shake with explosions. I could not even go out to my lover’s boots, to mourn, because there were bombs and shells falling everywhere. Finally, I found a few other zombies sheltering from the bombing inside the building, and we decided to try and make our way to safety as best we could. When the explosions reduced a little, we escaped from the house and tried to make our way back, but of course we could not move fast. There were six of us.

I still remember how the bulldozers appeared, their cabins hidden by armour plate, and began pushing us back towards the part of the town which was still being bombed. We could detect that the men inside had at least cricket-ball-sized brains, and this stimulated us to extreme hunger and effort, but gained us nothing; the bulldozers chewed two of us down, while another simply fell to pieces while trying to escape a bulldozer blade. That left three of us, and we were being forced back further and further towards the shelling.

Then one of us saw a small alley to our left, and we all tried to make our way to safety along that. But men with guns began shooting at us from on top of the roofs. I can still hear them hooting. They quickly finished the two with me, and I thought I would be the next, and never see my baby again. But then they had another little trick to play for amusement; they threw a petrol bomb on me to set me on fire. I’d thrown myself down at the first shot, it smashed on the ground near my head, and the burning fluid got me at once.

Yes, that is what has charred half my face to the bone. It’s only because my rotting flesh didn’t burn too well that I’m talking to you today.

You think a zombie can’t feel pain? I can assure you that a zombie set on fire can feel pain. If you don’t believe me, bring me a petrol bomb, and I’ll be happy to try it on you. And as I writhed and rolled on the street, I could hear them laughing.

It was late that night that I finally crawled back to my baby. I’d totally expected that he too would have been destroyed; but because he was so small, they must have missed him. I took him out of his shoebox and began crawling with him down the street. I have been crawling ever since.

No, I didn’t find any brain to feed him, and till then I’d been looking, without the slightest result, He’s starving, and so am I, and I’m afraid we won’t last much longer.

And in the meantime humans are so utterly stupid that all they do is call us names and hunt us down. Stupid and evil, that's all they are.

No, of course I know you aren't stupid. I never suggested you were....oh, wait, what’s that I smell on you? Hey, wait, where are you going?

[Sounds of snarling, brief human screaming, and recording ends.]


Friends, Mr President, and Your Excellencies and Majesties the Prince, Sultan, and King:

The heart rending story of Awnghhk Grwangghk should be proof, if we needed any, that an immediate end to the persecution of the Zombie People is essential and should not be delayed for an instant further! Here was a mother and lover, who was doing nothing more “evil” than searching for a little food with her baby, in the company of her mate; and she lost him, had in fact to watch him being destroyed, and then lost all her companions as well, right before her eyes. And then she was burnt, quite deliberately and sadistically, her face permanently and horrifically disfigured, her ability to walk normally lost. As you have heard, until the interview, she hadn’t even found a fragment of brain to feed herself and her baby, and they were both starving. It is no consolation that they managed to find a little food for once; there are many, many others like them whose stories are not known, and who need to be saved.

Accordingly, we all urge you at once to implement the following steps, which you, and you alone, have the power to do:

First, we demand an immediate and total ban on vivist abuse and insults to Zombie People. Such abuse should come under the ambit of Hate Speech and be punished accordingly.

Second, we demand that all violence against the Zombie People, whether on an individual or an organised basis, should cease at once and completely. No more gun nuts guzzling beer in between taking shots at some poor forlorn zombie parent like Awnghhk Grwangghk; no more drone strikes, aerial bombing, or shelling; no more armoured bulldozers crushing them agonisingly under metal tracks. If that would be enough, it would be nice, but unfortunately the public opinion about zombies has been so thoroughly vitiated  that it is not.

So, the third demand is that, with no delay, a safe zone should at once be set up; a homeland for the Zombie People, in which they can exist as they wish, and do what they want. We suggest that such a zone can easily be set up in Iraq and Syria, where the military forces of your nations can protect the Zombies from being attacked by the so-called governments of those misbegotten lands.

Not only will you be saving unlives; you will be solving a vexing problem, of what to do with those two countries which have so signally refused to obey orders to roll over and give up their lands and resources to you. Once a haven for zombies, you need never worry about them again! This is your chance to get rid of Assad and Iranian influence in Iraq, once and for all!

Please take action today! There is no time to lose!

Copyright B Purkayastha 2016


  1. I never even realized what I vivist I was until I read this. Thank you for shining light on this overlooked minority, sir. I shall try to sign the petition before I'm eaten by one of the zombies I'm trying to support.

  2. Touching. It's got to be tough to have everyone you try and talk to go running screaming the other way.

    Is there somewhere I can send money? Maybe donate a bit of nerve tissue?


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