Strangely Naked

Ah, zombies. Zombie movies, shows, runs, books, I like it all. The simplicity of an overwrought metaphor and defined method of dispatch. It’s an endlessly fascinating (to me) source of stories. They all try to channel the Romero idea of brainless consumerism, telling us we’re all zombies, ravenous in our singularity of thought, drooling and shuffling toward our own and society’s demise. Trough all of them, however, they miss one thing central to the human experience: sex.

How can you try to make the argument that humans are instinctual, driven to mindlessly consume, and ignore that, food aside, the sex industry has propelled humanity forward since pre-history? I know that zombies don’t say, “brains,” as they lumber toward people but if they did, once they got their tastebuds on some grey matter, the next chant would be, “orgasm!” The zombies would take one bite of the living then go off into corner somewhere and masturbate furiously or awkwardly try to send a dick-pic to someone. Maybe it’s a conscious or subconscious manifestation of the U.S.’s sexually repressive Puritanical tendencies?

Except it’s not just in state-side zombie flicks. Even in one of the more believable zombie films, Shaun of the Dead, they show how, once we get a handle on the problem, we would exploit the living dead for our own amusement, making them the focus of game shows and other entertainment. However, they blatantly omit our overpowering sexual proclivities.  The day after we got control of the walking dead situation, there would immediately be grainy cell phone videos of zombies lethargically dry-humping each other. The next day, there would be high-quality porno of zombies dressed like celebrities rubbing nasties.

I think that before a zombie would even bite one of the living, some backwater pervert would have already tied up one of the walking dead and used it as a sex toy. I’m pretty certain the conscious living would develop a fetish for zombies before anyone could give them a name like “zombie.” Before the world knew what a zombie was, we’d be calling them, “chompy sex dolls.”

Before there would be a full-blown zombie apocalypse, we’d have zombie sex dungeons. What’s better than a plastic sex toy? Something that you don’t have to make. No expense in molding plastic, just take the already-dead and let ’em be walking human Fleshlights. Or even put them in an arena, feed ’em a little bit and watch those voiceless bundles of instinct schtup each other.

And no one would be a necrophiliac because the dead are still moving around. Disturbing? Sure, but the rights of the walking dead haven’t been sorted out yet. Rest assured, zombie-sex would be an issue well before societal collapse. Think about that next time you’re watching Fear the Walking Dead.  At the very least, sex aside, you have to wonder why there’s all these dead men walking around, but not one of them has angel lust (you know, the terminal erection)?

Coda: Sometimes I like to write about things like lofty emotional journeys, or examine the human condition, then, other times, I like to write about zombie sex. It’s called “range,” people.