So, Vicky and I were out walking the dogs the other day when the topic of zombies came up… again. (What can I say? We like to keep our conversations lively.)
Not only did we talk about zombies. We also talked about zombie… guts.
Here’s the thing: Imagine you’re a zombie (Republicans, this shouldn’t be too hard). You’ve eaten a side of person but you’re still a bit peckish, so you opt for some brain salad with a side of liver, spleen, and intestine.
Now that you’ve eaten all of that… where does it go?
Seriously, where does it all go?
Do zombies poop?
None of the standard zombie cannon shows any sign of zombie bathroom habits.
If zombies don’t poop, what happens to all that yummy people? Do they digest it? They can’t, obviously, because they are dead.
Take that to its logical conclusion and you find that zombies are bound to be… well, bound. I mean, zombies would keep a gastroenterologist pretty busy. Eventually, they’d just be these stick-thin walking corpses with huge, distended stomachs.
… and who the hell wants to talk about that?