Out of the Mouths of Babes - Part 1

It was a quiet evening. I sat at my computer, pretending to work, while in fact I was learning the intracies of Freecell Solitaire. The wife busily checked her email. (I believe she was planning a family gathering with her sisters, but the details are now lost in the shadows of the past.) The younger son was taking his evening nap after a hard day goofing off. His older brother was playing his favorite video game of all time (that summer). The dogs were napping peacefully on their love seats. It was, overall, a nice, quiet, peaceful evening.

"I hate the undead!"

Ryan, the aforementioned elder son, blurted this out amidst a hail of machine gun fire from the family TV. Naturally, my interest was piqued.

"What?" I asked.

"What?" he replied. The machine gun fire had morphed into the explosions of rocket propelled grenades. "Dang it!"

"What did you just say?"

"I said, 'Dang it!'"

"No, before that."

"Oh. I dunno."

"I believe you said you hate the undead."

"Oh. Well, I do. I do hate the undead."

There was a pause while I waited for an expansion on this statement, but my wait was in vain.

"So," I tried again, "is there some reason you would say that?"

"You mean besides the fact that I hate them?"

"Well, why do you hate the undead?"

"They keep stealing my ammo."

Let's pause for just a second and consider these words:

I hate the undead. They keep stealing my ammo.

Apparently, the undead, who used to be a technologically backward, ubertraditionalist, mysteriously self-reliant type of being, have discovered guns. Or at least ranged weapons. This does not bode well for normal humans like you and me.

Also, they seem to have embarked on a life of crime. Besides murder and general mayhem, that is. What's next? Are they gonna start shoplifting at the Walmart? Knocking over liquor stores? Mugging little old ladies for their pocket change?

This does not seem to me a welcome change. I liked it better in the old days when you could count on zombies shambling around making unintelligible noises and grasping at your skull. Now you have to worry about the Saturday Night Special the zombie might have tucked into his waistband.