The title of this article may lead you to believe that I hunt gay zombies. This is untrue, mostly because zombies who were once gay humans are now too gross to still be considered ‘gay’. Their cards were revoked long ago. No no, I am a gay hunter of zombies, and I need your advice.
Now that world has been overrun with flesh eating monsters its’ become more difficult to find fashionable merchandise. No longer are days of Channel spring lines and Ikea super sales. Now we must scavenge city, risking our lives in a quest for that perfect pair of shoes. Often I pretend like I’m living out Pretty Woman, except now when clerks don’t let me shop I take action with a double shot gun.
I say ‘we’ because there are others that survived. Not many, but there are a few. Mostly goths in black netting with pale white faces; apparently they looked too dead already. I was very lucky myself. You see, that particular day was a ‘me’ day, where I locked my doors, turned off phones and played Madonna, Cher, and Britney Spears on rotation for 18 hours. How fabulous! In any case I missed worst of it, and when I awoke from my blissful stupor I realized that my peaceful shopping days were over.
Now lets get back to real problem. I decided to go for a stroll through city on a mission to obtain a set of dinnerware to match my couch and coaster set. I plan to use them if world ever repopulates enough to justify social events (hopefully with ‘right’ type of people this time around, if you know what I mean). Never can be too prepared. So I put on my Egyptian cotton shirt, pin stripe pants and pushed my way past outdated Ugg boots in my closet to grab my running shoes (hey, I can’t be all glamour when battling undead). Then I grabbed my pink ‘girl power’ chainsaw and went to town.