The Candy Kingdom rests peacefully after a long day of festivities to honor the advent of Princess Bubblegum's new decorpsinator serum. The original serum was flawed and then supposedly perfected by PB to restore its intended effect of reviving the fallen Candy People who are no longer with us. Little do the Candy People know, their revived love ones will only maintain temporary control over their actions before resuming their sugar-hyped craze for more sugar.
Finn the Human and Jake the Dog arrive at the Candy Kingdom on a hot summer morning, greeted by the stench of caramelized sugar. The Gumball Guardians have been toppled, their contents scattered and melted on the pavement, or half chewed and blown to bubbles. Finn and Jake notice the Princess has sealed her laboratory from the inside. This can only mean she is already at work to devise a new serum to contain the madness.
Finn and Jake reach the doors of the laboratory unscathed. They are, after all, not made of sugar; they are not at risk of being cannibalized by the Candy People.
"Princess! Open up!" shouts Finn.
"Finn!? Is that you?" The Princess's voice sounds strangely monotone but Finn attributes the deviance to his imagination.
"Is everything alright in there? Did you whip up a new formula?" asks Jake.
PB responds in her monotone, "I'm working on it now but I need your help! I'm missing some key ingredients! I need the magical gems from each of the princesses and the Ice King! But don't worry about Lumpy Space Princess's magical gem. It's not actually magical. Now hurry! We need to clean up this sugary mess!"
After an arduous journey, Finn and Jake return to the nearly dilapidated Candy Kingdom with each of the nine magical gems, omitting LSP's.
"Princess! We're back!" shouts Finn, exhausted. "Let us into the lab to help you finish the serum!"
The barricaded graham cracker doors swing inward. The room is dark, lit only by what little light can breach through the rainbow gumdrop window panes. Finn steps into the room slowly. He turns to his right, drawn by a muffled voice that can only be the voice of Princess Bubblegum. Finn finds PB, Lady Rainicorn and Peppermint Butler trapped inside the safety shower. Finn and Jake run over and attempt to open the door to the shower but it is bound by evil magic.
"What happened!?" asks Finn. "How did y'all trap yourselves in here!?"
"Finn, I don't think they wound up stuck in here by their own doing…" says Jake.
The three prisoners begin to panic and point toward something behind Finn and Jake on the other side of the room. A shadow creeps across the wall, cast by a large, horned figure standing behind them. The Lich ambushes Finn and steals his bag, which contains the Enchiridion and the nine magical gems. Before the heroes can react, the Lich has flown out the gumdrop window and landed on the ground far below.
"Jake! After him!" shouts Finn.
Jake stretches out the window after the Lich and manages to grab hold of him as he opens and steps through the inter-dimensional wormhole created by the matching of the magical gems with the Enchiridion. Finn grabs ahold of Jake's tail and manages to tag along for the ride.
The heroes find themselves in Prismo's time room. The Lich is nowhere to be found. The heroes are woozy from their journey through the wormhole, but Prismo is a familiar presence.
"Prismo! It's good to see you again, dude. Didja get a girlfriend yet?" asks Jake.
"No, but I've got some more pickles for you," replies Prismo. "But this isn't the right time for that. Did you guys see that Lich guy? N-n-n-nasty!"
"We chased him in here," says Finn, "but we didn't see him when we arrived. What happened?"
"He wished for the extinction of all Candy-kind! No big deal."
"And you granted it!?!" shouts Finn.
"Yep. But don't worry guys," says Prismo, "I'll give each of you a wish too."
Finn immediately shouts "I wish the Candy Kingdom was safe!" And like that Finn disappears to his altered reality.
Jake knows Finn's in trouble, but he still has his own wish, so that can wait. It's pickle time!
ZOMBIE PACMAN Did you hear the one about the seagull and Sodexo?
GHOST No.
ZOMBIE PACMAN So a seagull swoops down and picks up this piece of bread in front of this really generic airport café.
GHOST Ha.
ZOMBIE PACMAN No don’t laugh yet, that isn’t the funny part. Where was I? Oh, so this seagull starts to fly off with the bread and all of a sudden he gets this really disgusted look on his face and spits the bread out.
GHOST Ha.
ZOMBIE PACMAN No stop! That isn’t the punch line. The joke goes: the seagull says, “fuck Sodexo, I’ll just have the brains.”
The Creation of Adam by Michelangelo is an iconic image in western civilization. Even those unfamiliar with art history immediately recognize the portrait of outstretched hands nearly meeting in ethereal and religiously symbolic union between God and Man.
It is unclear where the current plague originated--east, west, north, or south etcetera. Of perhaps greater importance are the precepts westernized zombies now roam from township to township with, propagating at will. Since no living person can live to tell the rational--and possibly irrational--thoughts and exploits of the undead, it is safe to say that the discipline of zombie psychology is ubiquitously characterized by a lack of understanding.
Metaphysically speaking, understanding zombie ontology is on par with our ability to perceive ultra-violet light. We can all agree that zombies are cognoscente; just as we can all acknowledge that ultra-violet light does indeed exist. And though we can accept that these truths are true, doing so brings us no closer to perceiving that which we hopelessly cannot.
Dawn Ketzler was an art history major at Vassar College until her sophomore roommate Elizabeth, tragically, bit her in the neck. Her parents, though separated for some twelve years, were both very disappointed to hear of their daughter’s shortcomings.
Dawn had been a private Catholic schoolgirl since the age of six. She’d received the sacrament of communion, confessed tearfully to an elderly gentleman in a robe the following year, and been confirmed a soldier of Christ at the ripe age of eighteen. Her prospects were good.
And when she tearfully called her mother and then her father, via her step-mom, freshman year to tell them that pre-med needed to wait. That art history was her true calling. They listened. They understood. They knew Dawn and they knew she was unique. They knew that success isn’t measured in the good you do, but how good you do. And they didn’t want her to struggle. They wanted to see her succeed. And medicine was hard--too hard for their little girl.
But back to the bite, Dawn, upon sensing the bicuspids break the skin, ousted Elizabeth with a high heel to the temple. Tearfully, she sat sweating in her bottom bunk for the next hour as the transformation unfolded. The fever at last broke, and poor Dawn was no more.
When found two days later authorities were astonished to see that zombie Dawn had, rather than tirelessly searching for brains, painted a mural mimicking The Creation of Adam. The authorities, after putting zombie Dawn down, took pictures of the giant mural and filed away the findings at the local bureau of Unusual Zombie Occurrences.
It was thought strange by some that, despite the lack of electricity, many continued to crowd around their TV boxes. But after careful consideration by many thoroughly over-educated sociologists, all agreed that TVs, and TV couches, and TV coffee tables remained a valuable location for societal interaction. A verifiable watering hole if you will.
Some went as far as to hollow out the inside of their dead, pixilated televisions in order to host mock events. And it was not uncommon to hear: you best be coming over Friday for the game Bill! Or, did you catch that new episode of how I met your mother’s zombie last week Tina? And all were thankful for the excuse.
Often, gatherings were held for children so that they might have a safer space to enjoy puppet shows reenacting favorite episodes of Arthur, or Hey Arnold, or Wishbone. And all agreed that TV, or the lack thereof, was indeed a source of joy.
***
Which brings us to the most curious case of the TV zombie.
Robert Little, age 35, was known best for his avant-garde architectural design which, humbly, lined the alleyways and street corners of New New York. The designs, often cited as Gaudi-esque--or laughably gothic by some less appreciative natives--had become iconic in the years since the fall. And Little was widely recognized as a relevant and distinguished figurehead amongst his contemporaries. All of who shared in their abhorrence for pre-collapse ergonomic fetishes.
On Sunday, July 17th, Little was walking home from work. To his dismay and utmost surprise he discovered several horde members roaming the halls of his building. And quite unfortunately, counted several of his neighbors in horde company.
Little, being of sound mind and resources, did as most would. He barricaded his apartment door and prepared for a long game of solitaire. However, in his eagerness to play cards, Little forgot to deadbolt his door, which was a push bar rather than the more appropriate and ergonomic turn-knob.
All at once a score of zombies crashed through the jam and, in shock, caused Little to spill his freshly boiled spaghetti onto his easily burned hands. In rage, Little grabbed the nearest item, an ancient Sharp TV dating back to his college days, and brought down the bottom of the two by two television squarely on the closest zombies head.
The TV, now resting upon the shoulders of said zombie, attracted the attention of all other zombies present. They gazed dully at the blank, cracked screen. And the zombie, whose shoulders the set rested upon, seemed to turn as if addressing all other zombies present.
What a most unusual occurrence thought Robert Little as each forsaken began to leave the apartment following the TV headed zombie sheepishly. Once out on the street, the TV headed zombie attracted a great following and all forsaken sat in awe and wonder gazing up in entertainment at the spot where the face of their pixilated peer was now veiled.
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