I was headed down into the hood on Sunday afternoon. The streets were barren as the football game was on. This is when terrorists will take over American cities, while the local football team is playing.

From a distance I noticed three local characters: two unnamed deaf guys in their 30s, one white one black, and a giant idiot some call ‘Lurch’. Lurch makes no attempt to communicate with these other two, just follows them zombie like.

Down the street, a hundred yards to my left, Celine, the dispatcher at the pizzeria, is walking to work, her purse tucked under her arm, eying the trio across the street with some concern.

Lurch is pretty much attached to Deaf Brown. Deaf Brown is communicating with Deaf Pale, not in real sign language, but in made up signs, points, grunts and foot jittering pantomime one would think worthy of Homo Jerkoffacus, back in the dim prehistory of Harm City. It is obvious from my distance that Deaf Pale is indicating that Deaf Brown and Lurch must go get Celine—'intercept that bitch, for she is nearly to her destination—the pizzeria!'

Deaf Brown and Lurch shuffle over to the left hand side of the road and take up a blocking position 50 yards before Celine, who reads this move and darts through the sparse traffic to gain the side walk on Deaf Pale’s side of the street, whereupon she stops, turns, and gives the finger to her incompetent pursuers.

Deaf Pale jumps up and down like an angry chimp and waves at Deaf Brown and Lurch who seem confused, and who fail to comprehend his further instructions at this distance.

I crossed the street diagonally from left to right, causing Deaf Brown and Lurch to disperse and mill aimlessly, while Deaf Pale shook his fists at the ground—known by idiots the world over to be guilty of foiling many a well-laid plan—and headed up to the crack house where he hangs out.

I followed Celine to work and asked her what was up. “Oh that scrawny fucker is mad at me for not giving him free food and not giving him cash for something he said he found and that belonged to one of our customers. I put it in lost and found and he hit the roof when I told him to get lost. Mute maybe, but deaf he is not.”

I gave Celine a lesson in stabbing with her order-taking ink pen, admonished her not to take on all three of her stalkers at once, and told her to tell her boss. Unfortunately, any man in her life who might want to discourage or punish this witlessly ill-intentioned trio would run the risk of offending the Momyocracy that rules guilt-ridden America and is only capable of seeing these two deaf creeps and their retarded muscle as victims.

I know this is a Zombie Bait article, and one might expect me to cry for Deaf Pale, Deaf Brown and Lurch to be staked out for the zekes—but they are the zekes! The zombies are here, right where the corporate white guilt mommy nation effete want them to be.

Note: If you have been struck with the thought that police should have been there to make the streets safe for Celine, then you are not living on the same planet where your mind does reside, and a prudent survivor of a zombie apocalypse might opt to stake you out for the zekes! as you babble on about calling the police. Police are not, and never have been intended by our masters, to be the agents or guardians of our safety. That is a Hollywood fantasy. Celine lives and works in the real world, where the police are watching the game like the rest of the loyal citizens of a morally handicapped douche bag-ruled nation of proto-zombies.