There’s a campaign sign across from the Safeway closest to where I live that says “The Founding Fathers for Scott Tipton.” I’m pretty sure there are more pressing questions for the Founding Fathers than which congressional candidate they would endorse. Questions like…
1. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?
2. I gotta say it, George. You guys smell pretty awful. How long has it been since you bathed?
3. Now I’m questioning the truths you held to be self-evident. Did you mean life after death, liberty from coffins, and the endless, unceasing, and terrifying pursuit of human flesh?
4. What do you mean, BRAAAAINS?
5. Are you zombies? And I don’t want any of that “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” nonsense. Because the way you keep staring at my head and licking your lips is making me a little uncomfortable.
6. I feel like coming back from the dead, no matter how noble the cause, does nothing to insure domestic tranquility. The general welfare is being threatened by your appetite for brains, and if you’re evidence of a zombie apocalypse, I’m not sure I’m going to have any posterity to enjoy these so-called “blessings of liberty”. That wasn’t really a question. That’s just a rant I’ve prepared in the oddly specific case I ever meet any patriotic zombies.