Why I Don’t Go Outside

Overheard in the lobby of my building:

“If I’m ever a porn star, hey! If I’m ever a porn star, I’m’a call myself THE DICKTATOR. Dip my schlong in potatoes and let ’em lick it off.”

Well. Bangers and mash. Really.


You know what else I was thinking? If the z-pocalypse hits, and our dead come to life, I hope they don’t make that noise. You know the one, from every zed flick ever—heurrrrrrrr! Heuuuuurrrrrrrrhhhhhhh! Fear my catarrh! I could do without that. It’d be way creepier (and less annoying) if the zedders made no sound at all. If they just shambled up with their jaws gaping wide. You’d hear their feet in the dirt and the pop of their joints, the odd slap on the concrete when their loose skin slid off, but none of this heurrrrrrrr! No breathing. No vocalising. No sign of life.

The Walking Dead is the worst for that. I put it on yesterday, to keep me company as I worked. I switched it off after twenty minutes of heurrrrrrrrr.

You’d think ghouls would be bigger in undead entertainment. Not that they’re undead, as such, but they eat the dead. And they can pass as us. All the stories of ghouls, they, like…they love you and marry you and they bear your children, then you catch them red-handed, raiding the family plot. Eating one of those kids, maybe. And they beg and they plead and invoke your devotion, but you put them to death, because, ew. Hello. Ghoul.

I don’t know, man. If I loved a ghoul that much, I might pretend I didn’t notice. I’d stop kissing it on the mouth*, but live and let live.

How would you kill a ghoul, anyway? They’re djinn, sons of Iblis. Immortal.

Yeah, I’d cosy up to that ghoul. Let it eat me once I’d gone. Think of it…a sweetheart who’d never die. Never leave you in mourning. And a ghoul’s not a vampire, so it wouldn’t drink your blood, wouldn’t touch you while you lived. And I bet it would dress nice, all fine silks and elegance. Gold bangles. Long black hair.

There should be way more ghoul stuff, if only for the puns. Ghoulfriends. Righouletto. Take the Cannoli, Leave the Gabbaghoul.



* …and NEVER eat its arse!