SPLICED LIFE /
COLUMN
ISSUE 01
So you didn't survive the Zombie Apocalypse?
Sorry ‘bout that.
Can’t have come as a big shock, considering that gym contract
you keep meaning to use and the fact that Critical Mass is more
accurately applied to pizza than bicycles.
We’re city creatures. And in our quest for civilisation,
we’ve all but lost that primal instinct to survive in
favour of online trolling as a preferred means of
combat. Those 10 000 clocked hours of Halo/Call of
Duty were wasted, your days would have been better
spent actually drop-tuck-and-rolling in paintball.
Face it. You were doomed.
So.
Here you are.
Undead.
What now?
You’re starving. Buck up. What you need to
focus on is finding lunch whilst avoiding the feral
survivors who now have an excuse to release all
that pent up rage accumulated after watching
Carte Blanche every Sunday.
Luckily, your life spent avoiding such circumstances/
people come in handy here. You’re hungry for brains,
not brawn, but to create your own zombie utopia
requires planning. Unfortunately South Africa is a
kak choice for delaying decomposition – ideally what
one needs is a cool climate to best preserve those
dashingly good looks (hey, you might be dead but
you still have your pride).
02
Cape Town is a good choice; at first. The population
is largely hemmed in by mountains for your feeding
convenience, however, the disproportionately
large ratio of models and the ridiculously healthy
lifestyle suggested by the constant stream of joggers
along the promenade decreases your mealtime
probabilities. Most of those stately mansions/
apartments are left vacant during the year and
unless you died in the city itself, as an ‘immigrant’
chances are all other local undead will ignore you for
the first few years before you prove yourself to be a
zombie of distinction.
Johannesburg is a sprawling ocean of electric
fences filled with paranoid inhabitants. When not
behind walls, they’re in their cars, and chances
are high they probably haven’t even noticed the
zombie throng at all.
If you are trapped in Jozi, Sandton City is probably
your best option. The exits are few and discreetly
located. Once inside, it’s near impossible to leave
at the best of times, and the constant throng of
shoppers hunting for sales won’t even notice
you unless you make a lurch for the last size 30.
Unflattering overhead fluorescent lighting in changerooms means, even partially decomposed, you’ll be
indistinguishable from any other creature, alive or
otherwise; and if you wrap your face in gauze, they’ll
just assume you’ve had some work done. The parking
costs once you do eventually need some fresh air will,
however, be ruthless.
The Free State is farm country. Which means they
not only have guns, but they know how to gut, skin
and deep-fry your slow-moving flesh into a variety of
tasty treats. Avoid.
My suggestion: head straight to Grahamstown.
As a university town, the intellect per capita ratios are
in your favour. Moreover, the propensity for students
to experiment with ‘mind-expansive’ psychotropics
make them the equivalent of supersized McMeals.
Considering the density of fluffy hats, ugly pottery
and tie-dyed apparel readily available at the festival
markets, the population of pseudo-hippies is high more than likely they’ll think you just need a hug. Mill
about with your arms spread and chances are your
meals will come to you. If they do manage to get past
you – there’s nowhere to go. There’s nothing outside
of Gtown for miles, except even smaller towns and
prickly pear trees - eventually they’ll run out of beer
and have to turn back.
Best of all, if you can retain enough dexterity to even
vaguely strum a guitar, you might even get laid.?
23