Zombie Junk Mail

I have no escape plan for when the zombie apocalypse comes.

I’ve been meaning to do it. Much in the same way I’ve been meaning to get my teeth cleaned and check the fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink. “Meaning to” goes pretty far in my house. Like, “I’ve been meaning to get that closet organized,” or, “I’ve been meaning to pay the electricity bill.” “Meaning to” carries you pretty far. Right up to the point where you’re trying to do things by candlelight. And I don’t mean the fun things.

So I have no plan for the apocalypse. At best I have a vague  road map that starts with “barricade door,” and ends somewhere around where we have started eating the insulation for the router cables. I don’t know what comes in the middle, and I don’t where the spot marked with an X is because I haven’t thought of it yet. Like I said, I’ve been meaning to.

However, recent circumstances here at Chez Lori-sometimes-still-called-Martha have raised the threat level on zombie attack up to at least the orange terror alert.

Junk mail.

I’ve been a little preoccupied these last couple of weeks. And when I say “preoccupied” what I really mean is overbooked and overscheduled to the point where an unexpected ring of the doorbell is enough to put me in need of blood pressure medication and a good therapist who is willing treat not just me but the personality that split off from the rest of me at the sight of a door-to-door aluminum siding salesman. Just what I need. ANOTHER personality. I think I’ll call this one Clyde and he can join Gladys and the rest of them hiding in my closet of irrational fears and neuroses that I can’t be bothered to deal with just yet.

So this level of preoccupation has been rather intense and other than basic metabolic functions and feeding the people who seem to live in the house with me (I thought I had three kids and one husband, but that count doesn’t seem to match up with the soup line that’s forming in my kitchen on a nightly basis and I think it’s possible that I have become distracted enough that I failed to notice that both the neighborhood soccer team and watch program are now joining me for dinner every evening) I haven’t spent a whole heck of a lot of time on home maintenance.

However, I’m quite certain I have tidied up sometime between now and when “WKRP In Cincinnati” went off the air so the only explanation I have for the quantity of junk mail that is building up on the counters, the tables, the couches, the floor and the cats is a menacing one.

Zombie junk mail.

Now, you might suggest that the junk mail is simply growing in size and that my problem is not zombies, but something more along the lines of the Blob. (Side note, I had to type that three times before it came out b-l-o-b and NOT b-l-o-g.) Valid theory, I suppose, but not supported by the facts. Mostly, there are no girls in saddle shoes nor boys with horned rimmed glasses in my house and this is not a movie theater nor a bowling alley. So, this clearly cannot be the work of a blob.

Alternate hypotheses suggest the possibility of an alien pod situation. No. Definitely not. The junk  mail is not being replaced with different, vacant junk mail that looks like maybe it just finished reading something like “Men are From Mars and so is My Cousin Maury,” there is more of it. So, obviously not attributable to pods.

No, clearly what is happening is that a small infestation of zombie junk mail – one piece from a long distance phone company is really the most likely explanation, they’re dead they just don’t know it yet – probably slipped past my weakened, overstimulated defenses, and has been slowly turning otherwise healthy, purposeful mail into junk mail. While we weren’t looking the kids’ report cards, the insurance bill, letters from beloved relatives and IRS refunds were being zombified and turned into offers for lower car insurance, pizza coupons and solicitations for donations to the local fund for battered Chevy Novas.

And now it’s everywhere.

I think now would be a prudent time to consider alternate points of exit from the house (which, if you have an axe handy, can really be anywhere you want) and which family members I think are expendable and can be sacrificed to the zombie junk mail in order to save myself.

That’s a tough one.

I may have to hold a lottery or solicit bribes.

32 comments

  1. I say toss it like the 80’s hot tub and start over. The Publisher’s Clearing House will knock on your door with a big check if you win the big one.

  2. Did you somehow read the post I have lined up for tomorrow in advance?

    I think the only way to be rid of zombie junk mail is to burn it. Otherwise it will still be trying to eat your brain while you sleep.

    1. Ok, we KNOW I have no psychic powers or intuition. It’s a defect.

      So this was blind coincidence.

      Burning…hmmm…can I do it at midnight while dancing naked? Cause that raises property values, I hear.

    1. See? Zombie junk mail is funny when it’s happening to someone ELSE, but when it’s YOUR zombie junk mail the peril’s a little hard to ignore isn’t it?

  3. Weird that you mention this, I’ve noticed my inbox being bombarded by junkmail recently, too. I thought it might have been something about checking mail on my Evo…

    So when Z-day comes, you can always come over to my casa de lockdown. The previous owner was a metal worker, so most of the windows have lovely yet fortified cast iron over them. And most of the house is built into the ground. AND we have a half acre in our backyard that can be made into a garden, since we’ll be vegan til the whole thing blows over. And you know as military members, we have weapon access and training.

    Yeah we talk about Z-day at my house…

    1. Wow…you actually have a plan. I am hugely in awe. And yours involves weaponry more advanced than mine, which is, I believe a can of hairspray and a bic lighter.

      Yes, when Z-day happens, we are all a-headin’ to Lillith’s!

  4. just think of it as benefitting the Reduce Reuse Recycle program in your area, and drop it in the Recycle Bin. It will die an untimely – yet ecofriendly – zombie death.

    1. I’m fearful of the zombie junk mail in the recycling bin…won’t it turn other recyclables into zombies too?

      Then I’ll have zombie milk cartons…zombie tomato cans…

      Oh, the carnage!!

  5. “I’ve been meaning to”…in Texas we say “fixin to” as in “I was fixin to do that” or “I am fixin to do that next week”. I have no idea why we say that. We need a “do not send” list we can get on for junk mail just like the “do not call” list for telephone sales. Can’t you make that happen?

    1. That just goes on the list of charming things you can say that I sound lame when I try.

      But I bet you can’t say “gag me with a smurf” the way I can.

      I have the native californian valley girl advantage.

  6. The answer is obvious. You redeem all the pizza coupons and get out of cooking for a full week. You then use that free time to sort the mail. That, or go to a movie every night.

    I mean, DUH.

  7. You must now do the only thing that makes sense. Put on your Martha hat (which, oddly, I had to retype three times so it didn’t say “hate” … hmmm) and turn that junk mail into a darling papier-mache zombie centerpiece for the dinners you’re now serving to your entire town.

    With luck, it will come to life and eat a few of them on the way.

    Two problems solved.

    You’re welcome.

  8. I am intrigued by anything involving zombies. And the junk mail is OUT OF CONTROL at my house. The former owners were big into catalogs and I am drowning in them. No! Not the Land of Nod again! No!

    1. I wrote an entire post about the inappropriate catalogues I get.

      And not only are they inappropriate, they are self contradictory. Why would I want BOTH Christian literature and pagan moon-worshipping clothing?

      Unless the split personalities have TOTALLY taken over and I have no idea.

      It would explain so much…

  9. only one thing to do: bag it up, drop it off at the cemetary.

    Problem solved (can you see the hands slapping off the dirt from each other signalling job over?)

  10. Funny you mention, ’cause I am going to KEEL Citi if they don’t stop sending us a credit card offer every.single.week. Hello? Jeff AND I need one every single week? Really? Really?

    1. It is possible that Citibank is in fact fully staffed by zombies, and the credit offers and turning your more important mail into zombie junk mail long before it gets to you.

      Eerie how they always remember their destination, though, isn’t it?

  11. I have dog crate on my porch that has now b/c the collector of all things junk mail. How many trees were wasted to provide that crap to me, I won’t ever know but it pains me.

    1. I assuage my tree guilt with recycling, but…it does only so much good. At a certain point, I can no longer hide behind the comfortable vision all these ridiculous catalogues living new lives as scratchy toilet paper.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s