Adventures In Evil Zombieland Episode 10

 In this episode, mind-controlled zombies are confronted at the supermarket in a valiant attempt to shove some healthy truth down their throats.
 

I walk into one of those big box supermarkets.  I don’t shop at such hellholes unless it’s absolutely necessary, as I always try to get local and organic (i.e, not eugenicist poison) whenever possible.

Today, however, is strictly business.  I’m on a mission to submerge the non-thinking zombie masses’ heads into a vast ocean of truth.

I walk into the cold monstrosity and instantly shutter at the lighting.  I swear it’s scientifically designed to put people into a fog.   

What department should I hit first? I’ll go with fruits and veggies.  At least people in that section are trying, right? Anyway, I chose this particular market due to its severe lack of organic options.    

I see a young zombie mom casually picking her way through some apples.  “Hey, how bout them apples!” I say a bit over-enthusiastically.

“Excuse me?” she asks with a confused face.
“I mean those apples sure look fantastic,” I clarify. 

 “Oh, right,” she says, starting to get uncomfortable.
 “Too bad they’re probably laced with poison,” I calmly inform her.
 “You’re scary,” she says.
 

“Just telling the truth.  Not only are they covered in countless chemicals because they’re not organically grown, but they could also be GMO, which causes countless negative health effects.  So unless you’re a psychopath who wants to reduce the world’s population, starting with yourself and your family, I suggest you find a local, organic option.  Have a nice day!” I prattle off and walk away casually.    
 

Wow, that felt great! Ok, time to move onto dairy.
 There’s a middle-aged male zombie flesh-robot tossing countless cartons of milk into his cart.  Perfect target.  I just need an “in”.

“Hey, how bout them Warriors!” I bellow as I make eye contact.
This makes him feel comfortable and he smiles and says, “Yep, this is our year!”
“Hey, is that organic milk?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t believe in that stuff,” he replies smugly, as if not believing in truth makes him immune from consequences of ignoring truth.    

 I nonchalantly inquire, “Do you like drinking pus?”   

 “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks frightfully. “Nothing.  You’re the one loading up on pus, blood, and shit-filled milk in your shopping cart.  What’s wrong with YOU?” I shoot back a truth laser.
 

 “Get outta my face!” he grumbles.
 “My pleasure,” I say as I scoot down to the next aisle.
 

Time to get into the super synthetic food weapons.  Cookie and chip aisle! I see a floppy biological android female and her chunky toddler son loading up on chemically synthesized life-shorteners and  brain-shrinkers.    
 I catch her in mid-hand-off to her chubby offspring and say, “Are you really giving your boy diabetes in a box?”
 She huffs, throws a scowl my way, and says, “Mind your business, buster!”
 

“Can you pronounce half of the ingredients in those kidney killer cookies?” I ask.    
 “Are you one of those health nuts?” she says pompously as the poor child slouches against a shelf.    
 “More like a truth seeker with guts.  Do those have high fructose corn syrup in them?” I persist.
 “Get lost, creep,” she says defiantly as she coddles her boy and coaxes him to walk.
 

 I strike back furiously, “I’m a creep because I don’t want your child to be poisoned? High fructose corn syrup has mercury, causes diabetes, liver damage, the list goes on.  But I’m the creep?”   
Child starts crying and throws a temper tantrum so I decide it’s time to move on to a different evil zombie.
 

Time to hit soda/water row.  I spot a super-trendy! 30-something artificial male, pink oxford shirt untucked, handlebar stache.  I’m guessing a middle manager of some sort.  Appears to be getting economy size diet soda.
I walk up to him, do a double finger gun, make a “pow-pow” noise, and act like I’m shooting him in his well-coiffed head.  In my best used car salesman voice I say, “If you want holes in your head, I can do it a lot cheaper for ya!”

He gets feisty and says, “Lay off, freak, if ya know what’s good for ya.  I’ve got pepper spray and I know how to use it!”
 I keep my cool and continue, “I just noticed that you’re buying diet soda which almost surely has aspartame in it, which has been scientifically proven to eat holes in people’s brains.  Does it tingle when the slow-kill bioweapon is eating your cerebral tissue?”
 

 He smirks and says, “Oh, you conspiracy theorists are such a downer.  Why do you have to be so negative?”
 “If a train were coming at you full speed and I warned you, would that make me a negative conspiracy theorist, or a good-hearted realist?” I ask as I try to find the soul in his eyes.    

 “Whatever,” he says and struts off with his cart full of tasty addictive poison.
 Why do people think that saying “whatever” eliminates all consequences and responsibility from a situation?
 I spot a narrow lady in yoga pants as she grabs a bottled water.  “Hey, do you have children?” I ask as politely as I can.
 She scrunches up her little face and says, “This is the last time I wear yoga pants in public.”
 

“Do you want children?” I persist.
 She sighs loudly and responds, “That’s a terrible pick-up line.”
 “It wasn’t meant to be a pick-up line.  The reason I ask is because plastic bottles are known to contain a sterilizing chemical called BPA.  I suggest that if you don’t want to be sterile, then try to find a BPA-free bottle.  Or even better, drink from glass,” I inform her as she cringes.    
 

She rolls her eyes and says smugly, “Well, I don’t want kids anyway.”
 “Why is that?” I ask.
 “Because the planet is overpopulated, duh!” she scolds.
 

 I smile and retort, “Oh, I see that you’re allowing the propaganda of the dark eugenicist occultist oligarchy that rules the planet to control your mind.  In reality, the majority of people are crammed into cities like sardines, which helps create the illusion of overpopulation.  Have you driven through the countryside lately? Ever heard of the Club Of Rome?”

Her head turns red and it looks like she’s about to explode as she mumbles angrily through her teeth, “Leave me alone or I’m calling security.”

I go on my way and decide to call it a day.  Hopefully one of the fires I started will spread.