By and copyright Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues
More Zombies, more trouble. Welcome to book 2 of Zombie Blues who give us their view on the world and life from behind undead eyes. This time round meet Diabetic Zombie, Racist Zombie, the Ice Queen and why is there a zombie with no teeth? Now on Amazon!
Diabetic Zombie
Holy shit, I found the cure for diabetes!!
Of course, it did involve getting turned into a living dead rotting zombie. As my comic book friends you met earlier will tell you this revelation is like finding the very first issue of Amazing Fantasy #5 featuring Spiderman’s first appearance and finding two of the pages stuck together.
Not good!
What has diabetes got to do with zombies? Easy. Mother Nature had a great plan but it has several flaws. Our bodies rot slowly except our teeth and gums. Those are our greatest weapon. It’s just a pity she doesn’t have enough cosmic power to ensure our entire bodies are sustained until her genocidal plan is carried to completion. It’s like putting a spanking super powered engine in an old banger. It’ll take you a while to get there but at least you can show off the engine.
There’s an equal irony as when I first got diagnosed with diabetes I was told that if untreated it would essentially rot me from the inside out. Believe it or not I immediately pictured myself as a zombie which makes me a trendsetter. This was in the days before zombies became popular thanks to that show from my friend from the last Zombie Blues wanted to be a part of. Now there was a case of be careful what you wish for. Of course, I’m not one to talk. I did picture my self as a diabetic zombie and here we are! What a bitch!
I was diagnosed at twenty five because I had a cut on my arse that wouldn’t heal. That was partially because I love to pick a scab so that would slow down any healing anyway. Don’t be turning your noses up at scab picking. There is not one of you out there that doesn’t love it. There’s just something about it that gives me a sense of pleasure. Knee scabs are the best; that tear of rough skin that makes your spine shiver as you pull it off just can’t be beaten. Well it’s not as if I pull the wings off butterflies is it?
Anyway, it was a lady doctor that day. I told her what was wrong and she asked me to drop the kecks. The macho part of me began opening my belt and sliding my jeans down with this image in my head she would take one look at me and start drooling. I could hear the Diet Coke advert theme play in my head as I then turned and pulled my boxers down. I could see the doctor bite her lower lip as she took in my toned buttocks. Her fingers played with her stethoscope in anticipation. In seconds we would be on her examination table, a scab the last thing on our minds. Yeah, my Perceptions Zombie friend hit the nail on the head. Little did I know diabetes can target your dick making a man’s greatest treasure as useful as a chocolate saucepan.
Of course the reality was she took one look, didn’t drool and just stated ‘you have diabetes’ before sitting back down at her desk. As I pulled my jeans back up I was slightly taken aback at the lack of reaction at the sight of my lower parts. Another part of me said she’d probably seen better hanging out a bird’s nest. Another part of me decided the doctor must not like men which was her loss.
But there it was. My life changed in one simple phrase.
The word diabetes which I associated with people who couldn’t eat chocolate and drink full sugar fizzy drinks was suddenly stamped across my head or in this case my arse.
God, never again would I be able to eat a bag of Maltesers or glug down a 2 litre of Pepsi. But it was only a scab on my arse. Surely I would have lost a lot of weight or been constantly drinking or sleeping all the time. I had been a champion kickboxer and fought all over the country in my twenties. Yeah, I had been a chubby kid in my teens and gained a lot of weight in my early twenties but I had taken care of that.
The Time Warriors and Beyond 