The Long Slow Death of the Undead American Dream

Everyone thought it’d be different.

Nightmares painted in gore. Cities burning. Survival-of-the-fittest porn on every channel. But when the world ends, it’s not a shotgun symphony; it’s a whimper. Turns out, zombies are just as disappointing dead as they were alive. They stagger. Moan. Get winded going up stairs. It's a slower-than-cable-internet apocalypse.

Humans are winning. They always do. Six months in, it’s mostly just mall cops in Kevlar vests herding the living dead like impatient cattle. Soccer moms with aluminum bats and dad bods rocking headshots between grocery runs and PTA meetings. Zombieland is a joke—like fighting off an infestation of lethargic house cats.

But here's the thing about jokes: the punchline always hurts.