When the Smoke Clears

The Interweb tubes spawn creativity, exchange of ideas (pr0n), but most importantly they disseminate information. Raconteurs impart stories leading to others joining in the fray and sharing their own knowledge.

Eric of Straight White Guy (like any of my readers don’t know who he is) was eating a sandwich recently next to a field of cows. He commented it was curious that the cows came over to him like a bunch of paranoid busybodies.

I felt it was my duty to finally speak out and warn Eric how close he came to death.

Cows are naturally docile animals, timid like deer. Viewing the video I saw what amounted to a sudden flashback and I must confess my sins. Eric very nearly became the victim of Zombie Cows.

In the early 1970s I was one of several “brains” singled out to work on a government project that, to this day, is continually being reclassified as secret. Granted, I was only 3 years old at the time, but many considered me to be a slightly advanced child. However, I can hold my silence no longer and will risk the consequences. (hell, the New York Times can get away with it.)

Richard Nixon was occupied with Viet Nam and trips to China. Henry Kissinger was the real mastermind behind Cold War strategy. Kissinger wanted to create a race of supercows that could be introduced into the Soviet agricultural economy. These cows would serve in normal bovine capacities including milk production, lumbering gaits and stinky poos. However, once complacent with the new livestock, the Soviets would pay the cows little attention, and that’s when they would spring into action.

The Supercows were to disrupt grain shipments, plant explosives in certain key infrastructure facilities such as communication towers and along power lines, and they were even to be licensed to kill their brethren.

However things went horribly wrong in the process. We had to kill off many of our experiments. Unfortunately a number of them JUST WOULD NOT DIE. Try as we might, we could not make the cows die. They would rise up from the ground, often regenerating dismembered parts, only each time growing slightly more green and rotted.

I lost several friends who let their guard down when close to a zombie cow. Once one in the herd attacked and got a taste of brains, it seemed to communicate this to the rest of the cow coven. Within minutes all of our Zombie Cow Herds would aggressively seek out live brains, especially those within the human cranium.

Again, we couldn’t kill them off. We tried burying them and they would rise up from the ground like a zombie horde, which is what they were technically, so maybe that analogy doesn’t work. We then tried concrete bunkers, but it turns out zombie cows are quite adept at mining, though, much like photosynthesis, we are not sure exactly how it is done. Burning did no good as the rotted flesh would just grow back.

Naturally we hoped to find the positive in the situation. Self regenerating cows? we could feed the world… at least the red-blooded-American world. That was a huge mistake. Tom Partin was best friends with Matt Groening, one of our lead scientists who later went on to create The Simpsons. Tom ate zombie cow flesh. The next several days were spent in writhing agony as the flesh attached itself to the walls of his stomach and finally regenerated itself into another zombie cow which grotesquely tore Tom apart as it grew.

“Don’t have a cow, man!” was actually a dire plea to our coworkers to stay safe. Groening has disgraced the memory of his friend by making it a punch line.

All we could do with the cows was leave them in fields. We picked parts of Tennessee. The key to survival of Zombie Cows is to stay away from them. That’s why we fenced them in.

* Zombie cows do not have the same jumping ability as regular cows do, thus the light amount of fencing in the video.

* They also cannot discern shades of gray, though red attracts them. No doubt the varied nature of Eric’s aging head of hair confused and disoriented the Zombie Cow Herd for a few minutes. This is also why Zombie cows do not attack the elderly but seem to go after small children in Easter clothes with a vengeance.

* They will do anything they can to trick you into coming within their grasps so they can eat your brains, going so far as to mimic the 1967 album Johnny Mathis Sings. (It was another freak accident in the lab, don’t ask.) Knowing Eric’s fondness for the multicultural crooner, I was surprised they didn’t lure him from his car. Only the blasting of music in his car saved him by masking their siren song.

This is my story, and to the world, I am truly sorry I stayed silent for so long.

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