The Littlest Zombie Hunter

I started as a zombie hunter when I was... gosh, I dunno, sixteen, seventeen maybe. In those days, it was an easy career move, lots of growth potential. Zombies were everywhere, y'know? You couldn't fling a brick in any direction without hitting at least someone related to a zombie. But they were such a frigging nuisance: they never knew when to shut the hell up, and all that feeding on brains... well, not exactly something you want to see every day, right?

So I figured, what the heck, I'll become a professional zombie hunter. Found a training camp advertised in the back of one of those hunting magazines, sent them my application, and away I went. Of course, they knew the first day in that I'd lied about my age, but it wasn't any big deal to them: they were more interested in the tuition money than actually teaching effective ways of killing zombies. So I quit after two weeks, took what little real info they'd provided, and hung out my shingle.

Sure, in the early days, I made a few mistakes. Hey, who doesn't when they're just starting out? But eventually I learned who was a real zombie and who was just faking it. Got some nice, high-profile contracts and settled in for what I figured was a long-term career.

Then the Environmental Protection Agency came into the picture, and things were never the same again.

It seems that so much "culling" (as they put it) of zombies had taken place that now they were an endangered species. Gone were the days when you could just wipe them out -- nossir, now they were protected... by the Government, no less. The only way I could actually practice my trade was under the strictest of circumstances... like, only when they were devouring certain types of brains. Or when they were attacking visible minorities. Or when they were after women. Or... well, you get the idea, right? Heck, if one of them was attacking yours truly, I couldn't do a thing because it was perfectly legal for the zombie to be attacking someone like me! Go figure that one.

Bureaucrats.....

So now I'm kinda stuck. I mean, this is all I know. I can show you one hundred and seventy-three ways to dispatch a zombie, but I'm handcuffed by a bunch of do-gooder politicians who think that saving the Zombie is the next environmental "cause". Heck, maybe it is: the last time I tried to take one out, I got crap from some group in New Jersey called ZAP2 (which apparently means Zombies Are People Too), claiming zombies have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness too. They said I was "zombiophobic", whatever the heck that is.

Damn.