The Walking Carl: Chapter 10

Dear Diary,

I’ve become consumed with a problem these last few days.  I was hoping zombie Stephen Hawking could help me but he’s not very helpful just following me around at a safe distance all day.  Not for this problem.  Unless I can start manipulating him.

When I was stuck in the tent with diarrhea, I started to think how awful it must have been for everyone who got caught pooping by a zombie.  It must have happened to at least a few people.  And then I thought about how all these walkers do is eat people.  They just eat, all day long.  But they’re dead so are their stomachs working?  And whether they are or not, doesn’t what they eat have to go somewhere?  Like, it has to.  It has to go somewhere.

I remember learning in school that a human stomach can hold like 2 big bottles of pop before it can’t hold anymore.  Now if you’re dead and you don’t care, you can probably start cramming more in and one of three things is going to happen – it’s going to push out, push up, or blow your guts apart.  I haven’t seen any puking zombies lately so I don’t think it comes back up.  So that means they’re either exploding their stomachs or shitting, right?  And don’t both of those mean the zombies should be leaving zombie crap everywhere?

Where is all the zombie shit?

The population has been decimated, nearly everyone is undead, there should be tons of zombie shit everywhere.   I have seen a single nugget.  What the hell?

This whole thing stinks, man.  No pun intended.  Suddenly everyone is infected with a disease that makes them come back from the dead, the remaining populace is being eaten, the CDC has fallen, there’s no cure and not a single loaf of zombie turd has been spotted anywhere by anyone?  That makes no sense.  That, my friend, is impossible.

So what does it mean?

I don’t think anyone is ready for what I think, especially not my mom.  I think Pop Rocks would blow her mind.  But I’m on to something here, I think.  Maybe when I find that Morse code book I’m looking for I can do some research.  There must be newspapers from just before all this happened, some messages someone left behind for us to find, something.  But in case it never happens, in case I find nothing or I lost this journal or I never make it back here and become one of them myself, I need write this down.

Diary, no one can read this.  Not yet.  But I totally think this whole thing is staged.  Shit is playing out like a comic book.  No lie.  But don’t let anyone know yet.

Zombie Stephen Hawking is going to be the key to working this all out, I have to assume.  I just need to start feeding him.  If he poops, I need to know about it.  If he doesn’t, I need to know about it.  And if he’s only here because this whole zombie apocalypse is rigged, then maybe he can lead me to the people who did this to us.