The Suit continued, ready to execute stage II of a plan being ran by a bunch of self-interested retards. He explained that this insider, a weird scientist dude who asked people to call him by a number instead of a name, told a few agents of his discovery. They congregated to worship at the altar of extended deals and the potential to promote their mentally-compromised clients literally until they dropped.
They had one issue: how could they gather a bunch of Zombified celebrities, who are unable to think for themselves, into the same place to manage a cloak-and-dagger ceremony that gives them the nutrients they need, to allow them to be sent back into the world for another week?
And, lo, The Church of Zombology was open for business. It’s not a huge leap, you’ll admit. Once the IRS confirmed the tax-exempt status that was merely the icing on the cake; the agents would take care of their client’s affairs, donate money to the church for the goods and services via this numerical doctor and no-one else needed to have a look around to find out what they were up to.
But what the agents hadn’t considered was that when word got out, the church began to amass genuine members, Romero freaks who wanted to make this more than it was meant to be. They wanted to devote themselves to a director of some films that they believed had saved mankind. These agents, in the process of looking after their clients and also keeping this full charade as transparent as possible, were forced to conduct a ceremony with civilians present. Guys who the week before were trying to sign Bruce Willis to billion-dollar franchises were now donning white gowns and writing a fucking Zombology bible comprised of the craziest shit they could cook up in a week. People own copies of this thing. Seriously, they wonder how cults kick off. Some will believe anything if the source is convincing enough. If they had any idea it was cobbled together by five slime-balls after taking peyote for three days, maybe they’d view their messiah’s good word a little differently.
The thought of keeping this low-key was now out of the question, but the agents had an even brighter idea – they would charge the non-famous members of the church a yearly fee to partake in their services. It’s fucking pricey too, but the nerds lapped it up and it allowed them to offset some of the losses their clients were suffering paying for the cure keeping them alive. The agents had created a perfect business, where willing fuckers offered cash to actively have the wool pulled over their eyes. Genius, really, and something only a group of ruthless rats could ever come up with.
There are now churches all over the place and it’s a pretty big deal when roughly one billion dollars’ worth of Hollywood acting talent is in your corner. They are all unavailable for comment, of course, if you try to understand why they’ve made such a life-changing decision. They only speak on camera through their ventriloquists but their faces are there, sunglasses on, contact lenses in, a slightly older, slightly rougher version of their best, yet they represent a money-spinner. It’s corporate worshipping, like if the Catholic Church agreed to slap a pair of Nike sneakers on Jesus as he wandered the desert for forty days and forty nights.
The Church of Zombology became the type of not-for-profit organisation that clearly is for profit and so they could upgrade their facilities and make the full thing professional. Imagine if the Mormons were cannibals and you’re in the right ballpark.
They were forced to offer placebos for the non-Zombies for the big feed-off at the end of the ceremony; they were given good old bread and wine, which isn’t exactly the most innovative choice but I guess they were working to a schedule and the old classics do the trick. The Church grew to the extent that there are currently about a thousand times as many members who are alive than are Zombies and only those who know could pick out either from a line-up. As the fan-boys sat in the aisles gazing up at Romero, numerous famous names filed in to the rows in front of them.
The Suit had explained enough. He finished his presentation by holding up his phone to the room and proclaiming, ‘One phone call. That’s all I need.’
The room in turn gave him a reception usually reserved for an Oscar acceptance speech. They all realised they had discovered the charity organisation they had always hoped for. Instead of throwing money into Bono’s black hole in Africa, here was a cause that allowed them to look after their own and not feel guilty in doing so.
The guests still breathing left soon after, despite my pleas that this was something to celebrate. I had flipped sides by this point, I didn’t care – I just wanted the party to continue. But the producer kicked all of us through a back entrance then gathered the agents of the recently deceased, plus the Suit, to talk next steps. Those forty Zombies were locked in for two days until the drugs and flesh were available to bring them back around into a position of relative…. humanness. Bodies were found, pills were lodged into the mounds of flesh and the concoction was dumped into the feeding room. There proved to be enough pills and enough flesh to bring all of them around.
When I say ‘around’, I mean, you could ask one a question like ‘How are you feeling, Arnold?’ and Arnold would respond with ‘Yeah, I’m ok’. You could also say ‘Arnold, tell me about the complexity of the research you were required to undertake for your recent role as Albert Einstein?’ and he would respond with ‘Yeah, I’m ok’. So in essence not that different from the Arnold I used to know and that’s exactly how this ruse has worked for as long as it has.