Zombies VS. Office Workers

Pitting the all-consuming, ravenous, wandering sensibilities of the office worker against the metaphorical embodiment of their undead doppelgängers is like watching cannibals eating cannibals. Let’s see who comes out on top!


The office worker hates what he does and always looks forward to that next big thing. The Nickelback show or Beyoncé’s new album or standing in line for an hour in subzero weather in order to get into some hipster bar … these are their goals.
Old zombie folktales tell stories of human brains being rich with souls, leading most zombies to believe that if they eat the brains of the living, they will retain that living thing’s soul. Sort of like the Ben Mulroney belief that if you suck as bad as possible you create a reverse vortex blinding those around you to your suckitude and leaving them believing your suck isn’t suck at all, but awesomeness. But let me be perfectly clear: I am not comparing zombies to Ben Mulroney. I respect zombies far too much to say that.



Office workers: Aspartame, acrylamide, cough syrup, and fingernails.

Zombies: Brains.


Modern Adaptation

The past several decades have seen a resurrection and a reinvention of the zombie archetype. What was once a voodoo-cursed semi-dead guy is now a running, screaming, exploding blood-plague spreader that, if that Dawn of the Dead remake is to be believed, can even gestate a baby. This complex evolution has caused serious debate and, at the same time, an identity crisis on the zombie front. What type of zombie are you? Do you run? Or do you take your time to get those brains? Adult, adolescent, and Marvel superhero zombies alike all have to question who they are and what they do. I think we can all agree: if it were safe to hug a zombie, we would.
The office worker does the same.


And The Winner Is …

When zombies and office workers meet on the final battlefield before the End of Days, there will be carnage like never before. Sure, zombies are hard to kill, sometimes ridiculously fast, and have a pain threshold equivalent to a meth addict’s entire family — combined. But what zombie defenders forget is that inside each office worker there is an empty place. A place that used to hold their dreams and their futures. The rapture, the hate, the pure, seething rage pent up in each of these beings is immeasurable. The Office Worker Apocalypse will make God Himself whimper with fear because He knows that when the office workers win, everyone else on the planet, whether alive or undead, will lose. Sorry, zombies.

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