The Key to Zombie Rule

The Dreadful Obazy lounges about his office. Like most zombies he dreams about his next pound of flesh, unfortunately the nagging health care agenda has taken longer than expected and he must shift his focus from his succulent pound of flesh to that of taking over an industry and ultimately the American people.

"Obazy. Stop your daydreaming." The command came from the hidden recess of his office, by one of the few people who truly struck fear into his soulless being.

"I'm sorry Mr. Hand." The obsequious nature of Obazy would have astounded all who had ever seen the arrogant fool patter on television or stand before a crowd of thousands with his chin jutting out like a pumped up Mussolini.

"The health care reform must be passed, and it must be made law. It will be the end to a human dominated world and usher in the age of zombies."

"I understand Mr. Hand, but I am hampered by the law."

"Then change the law. Once this is passed we will control the humans, they will be our cattle, our slaves. The zombies will rule this world as was foretold in the book of Ghosts. Nold and the Inquisitors have planted the seeds of death throughout the world, zombies on the precipice of domination. You are the key that will open the gates and let the walking dead reign for all eternity."

Mr. Hand

The dreadful Obazy pushes back from his desk and looks off into the dead air between him self and the wall with an arrogant face.

Inside he is seething with rage about recent events; the report sitting on his desk tells how three SEAL?s took out three pirates. The interviews conducted with the SEAL?s tell how they gave credit to their training and to the multiple tours in Iraq, inadvertent praise given to the former administration.

?Who gave them the authority to shoot??

?The Captain of the ship.?

?I gave orders that the pirates were not to be harmed, they were ZOMBIES!?

?It appears that a Naval Captain and sea has the implicit orders to safeguard U.S. citizens when on the high seas, obligation shall we say, that surpasses even the authority you have over him.?

The advisor spoke in a cultured intelligent monotone voice. He was tall and gaunt with a pasty gray complexion, eyes the color of cloudy brown, rose question whether he could see or not. He wore a brown tweed suit with a white and dark blue tie. His closely cropped curly hair was a powdery gray. If there was a patriarch of the zombies this was the man.

Obazy stood up and walked toward the tall advisor. He approached calmly and with much humility.

?Sir,? said Obazy in an unaccustomed submissive voice, ?what shall I do??

The advisor took in a small breath. ?Praise the ship and its crew, but do it in such a way that people think you approved of the actions, in fact make it sound as if it were your plan all along. In a few months have the Captain of the ship thrown out of the Navy, and follow that by taking the SEAL?s out of the teams, put them somewhere, that their skills will diminish and they grow bored. Remember. The military is our enemy, an obstacle to our ultimate goal. You must begin dismantling it now.?

?Yes, Mr. Hand,? acquiesced Obazy.

?On to another topic. You have nearly derailed all our planes by bowing to the king, if people learn he is the ruling zombie, our quest could very well end. Do not make a mistake like that again. The Hall of prosperity would be most upset with you.?

Tea Time

The Dreadful Obazy looks out his office window to see a group of citizens holding signs, and throwing things. At the distance he has little worries that what they are throwing will come any where near him. All he has is the curiosity of the zombie blood that flows through his body. He wonders if the little things taste good. After all a dutiful good zombie is always on the out look for food, and he being the leader of the zombies is no different.

?What are they throwing??

?Tea bags,? says Dead Fish the most obedient of all the zombie followers.

?Tea bags, why are they throwing tea bags?

Dead Fish looks out the window with a sneer, the flesh on the side of his face hanging limply.

?They are acting out a protest against taxes, like the founding fathers at the Boston tea party.?

The heavy clock hits Dead fish on the side of his head and knocks him to the floor. He lurches to his feet, and then crumbles back to his knees, black blood oozing out the gash in the side of his head like used motor oil from a spigot.

Obazy stands over him, fists clenched and legs slightly apart, looking like a boxer waiting for an opponent to rise so he can beat him back down.

?Founding fathers, whose founding fathers,? splutters Obazy, in his blind wide eyed rage, ?not my fathers. My founding fathers are Marx, Owen, Fourier, and Castro. Don?t ever allude to any other founding fathers in my presence. This country was built on a sham; I will destroy it and rebuild it as it should be. No zombie will be responsible for his will and his own actions, all religions will be destroyed they only make man a weak.

?ZOMBIES, I WILL HAVE MY NATION OF ZOMBIES.?

Dead fish lies on the floor below the pontificating Obazy, covering his eyes with his hands and crying, moved by the sheer enchantment of the one.

Seize the power

The dreadful one, talks with one of his most trusted advisors. A stinking corpse of a zombie, the advisors mouth barely moves for fear his lower jaw might fall off in presence of the one.

?My dark lord,? mumbles the advisor, ?We have an unprecedented opportunity to take control of the countries biggest businesses.?

The dreadful one sits back in his chair of animal friendly leather, a smug look on his face as he arrogantly stares as he ceiling.

?How goes the take over??

?My puppet has already proposed legislation to give the U.S. government the same basic set of tools for addressing financial distress at non-banks as it has in the bank context.

?Others are beginning to change language else where to define non-banks as any corporation in the country that is not a bank. With this definition in place, any company showing the slightest sign of financial distress will be a take over candidate.?

The dreadful ones smug smile broadens. ?Zombies will soon have what is due them; the corporations will soon belong to all of us. How are the planes, for feeding the CEO?s and top managers of the recovered corporations to the people?

The advisor laughs with a sickening sound. ?The plans have already been laid, we merely wait for the socialist to?.

The dreadful Obazies hand was a lightening flash as he struck his advisor across the face. His jaw flew through the air to slap against the wall with a gooey plop.

?Don?t every mention that word in my presence again. We are still at risk of a revolt if the people realize the path I?m leading them down.?

The advisor bobbed his head up and down, as he scurried across the room to pick up his lower jaw.

The dreadful one looked at his retreating advisor with a sadistic grin. ?Once the corporations are under my control, zombies will dominate the world, and I will be the one.?