From the left side of the mouth

The Dreadful Obazy sits in his warm office, thumbing through the daily reports, notes for speeches, and the never ending reports from his minions. Zombies from all around the world look to his as being the messiah, the savior, the one who will destroy inequality and save the Earth. His faithful zombies, blind in their obedience, relentless in their vomiting recitation of rhetoric and stalwart defenders of everything Obazy says or does.

A crooked smile creases his mouth. The makeup lady has no shown up this morning, and his zombie blood leaks out of the rotten corner of his mouth. As a drop of bloody ooze drips onto the page he is reading, he laughs. It is the side that is the easiest to speak from the side that never gives him problems, other than it is rotting away from the zombie disease.

How Easy It Is

The Dreadful Obazy sits in his warm office, thumbing through the daily reports, notes for speeches, and the never ending requests from his minions. Zombies from all around the world look to him as being the messiah, the savior the one who will destroy inequality and save the Earth. His faithful zombies, blind in their obedience, relentless in their recitation of his rhetoric, and stalwart in defense of all he says and does.

A crooked smile creases his mouth. The makeup lady has not shown up this morning, and his zombie blood leaks out of the rotten corner of his mouth. As a drop of bloody ooze leaks onto one of the pages, he laughs. That side of his mouth is always giving him problems, it happens to be the side he uses when giving a speech, but with a little make up it will be as good as new, and no one will know the truth.

Mirror Man's Journal - Feb 2009

The den of evil has become a bastion of vice. Low life punks, small time drug dealers, and anarchists are now the honored guests in board rooms and the cabinets of leaders.

Freedom has lost its meaning.

Freedom of choice is nothing with out discipline.

When you give up discipline you hand authority to the government to make laws and enforce them, because you lack the discipline to do what is right.

A psychologist looks into the souls of men and sees the evil that is there. I'm the Mirror Man, I show it back.

Obaziadicts

Limping and lurching across the frozen ground and Obazy hound reaches the steps of the ancient building and its granite steps. She stops for a moment and looks around at the lifeless streets, this early in the morning no one is out, the sun is still an hour away, and but for a few horrid sounds of feeding, most of the zombies have taken refuge for the coming day.

The woman wears the tattered remains of a once beautiful and expensive pant suit, her hair is matted and the old creases of her face are smoothed with filth and grim. She smile because she knows, what ever her appearance she is accepted in this place. After all she only ate one or two of the members before her zombieness was unavoidably obvious, and by the way they were from that other group any way.

"What are you doing here?" shouted Obazy as he came from within the building.

"Need more."

"More what?"

"More everything."

Obazy pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He blows out a puff of smoke, before answering.

"Tell the minions in Florida to gather and make there demands. But don't eat anyone infront of the TV cameras. I'll get more, the rich still have blood to bleed."

Frozen Future

The Dreadful Obazy looks out over the frozen landscape of the Mall. A freak winter storm has laid a thinck blanket of ice and snow over the Nations Capitol.

A zombie minion limps and lurches through the frozen slush staining to keep up with Obazy.

"You rape taxes, kill freedom, give food to all."

Obazy hits the zombie with a backhand across the face. A piece of his skin hangs from the back of his hand, dripping a thick black goo. A piece of the zombies ear flies through the air and lands with a soft smack on the frozen earth.

"Shut your mouth," utters Obazy through clinched teeth. "One misspoken word and our plan will fail. We have a tenious grip on the prople due to the media, and the den of evil."

The zombie minion looks at the frozen ground. "Me like the den of evil, Dawn of Dead, favorite movie. But California too sunny. Need more darkness and zombies in world."

Obazy looks at his loyal lap dog and quietly mouths a reply. "Out of the mouths of babes."

First Day at the Office for the Dreadful Obazy

A properly dressed Obazy stands a safe distance away from the window, jacket off cuffs unbuttoned, tie loose and off kilter. A smile crooks the sides of Obazy as he watches the shadows get longer. Soon his zombie minions will converge and begin there monotone chanting and slavering worship.

Obazy takes a deep breath and looks up to see a bright moon. A sneer crosses his face as he looks at the bright heavenly object.

"Why America ever sent people there I will never know."

The sound of a sliding door, take Obazies attention away from the window, and to the zombie faithful that lumber across the floor to dutifully stand beside him.

The zombie looks up at the darkening sky and the brilliant moon, with a face of pure adoration.

"I like moon. I like rockets. NASA takes us to stars. I like NASA."

Obazy slams his fist on the table beside him.

"I hate the moon, the stars, and anything to do with it. I spit on NASA."

The dutiful zombie looks up at the moon with sad eyes on his haggard flesh peeling face. He looks to his master and back to the moon, suddenly his face is filled with the same pure adoration it once had, as he looks upon the dreadful Obazy.

"Spit on NASA. Spit on NASA."

...and so goes the chanting, the chanting the chanting...