My friends

Because I lost rock-paper-scissors on a technicality, my best friend Luke earned a spot on my blog. I take absolutely no responsibility for what he says, and his views do not reflect mine, especially his view that girls love guys who can burp the National Anthem.

Here’s Luke—

Jed, you’re as bad at introductions as you are at rock-paper-scissors. Technicality? You chose to throw scissors. You knew there was a risk of one, if not both, fingers flying off at impact. So paper beats one-bladed scissors. And girls do like guys who know how to bring it up from deep inside. You just have to be sure nothing else comes up. If not for a few wayward burrito bits, Elise would have loved my otherwise stunning gas-powered performance.

Enough about that. I want to tell you what it’s like to be the best friend of a zombie.

We’ve been friends forever, so I didn’t always know he was a zombie. When we were little kids, I just thought he had mad breath-holding skills.

Maybe I should have realized he wasn’t quite normal when we were maybe 5 and he fell out of a tree. He was about 15 feet up, but when you’re just a stupid kid, it seemed like 15 stories. Jed’s always been uncoordinated, so he fell backwards and put his arms out behind him to brace for impact. Bad move. Both arms bent back at the elbow, which was way cool because he looked like a crab. I was thinking about the show-and-tell possibilities when he lifted his arms and brought them down real quick. Snap! Everything went back to normal and Jed continued as if nothing happened. I immediately scrambled up the tree and, well, let’s just say I learned that when Jed jumps off a cliff, I will never again follow him. I was in a cast for weeks.

I didn’t really get that he was a zombie until after that birthday party, but you probably know the story from that book he wrote so I won’t bother with it here. Up to that point my mom never let me watch zombie movies, but when we found out about Jed, we had a zombie movie marathon. “Keep your enemies close,” mom said, “and your zombie friends closer.”

I already knew at that point Jed wasn’t a brain-eating zombie, or I would have been one of the shuffling undead years ago. So then it was just hanging around with a guy with loose joints and an unenviable complexion.

The real problem was the attention a zombie would draw, most of it unwanted. I can’t tell you how tired I am of hearing strangers say, “So you can just put it back on with tape?” and then they stick out their arm  for a far-too-hardy handshake, just to see if Jed really can come apart at the seams.

Mostly, having a zombie friend is just like have a regular friend. Jed gets into a few more scrapes because of who and what he is. I’ve got his back, at least when it doesn’t get all slimy with Ooze (that’s in the book too, but if you ask me, it’s way too much information).

I’d choose a zombie friend over a regular friend any day. But I’m still not following him off a cliff.


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