Clinical Transcript: Patient #812-F
Date: August 7, 2026 Attending: Dr. Malevolena, PhD, LCSW (Licensed Clinical Supernatural Worker) Patient: Sandra… Errrrg… I think… She cant talk well. (Class I Undead * ZOMBIE not Vampire)
Dr. Malevolena: (Adjusting her spectacles and offering a steaming mug of lukewarm bile) Sandra, my sweet, putrescent flower. You are radiating such a delightfully dismal aura today, but your posture is terribly hunched. Even for the walking dead, your flesh seems entirely devoid of its usual terrifying bounce. Tell me, what is troubling my favorite reanimated corpse?
Sandra: (Clutching her rotting abdomen, a wet, ominous gurgling sound echoing from her torso) It’s my stomach, Doctor. I know I’m a decaying vessel of pestilence, but I am in absolute agony. I have explosive diarrhea. It’s humiliating. I tried to shamble menacingly toward a neighborhood watch group last night, and instead, I just… aggressively ruined my favorite blood-stained sweatpants.
Dr. Malevolena: (Leaning forward, her fiery collar flickering with deep, maternal sympathy) Oh, you poor, magnificent creature. To be betrayed by your own necrotic bowels! A zombie should be leaving trails of psychological terror, not… well. Let’s look at your diet. Whose brains have we been consuming lately?
Sandra: (Groans, resting her decaying head in her hands) It’s the new suburbs, Doc. After midnight, my only prey is either militant vegans leaving their 24-hour hot yoga studios, or college kids stumbling out of the Taco Bell drive-thru. The vegans are entirely too fibrous—my dead intestines simply cannot process that much raw kale and quinoa! And the Taco Bell victims? They are essentially walking vessels of Fire Sauce and synthetic cheese product! It’s like eating a localized chemical spill. My remaining stomach lining is completely dissolved.
Dr. Malevolena: (Smiling warmly, placing a comforting, clawed hand on Sandra’s decaying knee) Sandra, please stop this undead self-shaming. You are an apex scavenger of the apocalypse, not a delicate ecosystem. You haven’t failed your diet; modern human agriculture has failed you. But as monsters, we don’t just endure their dietary trends—we aggressively dominate them.
Sandra: (Looking up, a piece of her jaw hanging loosely in confusion) We do? But how do I stop the… eruptions? I just want to eat brains in peace without needing a hazmat cleanup.
Dr. Malevolena: (Her eyes glowing intensely behind her glasses, practically beaming with pride) By weaponizing your affliction, my darling! You are a biological hazard. Why shuffle slowly toward your prey when you can embrace this high-velocity, toxic pestilence to clear out entire city blocks? But to soothe your tummy, we simply need to pre-digest your meals. I highly recommend constructing a massive, subterranean fermentation silo under the local Taco Bell. Drag the vegans and the burrito consumers down there, let the demonic mycelium break down their fibrous tissues and synthetic hot sauce for a few weeks, and then consume them as a smooth, nutrient-dense slurry. It’s called artisanal batch-feeding.
Sandra: (A gooey, black tear of joy rolling down her cheek) A subterranean fermentation silo? That sounds so… holistic. I could even start an undead community garden down there!
Dr. Malevolena: (Clapping her clawed hands together) Exactly! Treat yourself, Sandra. Cultivate your rot. Let them ferment until they are absolutely perfect for you.