It's a noted fact that movie types never have need of the lavatory.
John McClane - hours squirrelling through shafts, swinging through windows, bopping baddies on the bonce, and not once needs to stop for a tinkle.
Yippee kai ay? More like "I need a pee, OK"!
Indiana Jones - hours digging though jungley temples, swinging across chasms and between jeeps, bopping nasty nazis on the noggin, and not once needs to drop a log.
Pass me my whip? More like "Me ass needs to pass a shit"!
Anyhoo, after watching tri-dementional shamblers of the shuffling shuttled off of mortal coil types, it occurs to me that there is an added danger when the dead walk the earth.
Clearly the reanimatory lumberers have working bodies, having an appetite for cranial content and internal keyboards. But surely, such cannibalisitic consumption must play havoc with the old digestive tract, and result in The Dead needing a posthumous poo.
And being mainly composed of decomposed brainage, surely the Terror Turds must arise as sentient slaughterous sewage! Zombified chocolate loaf wrapping it's victims in turdy tentacles and fæcally filling the faces of it's victims with suffocating slurry.
How can it be stopped - a heaving mass of steaming shite. A sludgey swamp of ambulatory bumjuice, assailing the nostrils with it's fæcal fragrance? Arm the army with arsewipe, Toilet Duck and Blu-Loo*. Shoot the dead in the head, and shove a suppository up their shit chute to prevent the escapeage of a deluge of diarrhoea via the bum bay doors".
Beware of the bunghole blob!
* BLU-LOO BEING BLUE LOUISE - A PORN STAR TO KEEP THE ARMY'S 'MORALE' UP.
