The following began life as a comment on our review of Night of the Living Dead…
When I first saw Night of the Living Dead, I WAS DEAD! I’d been mowed down in a freak cotton bud related incident (KEEP THEM DRY FOR THE SAKE OF THE CHILDREN IF NOTHING ELSE!!). And I had then awoken to find myself one of the walking dead.
On watching the film I was immediately horrified about how the, so called, living treat my fellow brain eating amigos. The movie is Romero’s (also a zombie) record of oppression and brutality rained down upon my people in the name of, so called, ’self preservation’ and ‘life’.
Well! Excuse us for making a life style choice that doesn’t agree with your political and, so called, moral stance!! Leaning a little bit to The Right are you!!!?? Just because we often choose to wear our pancreas OUTSIDE our body that’s no need to blow apart our craniums and pitchfork us onto a bonfire. SURE we may tear you children limb from limb to feed our base, bestial urges but what’s with sticking a load of shotgun toting, dungaree wearing, sister loving HICKS on our rotting (but still quite pert) asses!!!???
SO I wrote a stiff letter of protest (GETTIT? HAHAHAHA!! I’m killing me here!! WOKA WOKA WOKA!!!) and was going to post it to our then, so called, Prime Minster John Major. BUT I was ran down by an ambulance and was revived at one of OUR wonderfully hard working (and free – YOU SUCKERS!!) National Health hospitals.
Obviously, now I am living again, I would stove a dead-head’s head in with a toaster let alone look at one. BUT I have seen both sides of the coin and, if I may, I will leave you with a few, so called, words of wisdom:
They may be disintegrating. But that’s no reason to be discriminating.
They may be putrefying. But that’s no reason to… um… not return their Die Hard box set.
Thank you.
Who is The Tamworthian? The Tamworthian comes from a land far beyond the realms of mortal comprehension. A land so wondrous that the people there use cider as a form of currency. A place SO magical that the good citizens often bare pit bulls rather than human spawn. A town SO enrapt in marvel that the merest mention of it can bring shuddering orgasm to the most staid of souls… He is The Tamworthian and he hails from TAMWORTH… the ski capital of the West Midlands, the birthplace of modern policing, the best place to get bottled on Friday night this side of Nottingham. He is The Tamworthian and he brings you joy… and a really nasty aftertaste…. HOOZAH!!
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Authors bio is coming up shortly. 
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