The Uncle, The Zombie Plague and The Doughnut
By: David K. Montoya

It all started with my Uncle Gene, I wish I could have said that he was a kind and loving man—but I can't. In short he was a freaking drunk! And a damned bloody hypochondriac, he was convinced that he was dying, even though he had been to every specialist in the state (Oh yeah, this takes place in the United States, kid. So you know, USA! USA! USA! I digress, any who), and every one of them concluded the same thing that he was healthier than most people his age, well, other than his swelling liver… But you know, hashtag drunk by eight AM.

It was on a night like any other, Uncle Gene was passed out in my living room (because he refused to stay in his bloody damned house by himself), and woke up and continuously shouted out in pain. I stood back as he reenacted what I imagined what a hyena would had looked and sounded like while giving child birth.

After a good ten or fifteen minutes, I concluded it was a charlie horse and went back into my room (it's nice and quiet back there and I do not have to deal with all the drunkenness). I lost track of time, when I heard him again. He called out for me down the hallway and through the house.

So I left the comforts of my room and entered the living room where he lied atop my once expensive and designer couch.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, nephew… The Lord just told me what is wrong with me," Gene replied in a shaken voice.

"Okay. I'll bite. What's the matter with you?" I questioned, but not really wanting the answer.

"In the Bible it talks about the last days and how the Lord will not allow the Angel of Death to take the souls of the wicked."

"Yeah, I am familiar with Revelations," I said, now rather perplexed. "What's your point?"

"The Lord won't let me die, because I am wicked nephew, very wicked," Gene said now with more tears intertwined with his words.

"And…"

"And, I'm turning into a ZOMBIE. That's why it hurts so bad," Gene said and then busted into full on balling. After a moment or two, he looked up at me and continued. "You've seen all those zombie movies. You know it is torturous during the transformation into the walking dead."

"Bloody freaking Hell," I said to myself as I ran my hand down over my face.

"I don't wanna eat anybody's brains, nephew." Gene said in all earnestness. "Go fetch—"

I interrupted when I asked, "Fetch? Really?"

He looked up at me with big sad puppy dog eyes.

"All right, what do you want me to fetch, Uncle Gene," I said and a sigh quickly followed.

"Your shotgun from your gun cabinet," Gene said. But, I watched his eyes as they lit up when he spoke about my weapon. It was freaky, because it reminded me more of how guys looked when they talked about a beautiful woman. "You know, the biggest one you have… The one in the center of the cabinet."

"I know which one you're talking about." I said.

"Well go grab that sucker and come blow my head off before I try to eat you and your kids' brains," he said with wild eyes. I found myself as I rubbed both hands down along my face, and sighed again, but this time much deeper.

"Uncle Gene. That was Grandpa's hunting rifle, he's been dead for thirty–five years. I don't think it has been fired in almost fifty," I explained. "But, I promise if you try to eat my kids' brains, I'll gladly blow your freakin' head off."

"O–Okay. Thank you, nephew." He stammered. I walked back up the hall, and something occurred to me in that moment. I don't think he actually knew my name.

#

It was less than an hour later, when I heard Uncle Gene as he called for me once again down the bloody hallway. By now, the kids were fast a sleep and I was annoyed that he could possibly wake then—after all it was a school night. I hurried down the hall, so Gene would stop.

Again, I found him on my once expensive and designer couch (can you tell that I'm sorta salty about that).

"What's up?" I asked.

"I–I… I…" He stammered.

"You're Gene or Zombie Gene for that matter and I'm, me. We've established this in the beginning of the story."

"I was watching Billy Swagger—(there was so many errors in that sentence, but I'm keeping it real folks. Back to the story)—and they advertised Billy Swagger's Holy Doughnuts."

"Ah Christ. I know where this is heading," I mumbled to myself and again, I ran my hands along my face in frustration (I really need to hurry up with this story or my face is gonna get raw). "And…?"

"And, I think that these doughnut will help me with my problem." He said.

"Uh huh." was all I said.

"The Lord placed it on my heart."

"Uh huh."

"Oh dear nephew of mine. My favorite nephew wo—"

I interrupted again, when I said, "I'm your only nephew."

"Would you please go and fetch me a pack," Gene said sheepishly.

"There's that 'fetch' word again," I said. "What do you think we're part of the Waltons? John Boy, go fetch me some KY."

Gene gazed at me in utter confusion.

"Okay, Pa," I acted out, and then skipped away from Uncle Gene.

"That boy ain't well," Gene said to himself.

#

About ten minutes later, I found myself inside the car on the way to Piggly Wiggly. If there was a place that was still open and carried Billy Swagger's Holy Doughnuts it was that place. But, I knew that because it was late at night and my options were limited, those bloody doughnuts were going to be double their normal price.

As I pulled into the parking lot, my imagination ran away with me. I pondered that if one doughnut cured imaginary ailments, would two of those bad boys…I don't know, fix your credit score?

And, if you eat the entire box, would that guarantee entry into Heaven?

So, what happened if you ate a second box? Does it lose its power after one pack?

I wanted answers!

"The Clerk might have them," I said to myself, as I stepped from my vehicle in to the freezing winter weather. I mean to be fair, it's not like Canada Freezing, but for Californians it was cold dammit!

I rushed through the iced over parking lot. Okay, okay, it wasn't really iced over, but I needed to paint a picture with my words…DON'T JUDGE ME! It was really cold to my standards.

Anyway…

Once I step inside, I heard from a distance: "Welcome to Piggly Wiggly."

On pure instinct I snapped to the kid's direction and marched toward his direction. I found a young boy, no older than eighteen at the counter. He was rather short, scrawny, had really bad acne and smelled like free marijuana.

"Hey Boy, do you have Billy Swagger's Holy Doughnuts?" I barked.

I think he wet himself.

"I need to know, so I can get back to my kids," I said aggressively as I leaned in. "Yes or no?"

"I–I think so," the clerk mumbled out.

Once I heard the good news, I instantly perked up and flashed a smile, then said. "Oh good. Will you go fetch me a pack?"

I caught what I said, and the boy shot me a weird look.

"Christ! He's got me doing it," I said as I crumbled to my knees with my arms and head raised toward the heavens. "Damn yous! Damn yous to Hell! Khaaaaaaaaaaaan!"

My melodrama was interrupted when the boy flashed a box of Billy Swagger's Holy Doughnuts in front of my face and said, "I have no clue what you're saying sir, but here are your doughnuts."

I took them from him as I stood back up and we both walked calmly over to the cash register. As he scanned the divined item, I had to ask, "So, if one doughnut fixes health issues, what does two or three do…and what happens if you eat the entire box, does that like instantly set up dinner reservations with Jesus and his apostles?"

The Clerk didn't answer.

"Nah, it'd probably be with the Big Man himself, you know, the Father," I mused to the clerk. I couldn't take the silence any longer and grabbed him to me and said. "Tell me! Dammit! Tell me your wisdom! I wanna know! And what are in these doughnuts that make them special? Are the made with holy water or something?"

"There's nothing special about them, mister," the young clerk croaked.

"What'cha talkin' about Willis?" I mimicked one of my favorite TV characters from the 1980s.

"There's nothing special, I believe they're the same manufacturing company that puts out Ho Hos."

"So are you telling me a man of God when to a Ho to put out his stuff," I had to jokingly ask.

#

It was around nine at night when I got home with doughnuts in hand. I found Uncle Gene in the living room, he paced back in forth. He glared at me with bloodshot eyes as I entered.

"Oh thank God. Thank God. I was starting to crave brains," he said. "But, I fought the urge."

"Oh good, because I really didn't want to blow your head off," I said as I handed him his damned doughnuts. He collapsed onto the couch (which I heard something snap underneath, so much for my once expensive and designer couch) and I watched in horror as he devoured the pastries.

Within moments, the onslaught was over and Uncle Gene was passed out on the now broken once expensive and designer couch.

#

The following morning I awoke and found my Uncle Gene outside with a forty in his hand. He calmly sipped it and watched me as I stepped out of the house. "Good Morning, nephew."

"So did Billy Swagger's Holy Doughnuts save you from turning into a Zombie?" I asked.

He looked at me with a confused look and asked, "What?"

"You know you said last night that you were turning into a zombie and needed some magic doughnuts to help you," I retorted.

"Nephew, I think you've been watching too many of those zombie TV shows."

My jaw dropped.

"Are you telling me you don't remember any of what happened last night?" I questioned.

"Nope. Must have had too many beers before bedtime. Hey, you wanna go to the store, and fetch me a pack of cigarettes?"

"Bloody hell." I growled.

THE END

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