We have returned from Door County. We have survived.
What…exactly…I’m not sure.
There were zombies. They shuffled down streets. They stared up at bluffs. They crawled out of Lake Superior.
They are completely unphotogenic.
You can’t see it, but there’s a zombie right behind that tree.
I tell you, these are the worst zombies I’ve ever seen. I mean, we all know zombies go staggeringly slow and go "Uhhhhnnnnnn…Braaaaaaains…" But as far as trying to eat you? They totally suck. What they really want to do is sell stuff. Or try to anyway. It’s sort of hard to take a zombie seriously when it’s lifting a wine bottle and going "Uhhhhnnnn…Buyyyyyy…"
What got me was how the locals pretty much ignored the zombies. "Oh, don’t worry about him," a waitress at the White Gull told me as one zombie shuffled by with a menu. (The White Gull has the best cranberry stuffed french toast I’ve ever tasted). "We call him Gorgie. He used to be one of our waiters. We just let him pass menus out."
Gorgie wasn’t a good waiter anymore. He tried to give a menu to a painting of a woman on the wall, then spent the next hour drooling in the corner.
Most of our time up at Door County was spent being amused at the zombies. We watched them from towers up at Penisula State Park
We watched them suck at playing chess.
We watched them stack rocks at Cave Point Beach.
And we watched them against the background of the sunset.
It was actually quite benign.
The last thing we saw when we left Door County were these huge black vans that were driving up 42 and 57. I don’t know what they were there for, but it’s interesting. The further west we traveled, the less zombies we saw. By the time we pulled back into Madison, I didn’t see any zombies at all. So maybe the whole thing is going away? I don’t know.
The zombies of Door County were the lamest zombies I ever saw. But I do have to admit–they have great taste in wine.