“Zombies, Love, and Questionable Taste in Ants – The Second Undead Encounter”
By Frenchy French, your favorite interviewer of the undead

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So… there I was again, alone with a zombie behind the bar.

Well, not completely alone. Candy was within earshot, probably trying to process the emotional trauma of realizing that one of her regulars was dating the walking dead. But it was mostly just me, Frenchy French, bonding over small talk and medium-grade decomposition with Dee Seast—Charmy Packy’s ghoulishly sweet girlfriend.

In case you missed the last installment (shame on you, it was brain-tinglingly awesome), we learned that Dee can’t speak in any traditional way—she just groans and snarls in classic horror movie fashion. But lucky for the entire plot, I have the weird, completely unexplained superpower of understanding any language, including zombie growl. Because… of course I do.

Anyway, today’s mission: find out what in the rotting ribcage of romance Dee sees in Charmy.

I mean, really… Charmy?

“Arrrrrrghhhhhh,” Dee moaned sweetly, chomping her teeth a few inches from my face. (Which I think is how she says ‘hello’.)

“So,” I began, notebook in hand and a bottle of Febreze on standby, “What do you see in Charmy?”

Without hesitation, Dee replied, “Mmmmmmnnnnggghhhhhhrrrrrrr…”

I blinked. “Guts and organs? Seriously?!”

She nodded proudly, a few teeth nearly clattering out from the sheer force of her approval.

“Okay, fair,” I said. “He does have internal organs. But that’s a pretty low bar, Dee.”

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Love Is in the Air… and It Smells Like Rotting Flesh

As Dee grunted and gestured like a mime on a protein-only diet, I translated in my head.

“He’s funny,” she groaned.

“Oh, Charmy told a joke?”

“Braaaaaains,” she added.

“…It involved brains?”

Dee gave me a thumbs up… at least, I think it was her thumb. It was hard to tell. Zombie anatomy is a bit like assembling IKEA furniture without instructions.

Anyway, it turns out Dee finds Charmy hilarious. Which is either a ringing endorsement for his sense of humor or a devastating indictment of her undead brain chemistry. Charmy once told me that his idea of flirting was handing someone a burrito and yelling, “You complete me… with hot sauce!” So, you be the judge.

“He makes me laugh so hard my jaw unhinges,” Dee moaned through cracked lips.

“Literally or figuratively?” I asked.

She paused… then shrugged. Apparently both.

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Their First Date: A Night to Dismember

“Oh, do tell me how he asked you out!” I begged, scribbling down notes while dodging bits of flaky skin.

“Urrrrrrrggggh… mmmrrrggggggnnnnhhh…”

“Oh! So, he took you to the cemetery because the haunted house was too mainstream?”

Another slow nod.

“Let me guess, dinner was… something with brains?”

She looked offended. “Tofu,” she groaned.

“Really?”

“Charrrrrghmy’s vegan now,” she explained.

“That explains why he tried to eat that soy candle last week.”

Apparently, their first date was a quiet walk through the pet cemetery, followed by dinner under the moonlight—next to a guy who was digging his own grave for performance art. Dee said it was the most romantic night of her afterlife.

I wasn’t sure whether to swoon or gag. Possibly both.

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Zombie Love Languages

“So… what’s your love language?” I asked. “Is it acts of service? Words of affirmation? Decaying softly in the moonlight?”

She groaned loudly and extended her arms dramatically.

“Physical touch?” I guessed.

“Woooooaaaah, girl,” I said, backing up. “Consent is key. Also, I bruise easily.”

She chuckled—or maybe burped; the difference is subtle with zombies.

“Charmy brings me snacks,” she moaned sweetly.

“Oh, like… chocolate?”

“Chicken gizzards.”

“…Right. How thoughtful.”

Apparently, one of the most romantic things Charmy ever did was fish a bag of pork rinds out of a vending machine and pretend it was a heart. Which, in zombie terms, is basically a proposal.

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The Future of the Undead Couple

“So where do you see this relationship going?” I asked.

“Somewhere dark… damp… underground…” she replied.

“A basement apartment?” I guessed.

“Graveyard.”

Right.

Dee said she dreams of a quiet eternity with Charmy, where they can raise a few brainlings and haunt a fixer-upper crypt together. Maybe get a little dog. (Preferably a skeleton. Less shedding.)

“Does Charmy feel the same way?” I asked.

“Arghhhhh…” she groaned uncertainly.

“So… you don’t know?”

She shrugged. “He thinks I’m a Halloween prop.”

Ah. Romance.

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Meanwhile, at the Other End of the Bar…

Candy, ever the curious observer, leaned in.

“You’re really dating that weird ant guy?” she asked Dee.

Dee groaned.

“She says yes,” I translated.

“He doesn’t scream when she kisses him anymore.”

“That’s improvement,” Candy said with a raised eyebrow. “Does he know you’re a zombie?”

Another groan.

“He thinks she’s just… European.”

Candy blinked. “That tracks.”

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Wrapping Up the Rot

As we finished up our chat, Dee offered me a hug. I gently declined, citing “allergies” and “not wanting to be missing a spleen.” Still, I had to admit—there was something weirdly wholesome about her love for Charmy. Even if it was mostly based on internal organs and pork rinds.

Love is strange.

Love is smelly.

Love is… zombie-approved.

And as weird as it all is, you know what? I think they just might make it.

Or at least unlive happily ever after.

Until next week, my loyal readers!

Keep your hearts warm, your brains intact, and your garlic cloves nearby. Just in case.

– Frenchy French
Official Translator of the Undead, Defender of the Confused, and Only Person at the Bar Who Brought Hand Sanitizer

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#Zombielove #CharmysArmy #FrenchyFrench #RomanceGoneWrong #BrainsBeforeBeauty