Zen and the Art of Cannibalism Quotes

“Awkward conversations. They’re the heart of the drug trade. The driving force that keeps criminals out of jail is paranoia. You can think you know people, but the truth is, you never know who they’re talking to. The life of an outlaw: Around every corner lies a cop. In every basement waits a bust. Every friend is the guy who sells you out to keep his own ass out of jail. Sure, it was rare, but you just never knew.
The result was a series of shorthand and euphemisms so obscure even the pros often weren’t sure what they were talking about. Sales became pickups. Pot, ganja, bud, or weed became lettuce, green, happy, herb, smoke... the list went on, and changed from dealer to dealer.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“It would take a good amount of work, a considerable amount of patience, and an unfathomable amount of foot rubs, but in the end—at least for a while—they lived happily.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“Life isn’t easy. Would that every story ended happily, every crisis be averted, everything get a pretty shiny bow, but that’s not the world we live in. Life is harsh. Things go wrong, People get hurt, and some even die. That’s just the way it goes.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“The goblin Vince swung at Noah as the Baron came bounding into the tavern, riding a shadow like a skateboard, his sword swiping viciously. The axe rattled to the floor. The old one’s head sailed through the air. The body staggered, exploring the tarry stump of its neck, then toppled over.
“That was totally uncalled for!” the goblin’s head said from the floor.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“If there’s anything in life that’s an undisputed fact, it’s this: Buildings with strange symbols carved in their lintels are bad news. You rarely find symbols leading to unicorns and fields of candy—and even that’s bad news if you’re diabetic.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“So, if the zombies are coming to town, why exactly are we coming back here?”
“Don’t call them that.”
“But they are—“
“No, they’re not. They’re mutants or science gone awry or
something. Anything but zombies.” “How would that be better?”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“The Creator is infinite in all things, even his douchebaggery.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“Little is known about the love lives of the undead. Really, past the brain-eating, reanimated corpse angle, not much is said for the zombie’s perspective. So they ate brains—big deal! Sure, they were corpses—so what? Indeed, there was the smell, but whose fault was that?
At first glance they were brain-hungry cannibals, (Mmm, brains. Maybe with a little cilantro or a garlic rub—mashed potatoes and brainsloaf—brains pot pie—penne a la brains...) but in reality, zombies were not the mindless man-eaters or virus-addled lunatics jonesing for human flesh depicted in the movies. Just like everything in life—or rather, unlife—things were more complicated. Zombies were, until very recently, people. And with that came wants, desires, longings. Needs.
Asher had been troubled by the zombie loneliness until Brenda, the attractive corpse he’d met in a less animated state earlier, pulled him into the cemetery, threw him down on a slab and shagged him silly.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“Tell me again why I have a beaten up Noah on my futon?” Ava said. She indeed had a beaten-up Noah resting on her couch, bandages and gauze over his nose, an icepack on his brow.
Wiz, Hal, and Travis sat around him, cups of coffee and homemade croissants steaming on the table. Ava stood with her hands on her hips, her brow expressing a pressing need for answers.
“I got beaten up,” Noah said, sounding like he had the worst head cold in history.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“There are probably more of us. If we’re all zombies, then
there’s got to be more. I say we go up to the cemetery and find out.”
“Can we get soda on the way?”
Nothing washes down brains better than a can of Coca Cola and a little shameless product placement. (Hey, the undead do have an image problem.)
“Soda and cemeteries! Soda and cemeteries!” they chanted. “And braaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiins!”
“Hey Bernie, you’re getting pretty good at that.”
“Okay, you try.”
“Braaa—” the zombie belched, ”—aiiinsss.”
Earl heaved the coroner’s body out of the way. They headed off for the cemetery, each trying furiously to perfect their own, unique and personal call for brains like an undead choir, out of tune.
“Braaaaiiiiins!” “Braaiiiiiiiinns!” “Braaaaaaaaaains!” “Bray-uns.”
“That was just awful.” ...Away into the night.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“The Baron was good with two things: sex, and death. And what was sex anyway—what was orgasm but what the French (those cunning linguists of the language of love) referred to as a Little Death? What was life but a ticking clock toward the grave, and how did life start but with an unfettered hump toward morning?”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“Mack Gaffey, resident veterinarian and owner of Oak Falls Kennel for the Canine Challenged came to greet him. He was a tall, painfully thin man with a tuft of wiry gray hair sticking out in horns on his head and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.
“Sheriff, glad you could make it.” They shook hands.
“Alright Mack,” Al said. “So you’ve had yourself some vandalism, huh?”
Mack nodded and lead him around his white GMC. On hood of the van was a fogged-up ZipLock bag. “Some sicko took a dump on my van.”
Mack held up the bag so Al could see the giant, steaming turd inside. “It’s human shit, Al. I did the tests this morning.”
The sheriff frowned and started wiping the hand he shook Mack’s with against his pants. “Well, this stinks.”
“You should smell it out of the bag, Sheriff.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy

“The Baron took his cane and put it under the doctor’s chin. “You are a very unlikeable man. In my true form, I’d think you as little more than spooge on the bottom of my shoe.”
― Daniel Younger, Zen and the Art of Cannibalism: A Zomedy