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  It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Zombies!

  A Book of Zombie Christmas Carols

  Michael P. Spradlin

  Illustrations by Jeff Weigel

  To my family, Kelly, Mick, and Rachel,

  who are definitely not Zombies…

  Contents

  Introduction, by Christopher Moore

  Author’s Note: I’ll Be Undead this Christmas

  I Saw Mommy Chewing Santa Claus

  Zombies on the Housetop

  We Three Spleens

  The Zombie Christmas Song

  Undead Christmas

  It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Zombies

  Nothing Like Brains for the Holidays

  Zombie Wonderland

  Good King Wenceslas Tastes Great

  Have Yourself a Medulla Oblongata

  Here Comes Zombie Claus

  Snacking Around the Christmas Tree

  Slay Ride

  A Jolly Zombie Christmas

  Deck the Halls with Parts of Wally

  Zombie, the Snowman

  Eat a Toe

  Here We Come A-Garroting

  I’m Dreaming of an Undead Christmas

  Zombie Yells

  Let’s Feast on Merry Gentlemen

  Silver Brains

  I’ll Be Undead for Christmas

  Grandma Got Turned into a Zombie

  It’s the Most Wonderful Time to Feel Fear

  We Wish You an Undead Christmas

  Smash Their Heads with a Rock

  Rudolph, the Zombie Reindeer

  All I Want for Christmas Is to Be a Zombie

  Zombie Claus Is Coming to Town

  About the Author and the Illustrator

  Other Books by Michael P. Spradlin

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  INTRODUCTION

  “Good King Wenceslas tastes great, we might as well eat Stephen.”

  It is universally acknowledged that there are very few literary pursuits which cannot be improved by the addition of Zombies, which are to the written word as cheesy goldfish crackers are to life in general; those little cheesy goldfish crackers also improve nearly everything. Don’t take my word for it—just bust out a bowl of cheesy goldfish crackers at the next funeral you attend and see if you don’t bring some smiles to the grieving. (Just to be safe, make it the funeral of some stranger on the off chance I’m wrong.)

  Imagine how much more compelling Hamlet might have been had his father not appeared on the battlements as a ghost but as a brain-eating Zombie. Likewise, how poignant the love story if sweet, damp Ophelia had returned from her drowning in the brook to lay a licking to Hamlet’s medulla oblongata. Think how much easier a time wives today would have getting their husbands to take them to the opera if Wagner had only included a few Zombies in his work. Or even a Zombie or two in an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. (Wait. I’m not sure even Zombies would improve an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical). Even Charles Dickens seems to be overworked with ghosts and short of Zombies. Poor, rotting Tiny Tim having a nosh on Scrooge’s brain at the end of A Christmas Carol would surely warm the spirit as much as any Christmas goose. I mean, he had four ghosts in the story—couldn’t he have substituted at least one Zombie for a ghost? Come on, Chuck. ’Splain, please. Why is there no Zombie of Christmas Future?

  And while we’re on the subject of Christmas and ghosts and other undead things, I firmly believe it was only a matter of time until someone conceived a book of Zombie Christmas carols. And Michael Spradlin is the ideal guy to do it.

  And I can tell you why.

  A few years ago, it was the same Michael Spradlin, author of the book you now hold in your hands, who approached me one day to write a funny Christmas book. (He was totally violating the restraining order, but we’ll let that slide for now.) He got up in my grille and was all, “You know, you ought to write a funny Christmas book.” And I’m all, “What kind of funny Christmas book?” And he’s all, “I don’t know, how about maybe Christmas in Pine Cove or something?” (For the uninitiated, Pine Cove is the fictional California town where many of my novels are set.) So I’m all back at him, “’kay.” So I sat down to write my own version of the cheery holiday tale (mainly because I really don’t like to write when I’m standing up). But I wanted my holiday novel to be different. I didn’t want your traditional Christmas story of happiness and peace on earth and goodwill toward men. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) But I pondered: How could I make my mine stand out? Then I remembered! What is it that makes every literary pursuit better? Zombies, of course! (See above.) Thus was born my novel The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror (available wherever books are sold, I’m just sayin’). Really, I’m not lying. All because Michael Spradlin got in my grille about shaking up the world of Christmas literature, The Stupidest Angel, the cheesy goldfish cracker of holiday novels, was born.

  I was to later learn that this same Michael Spradlin, who is himself descended from a long line of the undead (think about it), had a deeper affinity for Zombies than I had even imagined. And now he has brought forth the world’s first Zombie Christmas carol songbook. Like collections of greatest hits you see on late-night television commercials, all the new soon-to-be classic Zombie holiday songs are here for you: “I Saw Mommy Chewing Santa Claus” “Zombie, the Snowman” “We Three Spleens” “Deck the Halls with Parts of Wally” and many more.

  So as you and your family enjoy these holiday-spiced tidbits of animated carrion, imagine that you are not gathered around the table waiting for the credit-card bills to descend like the war hammer of a vengeful Santa. Instead, you are all together, barricaded inside your house, stockpiling your supply of canned goods and preparing to fend off hordes of rotting carolers outside. And if one of you should be bitten, well, the more the merrier…

  “Bring a hatchet for little Nell.

  Or a nice pump shotgun will do her well.”

  Happy Holidays!

  Christopher Moore

  I’LL BE UNDEAD THIS CHRISTMAS

  It’s not a question of if.

  It’s a question of when.

  The swine flu. SARS. The Spanish Influenza of 1918—all walks in the park compared to what awaits us. I’m talking of course about the Zombie virus. Right now, scientists are working on the undead around the clock in secret government laboratories to come up with a vaccine for the dreaded bug. Personally, I don’t like their chances. And I should also mention that many of these secret government laboratories are located right in your own communities. (After all, Zombie scientists still need to send their children to good schools.) This is only going to cause the virus to spread faster when it breaks.

  And it will break.

  Their efforts are futile. There is no escaping the Zombie virus. So when the world falls down around us, when we’re forced to spend every waking (and sleeping) moment with machetes duct-taped to our hands, let us not forget our most sacred holiday traditions. Just remember that, in the Zombie age, our holidays will be different. Canned goods will become like currency, so don’t look for any cranberry sauce on your Christmas table. In the post-Zombie apocalypse, a can of cranberry sauce will bring you at least two shotgun shells from the survivors in the compound across the river.

  And you can forget about the traditional lighting of the Yule Log. Use it instead to smash a Zombie’s head in. There won’t be any time for ceremonies when there are Zombies scratching at your door. You won’t be hanging stockings, you’ll be wearing them for warmth. Yes, even those tacky ones you get at the mall with your name embroidered on them.

  But one trad
ition that doesn’t need to change is the Christmas carol. It only needs to be altered slightly. And that’s why you’ve picked up this book—just to hedge your bets. Because when you are turned (and you will be turned), you won’t want to be shunned by all the other Zombies as they gather around a steaming pile of brains. You’ll want to know the words to all the Zombie Christmas carols so you can sing along with your new peeps. So pick up a copy. (Or better yet, two or three, since you’ll want everyone in your future Zombie family to be prepared.)

  Good luck. Happy Holidays. And here’s hoping you won’t get bitten. Even though you probably will. And here’s one last bit of advice: When the virus breaks out and everything around you is going south, just look at the Christmas fruitcake in a new light. No one ever eats them and now you won’t need to re-gift them anymore.

  You can take a Zombie’s head off with one of those suckers.

  I SAW MOMMY CHEWING SANTA CLAUS

  Sung to the tune of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”

  I saw Mommy chewing Santa Claus

  Underneath the Christmas tree last night.

  I snuck up without a peep

  Behind Mommy, the Zombie creep,

  Now she’s biting off Santa Claus’s cheek.

  When I saw Mommy chewing Santa Claus

  Underneath his beard now turning red,

  Oh what a laugh we would have said

  If Daddy weren’t already dead

  While Mommy chewed on Santa Claus last night.

  ZOMBIES ON THE HOUSETOP

  Sung to the tune of “Up on the Housetop”

  Up on the housetop, Zombies pause,

  Eating poor old Santa Claus.

  Down through the chimney come Santa’s parts.

  Once a Zombie bites—ouch that smarts!

  Chorus

  Ho, Ho, Ho, better not go.

  Ho, Ho, Ho, better not go.

  Up on the housetop, snack, snack, snack.

  Down through the chimney comes Santa’s back.

  First comes the corpse of little Nell.

  Oh, those Zombies bit it well.

  Forget about a dolly that laughs and cries,

  Zombies die first then open their eyes.

  Chorus

  Next the undead are stalking little Will.

  Oh, just see he’s a glorious meal.

  We use a hammer and lots of tacks,

  And he has a brain and a spine that cracks.

  Ho, ho ho! Who wouldn’t go?

  Ho, ho, ho! Who wouldn’t go?

  Up on the housetop, snack, snack, snack!

  Down through the chimney with Santa’s back!

  WE THREE SPLEENS

  Sung to the tune of “We Three Kings”

  We three spleens, you know where we are:

  Two in the kitchen and one in the car.

  We are still eating, people are fleeing.

  Let’s eat the one in the car.

  O-oooh, spleens of wonder, they taste right.

  We could eat spleens all day and night.

  We’re still eating, people screaming.

  Let’s eat until first light.

  THE ZOMBIE CHRISTMAS SONG

  Sing to the tune of “The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)”

  Fresh brains roasting on an open fire,

  Zombies chewing off your nose—

  It all began when they ate the whole choir.

  They’re even eating Eskimos.

  Everybody knows a leg bone and someone’s toes

  Make a Zombie’s season bright.

  Tiny tots, with their eyes in a bowl,

  Will find it hard to see tonight!

  We know Zombie Santa’s on his way;

  He’s eaten lots of boys and girls in his sleigh,

  And every mother’s child is going to spy

  To see if Zombie reindeer really know how to fly.

  And so I’m running to get out of here

  Before the Zombies eat me too.

  Although it’s been said about the Undead,

  If you don’t run, they will feast on you.

  UNDEAD CHRISTMAS

  Sung to the tune of “Blue Christmas”

  I’ll have an undead Christmas without you.

  I’ll be so undead, and not thinking about you.

  Hanging lots of red brains on a green Christmas tree

  Won’t mean a thing if you’re not undead with me.

  I’ll have an undead Christmas, that’s certain.

  And when that Zombie bites me, I’m hurtin’.

  You’ll be running all night, from every Zombie in sight,

  And I’ll have an undead, undead Christmas.

  IT’S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE ZOMBIES

  Sung to the tune of “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”

  It’s beginning to look a lot like Zombies

  Everywhere you go.

  They’re in the five and ten, eating brains once again,

  Faces smeared with blood and all aglow!

  It’s beginning to look a lot like Zombies!

  They’re in every store!

  But the scariest sight to see is the Zombies that will be

  At your own front door.

  There’s no need for boots, or a pistol that shoots,

  Just the brains of Barney and Ben.

  Zombies will stalk when you go for your walk,

  And they’ll eat Janice and Jen.

  And Mom and Dad, already turned, are eating brains again.

  It’s beginning to look a lot like Zombies

  Everywhere you go.

  They’ve stormed the Grand Hotel, and filled the park as well.

  They’re hungry and they sure don’t mind the snow!

  It’s beginning to look a lot like Zombies!

  Blood splattered on the floor!

  But the scariest sight to see is the Zombies that will be

  At your own front door!

  NOTHING LIKE BRAINS FOR THE HOLIDAYS

  Sung to the tune of “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays”

  Oh there’s nothing like brains for the holidays!

  No matter how far away you roam,

  When you’re hungry for the taste

  Of someone else’s face,

  For the holidays, you can’t beat

  Brains, sweet brains!

  I ate a man who lived in Tennessee,

  And he was headed for Pennsylvania,

  To go eat his mother’s eye.

  From Pennsylvania folks are traveling down

  To Dixie’s sunny shore.

  From Atlantic to Pacific, gee!

  The cerebrum tastes terrific!

  Oh there’s nothing like brains

  For the holidays! ’Cause no matter

  How much your own mouth foams,

  If you want to be happy in a million ways,

  For the holidays, you can’t beat

  Brains, sweet brains.

  ZOMBIE WONDERLAND

  Sung to the tune of “Winter Wonderland”

  Undead moan, are you listening?

  In the lane, blood is glistening.

  A horrible sight,

  We’re screaming tonight,

  Runnin’ through a Zombie wonderland.

  Already turned, is our neighbor!

  Zombies here, I belabor.

  They moan their own song,

  As we scream along,

  Sprintin’ through a Zombie wonderland.

  In the meadow, we can beg for mercy.

  They’ve already eaten Parson Brown.

  They’ll come for us next,

  And we’ll say, “No man!”

  We’re getting’ the hell

  Out of this town.

  Later on, we’ll perspire,

  As we scream, by the fire.

  I’ll say we’re afraid

  Of the Zombies they’ve made,

  Runnin’ through a Zombie wonderland.

  GOOD KING W
ENCESLAS TASTES GREAT

  Sung to the tune of “Good King Wenceslas”

  Good King Wenceslas tastes great;

  We might as well eat Stephen,

  When the brains lay round about,

  Toasted crisp and bleedin’.

  Brightly shown the moon that night,

  Though the virus cruel.

  When a poor man came in sight,

  He made fine undead fuel.

  Hither, Zombies chase after her.

  Agnes, she is yelling.

  Yonder peasant, how she screams,

  For her brains they’re a-jelling.

  Surely she will try to hide

  Underneath the mountain,

  Or deep in the forest hence

  While Agnes is digestin’.

  Bring me flesh, and bring me brains.

  Bring me Zombies hither.

  Thou and I will see them dine;

  They even bite through leather.

  Free and screaming, forth they went,

  Zombies right behind them,

  Through the poor souls’ wild lament.

  Bitter brains are better.

  HAVE YOURSELF A MEDULLA OBLONGATA

  Sung to the tune of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”

  Have yourself a medulla oblongata!

  Let’s eat something light.

  Have you tried,

  The hippocampus? It’s out of sight!

  Have yourself a medulla oblongata!

  Make the Yuletide gray,

  From now on,

  We’ll just eat frontal lobes all day.

  Here we are as in undead days,

  Happy golden days of gore.

  Flesh and brains are what’s dear to us,

  So let’s eat some up, once more.

  Through the screams,

  We all will eat together,

  If the brains allow,

  Hang a hypothalamus upon the highest bough,

  And have yourself a medulla oblongata now.

  HERE COMES ZOMBIE CLAUS

  Sung to the tune of “Here Comes Santa Claus”

  Here comes Zombie Claus, here comes Zombie Claus,