This year I was looking for Zombie Christmas Stories and even came across a few books, filled with stories of the UnDead during this holiday season.  Even a Zombie Christmas cartoon, not very long but still good.

With all these zombie Christmas Stories I decided to write one of my own:

A Zombie before Christmas

By Hunter S. Zombie


T’was the night before Christmas and on the east side of town
Hunter S. Zombie was drunk and feeling a little down

I hadn’t won a Pulitzer and had no publishing deal
I was running low on weed and needed a tasty meal

As I sat to write a story, that would be, oh, so grand,
I was interrupted by…
A jolly, red, fat man?

“Why so glum?” The short Elf questioned.
“Yer trespassin’.” I said, reaching for my Smith and Wesson.

“I am Santa. “ He said.  "I mean you no harm.”
I cocked my pistol and replied, “I do! Now, leave before I rip your arm.”

He smoked his pipe and laughed, “What troubles you, Hunter?”
I lowered my pistol and sighed, “It’s been over a year and I still don’t have a publisher.”

“With this, I can help.” The happy Santa soothed.
It was then that I smelled his pipe and realized Santa was a cool, old dude.

“Smoke this.” He said, pulling the pipe from his mouth.
“It’s Blueberry Kush and It will keep you from going south.”

At first, I was hesitant, I didn’t want to jump right in.
Mainly because I didn’t know where Santa’s mouth had been.

I pulled the green from his pipe and stuffed it in my own.
With just a few puffs, This zombie was stoned.

“Your fears and worry will disappear.” Santa said.
Smiling with eyes so bloodshot red.

“How does this help me get published?”
I greedily asked.
“It won’t,” He said.
“But in a few minutes, you won’t give a rat’s ass.”

As I felt the herb start to take hold,
I dreamed of putting Santa in a grave, so very dark and so very cold.

“I should eat you, ya’ fat bastard!” I angrily snapped.
“I need an editor or an agent!”
But Santa just laughed.

“Don’t be discouraged, You’re doing your best.
Even Stephen King got a thousand ‘No’s’ before he got a ‘Yes.’”

He smiled at me with cheeks so red.
I snarled and snapped, pumping Santa full of lead.

I pulled the trigger, Till the chamber was empty
But he was still standing, still fat and still happy.

“You can’t kill me, Hunter.” Santa said without need.
“I’ve been UnDead for years, And now I have to leave.

“I must deliver presents for all the good children tonight.”
He turned to take off, but I kept him in sight.

I grabbed his thick coat and shoved him to the floor
“You’re not gypping me, You jezebel whore!”

I took his warm coat, his boots and his hat.
“Welcome to the Hood, Santa. You just got jacked.”

I threw him into the fireplace, and closed the metal gate.
Searing his chestnuts and changing his faith.

Santa bolted like a rocket, flying out the chimney.
“Next time bring a three-book contract when you come to see me!”

I sat back at my desk, Half baked and undead.
With a single thought, roaming in my head,

“If Christmas is a time for giving, Then Santa’s a cheap fuck.”
I put his clothes up on ebay, hoping to make a buck.

So this Christmas, as my manuscript collects dust,
I’ll think of Santa and how I should’ve eaten his guts.


Merry Fuckin’ Christmas!
-HSZ