Proof of My Continued Existence (Sort Of), Vol. I.

To the emailer who recently asked if I'd "died" I have only this to say:

Yes! I died years ago, my friend. But the reanimated zombie-me forges on! Beware the flesh-eating undead me! Fear it (me)!

Also, hire it (me) for all your freelance writing needs. Or at least offer. Though zombie me will likely decline your offer (and politely, I might add) due to a proverbial plate overflowing with actual work responsibilities, it (me) will be most grateful for the offer and will wish for you to keep my/its zombie-card in your not-zombie-but-still-proverbial Rolodex for future opportunities. Also: I should forewarn you: sporadic fits of opportunistic flesh-eating might cause me to miss the occassional deadline. It's endemic to zombie creative professionals, I'm afraid. Choose between a paycheck and sweet, sweet brains? What's a undead man to do?

Thanks for your concern.