You’ve just been bitten and abandoned by a zombie. You’ll develop flu-like symptoms, then you’ll pass out in a few weeks at most and then re-animate a few hours later. If you kill yourself, you’ll still reanimate, unless you destroy your brain.
What do you do?
What would you really do if you were really facing that situation?
What would you do if it was a loved one bitten instead of you?
Depends where I’ve been bitten. If it’s an extremity I might take the chance of a fast amputation and cauterization. It’s a wound on my torso I suppose I’d have to do the right thing as soon as I being to be symptomatic.
Things have been all right for me, except that I’m a zombie now - I really wish you’d let us in.
Back to the OP - I’d eat a shotgun, of course, but I’d make damned sure to tell my family and loved ones about this first, just in case I botched it and started wandering after I turned.
My whole life has always been a simple matter of “go with the flow,” so I’m going to see what happens.
People only think zombies (and becoming one) are bad because we can only see it from our side. Who knows? Maybe being a zombie is freakin’ awesome. Why not find out? I mean, worst case scenario, my conscious self dies and my corpse goes walkin’ around eating people, at which point, what the hell do I care? Same difference as being in the ground as far as my dead, rotting ass is concerned.
I’d get a big white T-shirt and a can of dayglow orange spray paint. I’d paint a very stylish “Z” on the shirt. Then I’d shave my head and paint my arms and head. I’d get completely naked but for the T-shirt and start drinking lots of daiquiris in a downtown bar.
It won’t help, but if you see me you’ll say, “Hey look! That must be Inigo from the SDMB! Let’s not have drinks with him today.”
This made me think … any bets on how long from the start of a zombie apocalypse to somebody starting to print t-shirts that say, in very small print: “If you can read this, I’m just about to eat your brains.”?
I’d go on a round-the-world shopping spree and max out every single one of my credit cards. I would buy presents for everybody I care about and ship them with “I love you” letters and pictures showing how much fun I was having partying like a rock star.
Once the flu-like symptoms started, I’d get a suite in the fanciest high-rise hotel in the city and have room service bring me a big ol’ glass of Grand Marnier on the rocks with lemon. After a nice relaxing bubble bath with candles and Billie Holiday, I’d swallow some sleeping pills and “accidentally” fall out of the window, bashing the zombie brain to bits.