User:JN/Sandbox
Reflections on Barhah and Drunkenness: By Birra Moretti, in a Rare Moment of Relative Sobriety
Barhah is much like stupefying oneself with a bottle of fine brandy, and I should know. You take a snifter, and then another: you're in a close circle of friends, who are roaring with laughter at some absurd story of yours. The warmth of the brandy and your company fills you with spirit, and that fulsome little débutante in the corner seems to have a deliciously improper expression in the corner of her eye. You pour a few glasses more, and find yourself dancing a jig in formation, wondering where your trousers went. Deciding to polish off the bottle, you notice that that the dignified gentleman in the corner is giving you a disapproving glance, upon which you sink your teeth into his polished skull and are forcibly restrained by several of your own footmen. We have all had this experience.
In my capacity as a zombie linguist, I have never once hear the word uttered by an isolated zombie. This is telling. Barhah is collective, much like one's drunken anecdote. It brings zombies together, filling us with that sense of community. It is innocent, juvenile, and animalistic, much like one's trouserless dancing. It should be noted that the zombies who speak of Barhah are often the most humorous and absurd of their ilk. Indeed, they act whimsically against the dictates of fatigue and functionality, only wishing to share their joy. And, much like one's attempted cranial mastication, it has it's bloodier, more violent aspect. It is a Bacchanalian revel.
Barhah is childlike, like the 'threatening' undead that constitute a goodly portion of our fair city. They have no cares: they don't have to wake up at ungodly hours to check the stock ticker, they don't have to manage their unruly serving girls, and they don't have to write letters of complaint to the local rag about public footpaths incurring upon private land. They don't even have to breathe, eat, or worry about mortality. A state to be envied, indeed; but more than this, a state to be shared. The proponents of Barhah want only to share their bliss with the unfortunate living. When every building in Malton is ruined and every cruel syringe has been emptied, the grim survivors will know what Adam and Eve knew in earthly paradise: innocence and bliss.
Yes, Barhah has its darker side, much as a child or drunkard is capable of terrible cruelty. Though we drag our claws with black abandon through the flesh of the living, think of the end, not the means. The end is peace, perfect peace. We are the evangelists of this eternal peace, which nostalgia can only simulate, and none shall forego our baptism of fire. Come, we welcome you with arms outstretched!
The débutante? I apologise, she was entirely irrelevant. But she was also absolutely delectable.
--JN 06:41, 14 July 2010 (BST)
