Listen, that exhaustion excuse only goes so far. Adolescents left alone in a secure and relatively huge apartment that’s been otherwise abandoned during the zombie apocalypse are bound to find the liquor cabinet…locked. But that’s ok. These teens have been sharpening their skills by shattering supernatural skulls for a whole day! They’re tired (understandably). They’re under a fuck-ton of stress. They need to work off some of that steam which stems from performing and witnessing such violence. So of course they have the motivation and wherewithal to pry whatever natural contraption of man, be it an off-screen padlock or unguarded knob, that comes betwixt them and whatever might enable them to take leave of their immediate senses.
In episode six of High School of the Dead, protagonists are directed to a safe house by their absentminded nurse, Ms. Fun-Bags, only to find it the most secure spot in the entire series! It’s only been a day for the team, but it’s been five episodes chuck-full of non-stop undead aggression for viewers. Surely these kids deserve a respite from their rage against the recently resurrected. On the surface, this downtime comes as a communal bath, but what goes unsaid is the reason behind all their blushing cheeks.
Alcohol intensifies the dehydrating effects of hot baths (facial flushing included). This would explain why all the ladies of the group were walking around in a daze, just about falling over themselves (and in some instances onto each other) while almost subconsciously slurring their carnal desires in the general direction of any orifice that would hear them. In the kitchen making a sandwich? Obviously an invite for sex. Sobbing about your ex on the spiral stairway? What better way to say “seduce me now that my dead lover can’t.” After all, the men were standing guard, so the women could afford to let…loose.
It was only a matter of time, really. The downfall of civilization necessitates a return to primal nature, and who would better exemplify such voraciousness outside of the unnatural than those most prone to rampaging hormones? What better to slip the repressive constrictions of the conscious mind as to act on those impetuous compounds than a bit of the drink? I mean what’s to fear? It’s not like hitting the bottle is habit forming…
Looking back on it, it seemed like that’s when we all changed. We weren’t just running away anymore. We were attacking first…to survive. We didn’t question it. It just became instinct. And it became the only thing we knew
Hell, hitting the bottle is necessary! The above quote isn’t talking about zombies…. Well, actually it is, but it’s not only talking about zombies. In fact, that diatribe there is a thinly veiled metaphor for how liquor is an amnesic ambrosia which enables humans to forgive themselves for their otherwise un-stomach-able actions in order to keep doing them over and over and over again in the name of basic survival. And if drink, even if it’s only implied, can help humanity survive, that’s one hell of a great moment in drinking.
