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True Tales of Zoofights: Fast Food Reanimation

Good evening, wager-makers. Do not adjust your internet.

Something is still rumbling and uncertain in the ZooFights universe. Of worse to come than this.

So consider this for your entertainment.

An East London crater on the banks of the River Lee. The Olympic Stadium was stood here, proud and expensive. Then, across the continent, there was a realisation, an understanding, a moment of popular clarity signposted by a cracking in the sky.

It was a poor joke to hold sporting tournaments*, pageants, elections, song contests and poetry slams while people starved or rioted in the streets because of the mess our rulers had made. The Eurozone collapse became a tangible, physical occurrence that sucked these totems to the ground. All real estate worth more than a bottle of Jaegermeister and painkillers was dragged into the bowels of the Earth.

The aftermath left just lavic rock and rejoicing citizens. The grass around the spot where once was Shoreditch still burns and casts ashen embers across the crater, our arena, when the wind picks up.

Here, in this bowl where life cannot grow, two undead monsters, reborn by the gloves of the damned will show us all what a contest should be.

One smells of mustard, one smells of mustard gas. One comes with fries, one comes with freeze. One is finished with relish, one relishes the Finnish.

To one side of you a South American fast food delivery hover-truck will arrive. Please do not approach it, no matter how tempted you may be for a Banebaraburrito (TM). Please do pay attention to the livery marked “Alerto!” and “Fuego!”, they are there as a reminder that safety comes first for all those who have money in their fists to gamble with.

To the other side, the spectre of the White Army, haggard and dull-eyed shall approach. Please do not address them or offer them any succour, they have survived a harsher winter and a harder proletariat than that which we can offer. They will be dragging with them a high caravan of tarpaulin emblazoned with gold stars and eldritch runes.

Get ready to bet your life or your shoes, whichever is worth more. We give you:


A zombie mammoth risen from its icy tomb of the steppe, the pet of a crazed monk, held together by wood, nails, and the determination of the fading Russian aristocracy against all those upstarts in Pasternak's novels and their sooty, sweaty ways.

From the vats of an Argentina yet to come, at least 200 years and 400 presidents from now, a megatherium made of tech-noir engineering, trans fats and beef chuck (no more than 12.9% cow eyelids). It does not come with a free toy or a colouring-in page. Unless you consider death a play-thing and pain to be your crayons.

So, please, consider, for your entertainment, both beasts as per their original incarnations outlined in ZooFights III & IV.

Allow me to demonstrate by means of daredevil silhouette:

Pro: Will not stop, not like those wimpy humans at the palace who gave up when they died
Con: Slow enough to risk being taken over by another ice age
Pro: The stern will of a Russian soldier in a Russian winter
Con: Bits may fall off
Pro: Those tusks are harder than rock
Con: Those tusks are heavy
Pro: Technically a zombie cannot be killed by puncture wounds, organ damage or any of the lamer cast of The Walking Dead
Con: Technically a zombie is utterly Ratners as a combatant on its own unless in a Danny Boyle movie...

Pro: Will not stop, except to promote Burgertherium branded goods
Con: Being a sloth, nearly as slow as a zombie mammoth
Pro: Tastes like aged steak
Con: Smells like aged kebab
Pro: Has the stopping power and foot-pound strength of a 20ft Terminator
Con: Has the unevolved mind of a prehistoric Arnold Schwarzenegger
Pro: Potentially has all the grace and movement of Maradonna in a tango salon
Con: Potentially has all the grace and movement of Maradonna on a coke and ice cream binge

Reader Comments (1)

interesting posts - looks like healthy is back in...!

June 25, 2012 | Unregistered Commenterlammy

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