“She has the right to make her own choice to live or die,” says one dummy about another who wants to suicide, but then how come the poor kid they drag 18 miles out to basically execute doesn’t get to decide if he lives or dies? “No, silly,” she and Rick and Shane and et al would say, “I meant I get to decide when you get to decide.” Ha!–careful, Superman, he who lives by the knife will die by the knife– your own, infected knife. But if it’s any consolation the two dead, biteless cop-walkers probably foreshadow that when you die, no matter how you die, you become a walker. Now suddenly killing people, or yourself, doesn’t seem like such a fundamental right.
And yet still they do not call them zombies.