The world’s final human survivor, 28-year-old Paul Branson, awoke yesterday to find his good name shredded—not by claws or teeth—but by what sources describe as “a relentless wave of undead chatter.”
According to eyewitness accounts (cardboard cutouts of Ryan Reynolds), hundreds of reanimated corpses gathered outside Branson’s fortified Costco shelter murmuring accusations that he “wasn’t even that great of a survivor.” The horde’s gossip reportedly began after one zombie discovered an old Instagram post of Branson allegedly “panic-buying kombucha” during the early days of the outbreak.
Branson, visibly exhausted and clutching a spiked hockey stick, denied allegations that he “ghosted civilization” or that he was “unapologetically hiding fresh meat.” “I spent years scavenging, and organizing tin cans by expiration date,” he said through the PA system. “But one rumor that I microwaved a squirrel and suddenly I’m canceled?”
Undead sociologist Dr. Mina Gorewitz explains post-apocalyptic reputational collapse is at an all-time high. “In a world without Wi-Fi, gossip spreads purely through groaning,” saying, “It’s surprisingly efficient—it travels faster than 5G.”
The zombies have since launched a viral campaign under the hashtag #BrainsForTruth, demanding Branson “apologize for breathing privileges.” Meanwhile, anthropologists predict the incident may mark the dawn of a new undead civilization: one built on hearsay, envy, and the occasional dismembered arm.