Wait. You're going to drug me? Have we met?
I don't do boats and refuse to fly. You're going to have to come up with a different plan. Maybe a zombie biosphere?
You've confirmed my paranoia about people talking behind my back. Maybe it's not a paranoia?
No Bushes on my island.
If I don't have arms and legs, I'll use my chin, lips, and tongue, maybe my weener, to roll myself into the water. I will bob about and the tide will take me out into open water where I will be saved by a passing fishing boat. So as not to tip my zombie hand, I won't eat the fishers because they will be able to get me put on a big ship to get me home. Maybe pretend I have real bad sunburn or ocean flu. As soon as the doctor comes to check me out, I will hold my breath like I'm dying. The doctor will lean down to give me mouth-to-mouth and I will begin eating his face. Others will come to his aid. When an arm or leg gets within reach, I will bite it. All of a sudden I have a floating zombie island where I can cruise the world, spreading the disease. The first sign is turning ginger. Now THAT is a plot I can dig, sweet sugar plum blossom.
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