Everyone with the world's most ordinary bookshelf knows that Sun Tzu said, "Those who use fire to assist their attacks are intelligent." Forget that. Intelligence is for the ancient Chinese. We're not trying to outmaneuver Cao Cao's archers in a wheat field. We're talking about zombies -- slow, moaning, American zombies, where the smarter you act, the shittier your apocalypse is going to be.
When a swarm of undead is approaching, don't lob a Molotov cocktail into them. It takes a well-engulfed body about 15 minutes to burn, and that is a lot of time for a motivated zombie to touch flammable things with its flaming claws. All you did was make dozens of zombies way tougher and invent a smell so horrible, you will die while your nose tries to describe it to your brain. Instead of throwing that Molotov cocktail, you're better off swallowing it and using the liquor to inspire an all-new, totally sweet plan. Try to remember this: A genius throws a Molotov cocktail and soon realizes that he's going to die choking in a maze of smoke and flame. A hero drinks a Molotov cocktail and soon realizes that if he does a split in midair, he can hit twice as many zombies per kick. Drunk hero wins again, wusses.
Not using fire is probably pointless advice, since the number of stoves left on rises dramatically with the number of zombies punching through kitchen windows. Plus, your county's fire department will be spread thinly across the gaping mouths of its former community supporters. My point is, everything might already be on fire. So go crazy, I guess.
When the dead start reanimating, your first few words are mostly going to be shrieks. But after you catch your breath, you're going to be tempted to ask what could have caused it all. Was it mutated rabies? Was God cranky about gay marriage? Was a space meteor cranky about regular marriage? Oh, if only we could capture one of these ... these ... let's call them "bite-walking corpse monsters," we could learn from them! Understand them! Maybe find a cure!
All the other survivors hate you so much right now.
Nobody really cares where the undead came from. In fact, we'd rather not be reminded about how retarded and impossible all of this is. I get that it's weird how they breathe or why they crave only our flesh, but they are banging on the windows and you are really being an asshole.
If you're an ordinary kind of nerd, you've probably already picked a nice shopping center in which to safely wait out the zombie apocalypse. There are a couple of problems with that plan. First, your wildest post-apocalyptic fantasy involves you cowering in a mall? You deserve the second problem with your plan: the rapists who thought of coming to the mall shortly after you. The theme of every zombie film, book and TV show is that humans are the real monsters, because a doorknob will keep the undead away, but there is no escape from the evil in men's hearts. I wish that wasn't true, but I was outvoted when writers all agreed to be pussies.
You're going to hate yourself if you miss the entire apocalypse while you're in a mall figuring out how to add lubricated holes to mannequins. If you're one step more clever, you could try heading for a cruise ship. There is food, safety, no possible zomb- hold on a second. You want to spend the rest of your days dying slowly on a cruise ship? What are you, a ventriloquist? I'm starting to think you're just using this zombie crisis as an excuse to sleep with puppets.
Let's say your terribly unawesome plans work out and you've found a luxury liner where you can restart human society. Is that level of responsibility any less terrifying than fighting zombies? You have to create an entirely new government, judicial system and currency. And any scientist with a chimpanzee will tell you that the first thing any society does with currency is give it to the women for sex. So soon your precious safe place away from the kickass zombie war has turned into a never-ending boat party with whores and sex puppets. Actually, wait, I think I might have just talked myself into this one.