You could argue that with televisions in the house there would be a large amount of zombies inside. You walk in and hear the faint echo of reality shows, like the ghost of time long forgotten in an apocalypse. That sound of Jersey Shore is replaced by a groan, and the licking of lips, as a meal has wandered into their den. You grab your axe, it has no durability. The last thing you see is teeth, and a long forgotten teen idol, before you join the horde.