Brunch
Predator Press
[Zombie Mr Insanity]
I knock three times.
No answer.
I raise my arm to knock again, and I can hear sounds behind the door.
“What?” says a voice.
“LOBO?” I says.
“Maybe.”
“It’s me, Seth.”
“Who?
“You know, Mr Insanity?”
“I thought you were dead or something.”
“Oh heavens no!” I says chucking. “It was all a big prank. Now let me in so I can tell you all the details and eat your brains.”
“Well,” says LOBO. “I’m running late. I’m supposed to meet my brother at the gun range. Why don’t you meet us there?”
I scratch my chin, thinking, and a slab of flesh falls of. “I lost my car to probate. Can I ride with you guys?”
“Well that depends,” says LOBO. “Was that a chunk of rotting flesh I just heard hit the floor?”
Kicking the maggot-riddled swatch deftly away, I reply, “No. Of course not.”
“Was that the sound of you kicking away a chunk of rotting flesh and 131 maggots?” says LOBO.
“Oh all right,” I concede. “You got me.”
“I really don’t want all that crap falling off in my car.”
“So it’s 20 degrees, and you want me to walk eight miles,” I says, recapping.
“Hey, Fred or whatever,” says LOBO. “It’s a rental. I can’t even smoke in the fucking thing. Quit being such a pussy about it. It’s not like I’m asking you to pick up ammo and donuts something.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I’m an asshole? You’ll be walking right by Kmart!”
"So?"
"Ammo and donuts make my brains tastier," he replies.
"Really?"
"And coffee makes them taste like hickory-smoked barbequed ribs."
[Zombie Mr Insanity]
I knock three times.
No answer.
I raise my arm to knock again, and I can hear sounds behind the door.
“What?” says a voice.
“LOBO?” I says.
“Maybe.”
“It’s me, Seth.”
“Who?
“You know, Mr Insanity?”
“I thought you were dead or something.”
“Oh heavens no!” I says chucking. “It was all a big prank. Now let me in so I can tell you all the details and eat your brains.”
“Well,” says LOBO. “I’m running late. I’m supposed to meet my brother at the gun range. Why don’t you meet us there?”
I scratch my chin, thinking, and a slab of flesh falls of. “I lost my car to probate. Can I ride with you guys?”
“Well that depends,” says LOBO. “Was that a chunk of rotting flesh I just heard hit the floor?”
Kicking the maggot-riddled swatch deftly away, I reply, “No. Of course not.”
“Was that the sound of you kicking away a chunk of rotting flesh and 131 maggots?” says LOBO.
“Oh all right,” I concede. “You got me.”
“I really don’t want all that crap falling off in my car.”
“So it’s 20 degrees, and you want me to walk eight miles,” I says, recapping.
“Hey, Fred or whatever,” says LOBO. “It’s a rental. I can’t even smoke in the fucking thing. Quit being such a pussy about it. It’s not like I’m asking you to pick up ammo and donuts something.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I’m an asshole? You’ll be walking right by Kmart!”
"So?"
"Ammo and donuts make my brains tastier," he replies.
"Really?"
"And coffee makes them taste like hickory-smoked barbequed ribs."
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