Night Of The Living Brain Dead
These brain dead zombies are proving to be a serious problem.
Here we are surrounded by tens of thousands of brain dead
zombies we assumed to be dead. Not so, those brain dead
zombies are coming to get us, coming to eat our brains.
Unreal, I see one out there, I know I cut his head off.
Damn if that brain dead zombie simply did not pick up his
bouncing head then plant it back on his shoulders.
Look at that crispy critter up and walking. Anniebonny fried
his butt, flamed him completely. The sucker goes down in flames,
just lies there smoldering, then, with great horror, back up
he pops like a Hollywood Boulevard flaming drag queen ready
for more delicious action.
Tex, damn it man, you must do better. Those twin Colt ivory
handled six shooters of yours are not doing the job. Here
comes that one from HSM, the one you plugged twelve times
knocking him down dead out on the street at high noon. The
boy is back up, dusting himself off and has a hungry look
in his dead eyes, a look of a wild yearning for brain pie.
Cripes, I certainly do not want to think about what is
popping up over on Boot Hill, certainly bound to be the
King of Brain Dead, Rufus, rallying his rotting flesh
brain dead zombies for another charge.
Boys and girls, we have a real problem here. Now I understand
what the calvary experienced when we Indians surrounded them
at Little Big Horn. Custer was blessed, though. We only wanted
to kill him. Those brain dead zombies out there are not out
to kill us, they want to eat our brains, they want to add us,
want to conscript us into the Rufus army of brain dead zombies.
This is not good at all. They live, they cannot be killed,
they are worse than a grade B flesh exploitation Hollywood
movie featuring has been cheerleaders from Santa Monica high.
We are surrounded by forty-thousand brain dead headmen.
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