by Jeff Strand
"I said put down your weapon!" repeated the man behind Stanley, who was hopefully packing heat. Several doors opened and various people peeked out, but quickly pulled back as they saw what was happening.
Charlie pulled off his baseball cap, revealing his bald head. "And I had to look at my six-year-old and tell him, no, the doctors aren't going to bring Daddy back. And he promised me that they would. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and told me that everything was going to be okay."
"Listen to me, Charlie. I feel bad for you, I really do. But if you shoot me and I'm not a zombie, then you'll become a murderer. Six-year-olds with murderer parents have a shitty social life."
"He needs to know that it's a lie."
"It's not a lie. Which means that you'll look like a jackass when I get back up. Your son won't be impressed. So just put the gun down, let me prove my deadness, and let's be friends, okay?"
Charlie pointed the gun away from Stanley. Stanley's momentary sense of relief vanished as Charlie pressed the barrel to his own head.
"Aw, Charlie, no, don't do that," Stanley insisted. "C'mon, man, there's no reason to give up. I know that life sucks sometimes, like it did for me after I sent those women away, but killing yourself is not the answer. Let's go somewhere and have a beer, just you and me, what do you say?"
"I say, see you in hell."
"Okay, wait, wait." Stanley turned around and glanced at the two security guards who were behind him, guns raised. "You guys leave us alone. I'll take care of this."
"We can't do that."
"Fuck off, rent-a-cops, or I'll sue this crappy hotel!"
The security guards exchanged a concerned look, and then simultaneously shook their heads.
"Then could you lower your guns at least?"
After a bit of hesitation, the security guards lowered their weapons. Stanley turned back to Charlie. "All right, Charlie, we're going to play a game. I want you to name five reasons that you're grateful to be alive."
"Are you kidding me?"
"No. Give me five reasons."
Charlie just stared at him.
"I'll give you two. You've got a son who loves you, and you have a really snazzy baseball cap. Now all you need is three more. Let's hear them."
"I have nothing!"
"Do you have a dog?"
"No."
"I'll buy you one if you put the gun down."
Charlie's finger tightened on the trigger.
"No, no, don't kill yourself yet! Charlie, listen, I'll make you a deal. I don't want to get shot, but I'd rather have you shoot me than shoot yourself. So if you promise not to shoot yourself afterward, you can shoot me. Deal?"
"Huh?"
Stanley pulled open his shirt again. "Right here in the chest. Let me have it."
"Are you serious?"
"Totally serious. Shoot me in the chest. It's okay."
Charlie slowly removed the gun from his head and pointed it at Stanley's chest. Stanley gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and tried to make his left eye stop twitching.
"I..."
"You can't do it? No problem. Nobody will think less of you. Now let's go get that--"
"I'm sorry."
Charlie pulled the trigger. The bullet knocked Stanley off his feet. Fiery pain tore through his chest as he struck the carpeted floor.
The security guards rushed forward as Charlie dropped the gun. They immediately subdued him, smashing him against the wall.
"You asshole!" Stanley shouted. "You weren't really supposed to shoot me! That was a goodwill gesture! Shit!"
Stanley got to his feet, rubbing his chest. It hurt a hell of a lot worse than the last time, probably because he'd been shot at much closer range, and he felt dizzy and sick to his stomach.
Charlie looked over at him. "You...you're..."
"Yeah, I'm alive, dipshit! You know why? Because I'm a goddamn zombie!"
Fresh tears began to stream down Charlie's face as the security guards wrenched his hands behind his back. "You're a miracle!"
"No shit!" Stanley stumbled and fell back onto the floor. He was pretty sure the bullet had shattered his solar plexus, and he was pretty sure that wasn't a good thing.
"Don't worry, Stanley Dabernath!" Charlie shouted. "I believe in your miracle, and I'm going to make sure the whole world believes in you!"
Stanley's vision faded to black.
* * *
Stanley awoke in his hotel room bed. Veronica, Martin, and Brant were there, as was Dr. Arnzin, who was currently hovering over him and prodding him with a small metal thingie.
"Ow," said Stanley.
"Oh, good, you're awake," said Dr. Arnzin. "How do you feel?"
"Not delightful. What is that thing?"
"This? I use it to prod people." Dr. Arnzin set the metal thingie aside. "So you got yourself shot again, huh?"
"Yeah."
"You'll be fine, but there was serious bone damage, and this one will take a while to heal. You'll have to be off your feet for a while."
"What happened to Charlie?"
"Who?"
"Charlie. The guy who shot me."
"They took him away," said Brant. "He was a lunatic."
"Yeah, but...yeah, he was."
"It looks like it was a rather busy night for you. How were the two tramps you lured back here?"
Stanley glanced over at Veronica to gauge her reaction. Was it jealousy or disgust? Looked more like disgust.
"We didn't do anything. I sent them away."
"Really? I just assumed you were very quick about it."
"Bite me."
Brant chuckled. "If you are able to find women of questionable sanity who are willing to give up their bodies, more power to you, I say. The benefits of celebrity are quite plentiful."
"How about you go someplace else? Anyplace else. Just someplace that isn't here."
"With pleasure. Fix him up nicely, Doctor." Brant nodded politely and walked out of the room.
"I'm sorry," Stanley told Veronica.
"For what?"
"You know. For the girls."
Veronica seemed genuinely confused. "Why would you apologize for that?"
"I'm...not sure."
"I can't stop you from having sex, Stanley."
"I didn't, though. I sent them away."
"Uh-huh."
"I did!"
"Oh, I'm sure you did. I'm sure you didn't say anything crude, sexist, adolescent, or disgusting that scared them off."
"I didn't!"
"Uh-huh."
"Veronica, look at me! Do you think that the kind of woman who would sleep with me is going to have problems with a disgusting comment?"
"Then why did they leave?"
"I told you, I sent them away."
"Why would you do a silly thing like that?"
"Because...because I realized that I didn't love either of them, and that I couldn't be intimate with somebody I didn't truly care for."
Veronica smacked the side of her head. "Wow! My bullshit detector just exploded!"
"Do you think so little of me that you believe I'd just pick up a couple of skanks in a hotel bar?"
"Stanley, honey, I adore you, but a three-dollar hooker wouldn't surprise me. Try not to pick up any of those, though. It's bad press."
"Those women were all over me. Right here on this bed. They could be mounting me at this very moment, and yet I cast them out. That's the kind of morally upright individual I am."
Veronica winked at him. "Then why were they in your room in the first place?"
"Conversation."
"Uh-huh. I'm gonna let Dr. Arnzin fix you up. Get some sleep and we'll head back to the bunker first thing in the morning."
She ruffled his hair and left the room. Martin sat down next to the bed. "How the hell did you get two girls at once?"
"I didn't. I sent them away."
"Why would you do something like that?"
"I don't know! I was in a weird mental place!"
&n
bsp; "But how did you do it? No offense, sir, but you're a living corpse! I wore my best green shirt and I didn't get diddly!"
"Maybe it's your approach. Did you actually use the word diddly?"
"I'm going to bed. I can't believe you got two women."
"I sent them away!"
Martin shook his head and left the room.
"I sent them away," said Stanley to Dr. Arnzin. "You believe me, don't you?"
"Of course I do," said Dr. Arnzin, patting Stanley's shoulder reassuringly.
"Thank you."
"Anyway, you really should get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day for you, what with me setting those shattered bones and digging out another bullet."
"It's going to hurt, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes."
* * *
It did.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Mr. Corpse Celebrates Birthday in Style"
It was a birthday bash to remember as Mr. Corpse celebrated his thirty-sixth birthday yesterday! (No word on whether or not his birthday was prorated to make up for the time he was dead!)
* * *
"Congratulations, Stanley," said Veronica. "Our accountant tells me that you're a millionaire."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Well, let's go buy some shit!"
* * *
"Violence Erupts In Toy Store"
Collectors in Bridgewater, New Jersey awaiting the 12:01 AM sale date of the official Mr. Corpse action figure (a special limited edition of only 750,000 units), some of whom had been waiting for up to 48 hours beforehand, were less than happy when the promised shipment of figures did not arrive. Eight collectors and one employee were injured in the ensuing riot.
* * *
"Here you go," said Dr. Arnzin, handing Stanley a small plastic container. "That's one week's worth of injections. You're sure you can handle them by yourself?"
"You've watched me do them for the past three days. I think I can handle poking myself with a needle."
"Just don't forget them."
"I'm not going to forget them."
"Once a day."
"I know."
"Never twice."
"I promise."
* * *
"Mr. Corpse and Mrs. Sunset A Couple?"
RUMOR PATROL! It seems that Mr. Corpse and Hollywood's newest A-lister, Tamara Kato, might be an item! The Oscar-winning star of Mrs. Sunset was spotted getting snuggly with Mr. Corpse at the premiere party for the new Jennifer Aniston flick! Reps for both insist that they're "just good friends."
* * *
"Mr. Corpse! Can I get your autograph?"
Stanley glanced over at the college kid. "Can I finish peeing first?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course! I can't believe I'm actually talking to you! My friends aren't gonna believe this! Are you done?"
"Getting there."
"Sorry, I've just never met a real celebrity! It's true what they say, I guess, about how you can't come to Los Angeles without seeing a star. This is so cool."
"What would you like me to sign?"
"Oh, um, could you sign my arm?"
"Do you have something to write with?"
"No. Don't you?"
"No. I just came in here to take a piss."
"I'm sure my girlfriend has a pen. Wait here and I'll go get it."
"How about I hang out someplace besides the men's room?"
"Oh, right, of course, of course. Do you want to meet my girlfriend? You could sign her arm, too!"
"Sure."
"Let's go." The kid pushed open the bathroom door and gestured for Stanley to pass. "After you."
"Did you notice that you washed your hands, but then you went ahead and touched the doorknob, which is covered with the residue of a million unwashed hands that touched a million unwashed dicks?"
"Excuse me?"
"I was just kidding."
"My girlfriend's sitting over there. Tracy! Look who I met in the bathroom!"
Tracy shrieked in terror.
* * *
"Mr. Corpse Refused Service"
New York's legendary Baird's Deli apparently doesn't think The Amazing Mr. Corpse is all that amazing! He was refused service this past weekend, and though Mr. Corpse protested, apparently he went home without getting to sample one of the world-famous Baird Burgers!
"I was just concerned about disease," said Roger Baird. "In our thirty-two year history we've passed every single inspection with flying colors, and I just thought that a dead body in the restaurant might be a health code violation. It was nothing personal against Mr. Dabernath."
Mr. Corpse is reportedly planning to sue.
* * *
"Look, I'm still the #1 keyword search on Google," Stanley said, proudly.
"I was looking at some of your fan sites yesterday," said Veronica. "Maybe we should have you update your blog twice a day from now on."
"Nah, I can't type that fast. But take a look at this." Stanley typed in the URL for the new site he'd discovered, The Mr. Corpse Fraud Exposed. "It's a list of all the things that prove I'm really some dork in makeup."
"Wow, I didn't realize that your rot splotches were slightly different on Leno and Letterman."
"A website wouldn't lie."
"And legendary makeup artist Tom Savini was reportedly seen putting a box of Mr. Corpse masks in the trunk of his car."
"Kinda makes you think, doesn't it?"
* * *
"'Mr. Corpse: The Musical' An Off-Broadway Dud."
While Mr. Corpse remains the hot topic of discussion around the world, apparently theatre-goers don't want to see the musical. "Mr. Corpse: The Musical," which was licensed by Stanley Dabernath but produced without his direct involvement, had a strong opening night but faded fast as critics savaged it as perhaps the worst of the season. Critics cited weak acting, insipid songs, and the generally rushed nature of the production as reasons for its failure. The musical will close on Sunday, one week after it opened.
* * *
* * *
"Mr. Corpse Not Dead Again"
A widely circulated news story about Mr. Corpse dying again turned out to be satirical. "Mr. Corpse did not, in fact, die of a broken heart," said Tyler Williams, editor of the mock news site The Weekly Plum. "It was a joke. Readers should perhaps be a bit more discerning." Other news stories currently on the site include "Dumb-Ass Hurricane Victim Believed God Would Save Him" and "Weapons of Mass Destruction Found in Olsen Twins' Panties."
* * *
Hey you zit-laden twerp, this is Mr. Corpse himself! How's the view from your mom's basement? I'm glad you're all nice and comfy talking trash about me online (but learn to spell, dipshit) but if we met in person you'd wet yourself, then soil yourself, then start blubbering like a big fat baby, and then soil yourself once more because you're so full of shit that you could handle sixteen or seventeen defecation sessions in a manner of minutes. Go out and get laid, dude! Or at least discover the joys of self-love, if you can lift your fat gut out of the way long enough to tug your wiener. Get a fuckin' life, you pathetic reprehensible
sweaty smelly grotesque appalling ignorant morbidly obese sexually confused uni-browed dullard!
"Don't post that," said Veronica.
"Why not?" asked Stanley with mock innocence. "He shouldn't have friended me on Facebook if he doesn't want to hear my opinion."
"I'll kill you if you do."
"Can I post on his wall if I lower it to twelve or thirteen defecation sessions?"
"No."
"Meanie."
* * *
Cheers!
...to Mr. Corpse for his clever presentation at the MTV Movie Awards! Mr. Corpse, who gave out the award for "Best Death Scene," did his presentation while being digitally inserted into clips from classic zombie films. Our favorite moment: Mr. Corpse's hilariously out-of-step dance with the ghouls in Michael Jackson's "Thriller."
* * *
"Stop struggling, bitch!"
Henry Sweet smacked the girl across the face as hard as he could. It took a lot to make him angry these days, but her bite had done it. He raised the bloody hatchet as if he were going to bring it down upon her skull.
She cringed and whimpered.
"If I have to kill you, I'll be really annoyed, but I'll do it. Believe me, I'll do it." She'd bitten the hand he used to play guitar and drawn blood. Damn. This job just got worse and worse all the time. "Now do you want me to chop your head in half, or do you want to behave and live a while longer? Nod for the head chop and shake your head for living a while longer."
