Zombiez! Read Online Free PDF

little too busy right
now. He looked down at the black box. It made him feel good that he
had this product and was therefore so cool.
    He thanked the formless clerk and turned
around. Directly in front of him, standing by a bench in the mall,
stood a pair of 6' tall brunette beauties, both holding black i5
boxes just like his. He smiled and made his way over there
immediately, fearful of disobeying the five second rule of
approaching broads.
    “Hey, are those reflective pants you're
wearing?” Danger mused at one of the hott babes.
    Nearby, a man in a red beret was also
smiling. Getting this douche to those woods was going to be almost too easy. Who knew you could hire actresses for this sort of
thing? Had they known this little subterfuge's ultimate purpose,
they would never have agreed to participate. But he'd put in a good
word for them when the time came. Perhaps they would die a quick
and merciful death, as opposed to a slow and merciless one? It was
probably better for them, as attractive girls, to die before old
age anyway, or so he assured himself, to make himself feel better
about the whole thing.

CRAZY LADY II
    Rose barely ever left the house in the five
months since she had ceased taking her pills. She had managed, in a
fleeting moment of fear-based lucidity, to drive to a nearby
grocery store and purchase every can of tuna they had. She filled
two shopping carts with hockey-puck-shaped fish-holders and wheeled
them right up to the checkout counter as if it was the most natural
thing in the world to be doing, using her dark sunglasses as armor
against lookie-loos who wondered what exactly she was up to. It
took eight whole minutes for the annoyed and weirded-out cashier to
scan all those cans, and Rose paid for them in $100 bills gleaned
from the still-formidable trust fund that was set up for her when
she was six years old.
    Rose's father, one of the few remaining
wealthy industrialists of the mid-to-late 20th century, hated girls
of all kinds. He married a handsome woman, and they had 10
beautiful children, none of which had male genitalia. All 10 of
them ended up being raised not by the wealthy industrialist and his
long-suffering and drug-addicted series of trophy wives, but rather
by young Republican infertile east coast couples who answered ads
in the Cape Cod News-Ledger. Don't worry, though, he totally set up
trust funds for his ten beautiful daughters before he renounced all
of his parental and marital rights and moved to an undisclosed
location in the Middle East with one third of his industrialist
gains.
    Rose's trust fund was still so formidable
because every time she used it she was reminded of the
unquestionable fact that her parents didn't love her. She went so
far as to let it sit untouched for 15 years as she struggled to
make ends meet as a single mom of an only child, supported by
nothing save her floundering medical supply business. It was a
tough time, and heck yes she wanted a cookie for it. She felt she
deserved thousands of cookies, thank you very much, for those
terrible years.
    Then her mental illness got worse, and out of
concern for her only son's obvious concern, she saw a doctor and
got the pills. Only recently had the boy discovered people (women)
worth loving outside the house, and that caused Rose to completely
unravel. She had done so much for him, and he repaid that kindness
by throwing himself at the first tootsie-pop that floated by. It
wasn't fair. She wanted cookies, and she got a bag of ungrateful
nothing. It made Rose so mad she could spit.
    So Rose had enough food to last her for quite
a while. That she managed to drive to the store successfully at all
was a small miracle; if that (now shrinking) part of her that
wanted to resume taking her pills every morning could talk, it
would have blamed the success on Rose's ever-vigilant army of
guardian angels.
    The clock on the wall behind Rose clicked its
approximation of seconds, as close as you could get to Greenwich
Mean Time