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Hello... My Name is Rob

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Skippykelly



Joined: 08 Oct 2008
Posts: 933
Location: Eugene, Oregon
Hello... My Name is Rob  Reply with quote  

What the fuck?.” Rob mumbled. “Something stinks.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his head, trying to remember where he was and what happened the night before. “Oh no…”
He remembered Ann, he remembered the paper convention, and he definitely remembered launching himself off the balcony at his hotel and squashing the life out of a yippy little Pomeranian, but what he couldn’t figure out is how he lived through it, and where the hell he was. He tried to sit up to take a look around but found that as hard as he tried, he couldn’t move very well. Most likely this was because he was on a slab, in a cold chamber of the morgue of the local hospital and as everyone who’s stayed at a Japanese capsule hotel knows, there’s not a lot of space for much other than lying on your back in a rigid manner and possibly rubbing one out with the curtains closed.
Not one to be quiet, Rob was making a considerable amount of noise which was noticed immediately by the young, very attractive, female intern, wearing a very provocative set of scrubs (it just wouldn’t be a good zombie story without a lot of really attractive, loin inspiring, sexkittens…). And since it was cold in the morgue (as morgues tend to be) she was showing just a bit more nipple than usual and was guts deep in a 55 year old gunshot victim’s skull when she heard a muffled “What the fuck???” coming from one of the cold chambers. Having been to medical school, she was well aware that corpses usually don’t vocalize anything let alone profanities, and was therefore in a mild state of shock when Rob kicked open the door on the chamber, rolled out, sat up, shuffled over to her and said “NNnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeedddddd Brrrraaaaaaiiinnns.”
Now, he intended to ask the first person he met if it’s standard procedure to just toss a suicide attempt patient onto a cold ass slab in a dark box and ignore his cries for help, but when he took his first sniff of air outside the box, he detected a strange alluring odor. One that made him hungry – ravenous really. At first he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but as he shuffled around the room and got closer to the really attractive intern standing over a dead guy with what looked like an ice cream scoop in her hand, the smell grew stronger. He bent over and sniffed again. It was the dead guy. More specifically it was the spongey grey matter in the dead guy’s head. He looked at the intern and attempted to ask her if she was going to eat those, or if he could have them. But all he was able to get out was “Whhheeeeerrrrrrremmmmmm Brrrraaaaiiinnns.”
Apparently “Brains” is the trigger mechanism for young attractive interns which compels them to scream at the top of their lungs and sprint in terror from the room because that’s exactly what she did. Rob looked around. He was alone. He looked down at the dead guy’s brains and sniffed again, thinking to himself; “I remember these being more gross.” He reached down and poked them getting a little on his finger. Looking around like an eight year old with a booger, he slipped his finger in his mouth. “Hmmm, kinda spicy” He thought. “Sweet with a hint of curry. Would go really well with a Pinot Noir.”
He looked around the room for that ice cream scoop the intern had earlier and spied it on the floor. “Perfect” He mumbled and dug in with gusto.
After his meal, he took in his surroundings. Having watched enough CSI Miami, he knew he was in a morgue. It didn’t really occur to him that he was dead – or undead as it were. He shuffled toward the door to find someone who might be able to tell him why they put him in the morgue when the intern poked her hear through the door and quickly back out again.

“He’s still in there” He heard her whisper.
“You’re sure he was dead when you put him on the slab?” He heard another voice ask.
“Um, yeah. He wasn’t breathing, he had no pulse, and his internal temperature was 74 degrees, but I’d say the clincher was the fact that his head was split wide open and had a Pomeranian stuck in it.” She replied sarcastically.
Rob was now standing in the middle of the room listening to the conversation and watching the door, wondering what would happen next as he mulled over what he was hearing. Another head came through the door, looked at him, looked at the dead guy, looked back at him and quickly closed the door.
“I think he ate Mr. Contarini’s brain.” Said Mr. New Head.
“You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding. That’s just sick.”
“Well, you didn’t take the brain out yet right?” Replied Mr. New Head
“No.” Said Ms Intern the Sexkitten.
“Well, it’s gone now.” Said Mr. New Head
“Brains” Mumbled Rob.
Both heads now poked through the door. “Excuse me, but did you eat Mr Contarini’s brain?” Asked Mr. New Head.
In an attempt to answer, Rob found himself unable to articulate properly. He wanted to explain himself and ask what was going on, but found that his ability to control his speech was still not what it needed to be, which was a very frustrating condition to have.
“Eat brains?” was all he could get out.
“Yes…did…you…eat…Mr.… Contarini’s…brain?” Mr. New Head asked in a loud slow voice, as though he was talking to someone who can’t speak English which really never works since most people can hear just fine, it’s usually the language barrier that’s the problem.
Rob looked at new head thinking the guy was a douchenozzle. Clearly there wasn’t anything wrong with his hearing; it was his mouth and his ability to make it work properly. He started to think that maybe they gave him some really good drugs because he had all the crappy side effects of lost coordination and inability to speak clearly. It also occurred to him that the fall he took might also have contributed to his overall physical condition.
“Yes… brains.” He answered. Great, now he could say all of three words. At this rate it would only take maybe infinity more years before he would be able to reclaim the mastery of the English language that served him so well in matters of love and business.
Ms Intern the Sexkitten and Mr. New Head left.
“The guy’s a fucking zombie Joe.” He heard Ms Intern the Sexkitten say. Good to know Rob thought. Mr. New Head’s name is Joe.
“Come on Megan. A Zombie? I mean, I’ve seen the movies too, but they’re just movies. There’s no zombies in real life. Don’t you think we would have heard about them by now? I mean we went to medical school for Christ’s sake, I think that’s something they might have addressed.” He replied.
‘One, he was dead, now, not so dead. Two, he ATE BRAINS. Nuff said.” She replied.
Rob started to think; maybe she’s right. I think I remember dying. I’m sure I remember the Pomeranian. I did just eat brains… He reached up to scratch his head and felt a hunk of fur. Ok, so what if I am a zombie? I mean, worse things could happen, right? I could have been a necrophiliac chicken gizzard remover at Foster Farms with a penchant for bestiality…
As Rob was coming to grips with what he was, and taking it fairly well, the medical staff was gathering outside the morgue. The word had made it around the hospital that they had what could only be described as a bone fide case of zombism right there in their own hospital. The chief of medicine, a driven woman by nature saw this as the break her hospital needed. Visions of research grants danced in her head as she mentally spent the money that was sure to follow. If she played this right, she would get the new wing dedicated to transsexual organ transplants and the psychological effects psychotropic drugs have on earthworms she always wanted.
The general consensus was that since the intern had the longest relationship with the zombie, and since everyone knew that the undead and homicidal maniacs in general were partial to hot young interns in provocative scrubs, and that since she was an intern she was the most expendable out of the group, that Megan was to go in and try to subdue the zombie. Megan was not really all that hot on the idea because she was attached to her brain and had made a significant investment in it that she was paying off for the next forty years, but accepted the tranquilizer gun offered to her, set her jaw in an attempt at grim determination and opened the door.
Megan stepped into the room leveled the gun at Rob and pulled the trigger. He looked down at the large metal dart in his arm and looked back at Megan.
Rob looked down at the dart. He knew it should hurt, and really wanted to say something about the overall rudeness of just shooting someone with a tranquilizer dart without at least trying to talk it out first, but responded “Why’dya do that?”
“I dunno.” Replied Megan. “You’re the first zombie I’ve met and to be honest I’m a little freaked out and slightly concerned with the brain eating and all. I’m somewhat fond of my brain and would like to keep it intact since it’s kind of important to me. Sorry about the whole dart thing. How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Not sleepy at all then?”
It was at this point that Rob decided to limit his answers to a single word. The last thing he needed was to have to repeat himself several hundred times and he was starting to feel like he ought to leave as soon as the opportunity arose.
“Nope.”
“All right, well, could you just lie down there on the table for me please? You see there are quite a few very influential people outside that door that would like to cut you open to see what it is that makes you tick. Apparently I’m not the only one who’s never met a zombie, and also not the only one somewhat fond of their brain, and honestly a little mistrustful of someone who just devoured one.”
“Nope.”
“I thought you might say that so I pulled your records. You see, your wife sold your body to science after your death, and since technically you’re dead, you’re contractually obligated to allow us to cut you up.”
“Bitch.”
Rob decided that as the conversation was going nowhere and that clearly he wasn’t going to get lucky with his current linguistic skills, it was time to leave. He pondered his exit alternatives and decided to see what would happen if he just came at anyone who tried to get in his way and use his zombie intimidation factor to bully his way out of the hospital. He began shuffling toward Megan, arms out working up a good drool and mumbled “brains…” every couple of steps. Megan’s training took over and she screamed sprinting for the exit.
She smashed through the door, bowling over three doctors and ran down the hall skidding around the corner, jumped in her 2001 Geo Metro and drove to the bar down the street from her apartment where she did shots with the local chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous until she forgot all about our hero, at least for the moment.
Rob continued out the door inspiring terror and dismay in everyone he met. As he ambled down the hall and out the front door of the hospital, he couldn’t help thinking to himself that women seemed to have gotten a lot hotter in the amount of time he was dead.
_________________
And God said: 'Let there be Satan, so people don't blame everything on me. And let there be lawyers, so people don't blame everything on Satan.'

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