Zombie Weekend Part 5

While leaving, Al tripped on a long squishy pinkish thing and hit the ground face first, crushing his bag of chips.
“Aww… I broke my chips.” Said Al as he mourned his chipotle buffalo Mexican mild ranch wasabi vinegar Thai all-natural chippity-chops.
“Dude” said Mick while he pointed at what Al tripped on with one hand and holding back today’s lunch with the other “after you see that what you tripped over I think you’ll lose your appetite.”
After getting up Al hesitantly looked at what he was too lazy to spot and avoid beforehand. After seeing this foul item a look of sickness overtook his face, the same face he would get if you force-fed him tofu marinated in raw sewage. He then fell again, this time hitting the zombie face Mick seemed to grow fond of on the way down, with his own face.
“Why were you still holding that crap?” asked Al as he scraped off the horrifying undead skin and hoping he didn’t catch zombie aids or zombie hemorrhoids.
“I dunno it was kinda like a souvenir.” Said Mick who wasn’t looking at Al but rather standing in an awkward battle position looking around for zombies.
“A souvenir! Well mow your souvenir’s all over my face and it’s…” Al stopped talking while reaching up to pull the last savory brownish, bluish, pukeish chunk off. While doing so he felt the skin on his face. “Wow” he said, ignoring everything else in the world at this point. Mick started to mutter something about escaping or radioactive spiders or something but Al continued just feeling the skin on his face.
Amazingly, the zombie skin that had been slapped across Al’s face acted as a cleaning agent, or more like a terminating agent, clearing out his pores and moisturizing his skin like an alien race landing on a dirty crappy planet eating all the bad stuff then urinating pure magic into the ground making it a magic awesome planet.
After another couple on minutes Al finally snapped out of his crazy trance.
“…Then we plug in Bernoulli’s equation and set the mixture on fire and…” Mick said while continuing to look for zombies “hey are you even listening to my plan?”
“What? Huh?” said Al, finally removing his hand from his face “did you say something?”
“Never mind, that plan wouldn’t have worked anyway. We couldn’t get fifty liters of hydrochloride sulfate at this hour.”
“So what now?”
“I dunno, lets find someplace safe to hide in.”
Mick an Al then left the immediate area of The Musicstore and instead of walking to their houses they go in the complete opposite direction, towards the center of town, which was suspiciously empty.
“Where the hell is everyone?” asked Al after scerfing down whatever crumbs were left in the chips bag and throwing the once mighty now empty fried potato vessel toward a trash can, he missed. Then, through the silence, a malicious rattle started to come from the trashcan that Al didn’t have the skill to sink a shot in.
“What is that?” said Mick
“Don’t know,” said Al while he backed away from the trash can “ but it’s coming from that can so I’m staying away from it.”
“Ohh, come on” Mick said while moving towards the rattling evil can.
“No!” shouted Al while reaching to stop Mick in the most dramatic and least comfortable way. But it was too late. Mick touched the can and that caused the can to assume that Mick had come in too close to investigate. So, in accordance with the universal laws of suspenseful action, the can continued to do nothing while the rattling stopped. A few tense seconds passed by before Mick spoke.
“See, nothing happened” he said before he and Al began staring at the Trashcan. After another couple of minutes a feeling of awkwardness flew in the air. So, in order to break this heavy slice of awkwardness Mick spoke again, much louder this time “I said, See nothing happened” Mick and Al then stared at the menacing can some more, anticipating whatever surprise was supposed to come. Al hoped the surprise is cake, ice cream cake. Mick wishes it is The Outlaws death certificate, but their dead bodies would be fine also. A few more minutes of nothing passed then Mick just got tired.
“Screw it, lets just go,” he said while walking away. Then, finally, the can reacted and like a jack in the box pumped full of steroids, which is illegal in this county, a zombie popped out of the can and began to give off a deadly shrill. This shrill was not as bad as Bob’s, bob was the best at screaming because of practice, but it was worse than a baby that’s just had his rattle taken away and is mutating to a teenage mutant ninja hurtle.
“Just shut up” Mick said forcefully to the zombie “you had your chance but no, you cant even get dramatic timing right.” the zombie had a weird look of confusion on his face. Then the zombie figured he would try another scream and that would fix everything. But before he could even get out a bit of his shriek Mick continued his crazy rant “I said No, No! Just go back in your little can. You don’t deserve to be an antagonist. Just, just, go revive yourself.”
The zombie just stood there and slowly sunk back into the can, then it began to cry a bit. “Come on, lets go” said Mick while he walked away, Al Following him with a slight fearful posture.
While waking through the rest of town the defective duo finally reached the town square. “What now?” asked Al too scared of Mick’s outburst to take charge himself.
“I guess we find shelter.” Mick replied.
But before they could search for a place to hide the same rattle started again. “Crap” said Al when he realized the rattling was coming from everywhere. Then zombies came flooding from everywhere, dozens came out of stores, through windows, out of every hole, some just seemed to appear there. The town square was then filled to the rim with annoying screaming and rattling. Al and Mick tried not to wet themselves and ran away.
After about a minute of constant running both of our heroes got extremely tired and decided to hide out in a bakery they just happened to have stopped by, just happened to be empty, and just happened to be a nuclear fall out shelter in the fifties. Mick and Al were just about to enter their new, hopefully zombie free, haven when a zombie popped out from behind a trash can, knocking the can over and spilling its contents.
“What, do these zombies all live in trash cans?” Al said, not knowing how hurtful this comment was.
“I prefer to be called an undead American.” Said the obviously hurt ‘undead American’ in a very British accent.
“Sorry, I didn’t know”
“It’s perfectly fine if you were unaware, but I just wanted you to realize how hurtful the zed word is”
“How hurtful?”
“Very. Now just let me feast upon you and we’ll be square.”
“No”
“OK, we can meet half way. I’ll take a leg, you don’t need both.”
“Umm…” Al thought about it, and although he agreed this was a fair deal he thought he actually did need both legs. So instead he picked up a piece of fruitcake and threw it at the z-word person. “Here eat this.” Said Al as he chucked the cake. Incidentally, fruitcake is accepted to be the third deadliest cake on earth, the second being razorblade rum raisin raspberry cake, and the first of course being nitroglycerin pound cake. So, this being said, what happened next shouldn’t be a surprise. The cake hit the… OK, I don’t care about the political correctness these abominations shall still be called zombies. If any hippie organization wants to sue then go ahead and try.
So, the cake hit the zombie, causing it to fall down, the cake then ricochets off the zombie and hits the sign of an adjacent adult entertainment store, causing the sign to come of and fall on the aforementioned zombie, decapitating it. Mick and Al immediately put on their oh my god I just watched someone get decapitated face, not to be confused with the what the (generic swear word of censor beep) I shot myself in the foot face.
“Lets just go inside.” Suggested Mick and so he and Al did.