Raccoon City Kennels From Hell
“Oh, cerebrum breath, what have you done?” asked Death.
“Brains, brains?” replied the zombie cheerleader.
“Yes, you, Katie Vicks-Death. Pardon my clunky exposition, especially since you know all this, but there are cops searching our palatial estate here in Raccoon City, which i bought for us after we got married and which also explains why you haven’t been seen in BOB for a long while. Do we have kennels? They say you’ve been doing some illegal dead dog fighting.”
“Brains.”
“I have a tag match coming up against Steve Studnuts at Power is Stolen. I don’t have time to worry about being in-die-ted.”
No reaction from Katie.
“Oh, COME ON! You never laugh at any of my jokes.
“Brains?”
“I’ll brain you. I just can’t figure who tipped off the police to your racket.”
“Brains brains?”
“No, not Jim Cornette. I swear, you’re supposed to be barefoot and eating babies. Why can’t you just be a normal zombie wife?”
“Brains brains brains brains brains brains? Brains brain brains brains brains brains brains.”
“Oh, right. Then we can do some dead PIG fighting! BWAHAHAHA! Ah, I kill me, which, as always, is completely ironic. Speaking of killing in the name of, Steve Studnuts? I can beat you with the next person who walks through my front door. I don’t care if it’s a cop, our dead zombie gardener, or the mailman from the dead letter office. I’m just gonna sit back and wait…”
Death and Katie take a seat on the couch and stare at the front door.
“I SAID, THE NEXT PERSON WHO WALKS THROUGH THE DOOR!”
Nothing.
Death pulls out his cell phone. “Hang on…”