When the zombies came strolling across my lawn, I could only say, “Oh, not again!”
Fuck the bastards, ruining my tulips. They’re supposed to want brains, not flowers. Okay, fine, their physical coordination is shit, but the sidewalk is one fucking foot away — would it kill them to use it?
“I told you to put the tulips in the backyard,” Steve said. “They never come from that direction.”
“Oh, shut up.” I pulled out the shotgun, loading it without having to look. “It’s supposed to rain tonight.” That was a good thing. Do you know how hard it is to clean up zombie guts? My poor tulips!