Zombies Don't Cry

You know, surprisingly, they don't sell a lot of brains in the local 24-hour grocery store around the corner from my house.

I look at her and ask, flat out, "What's up?" Girl talk, of course, for, Back off my man, biotch.

The website didn't say how much brains--or even how many--I should eat, only that I should eat them in 48 hours OR ELSE. Why doesn't anyone pay attention to details anymore? Would it be so hard to add a simple line like, BTW, Maddy, 3 pounds of brains per week is plenty? Seriously, am I the first new zombie ever to ask?

What is this?" I ask, trying to sound brave and flip, and I'm sure, merely coming off as too loud and annoying. "Strip grocery shopping? If it is, I have to tell you I've got on 16 pairs of underwear, so you're going to lose big-time--

Stamp: "Fine Maddy, Whatever. Take your little punk loser to the dance. I don't need you, Maddy. I can ask two dozen, three dozen chicks right now to go with me." Maddy: "Well then," I guess you better start stocking up on corsages.