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“Kung Fu my ass!”
“I am telling you it would work Daryl.”
“Bud, you could not Kung Fu a damn zombie and that is that!”
“Whatever man. I know my skills are good enough. They are slow and I could knock its head clean off.” Bud leaned back in the old patio chair and drained his beer.
“It would bite you.”
“I said it would bite you. Christ if it were after 5:30 pm it could wait till you was drunk and sneak up on you. How good is your damn Kung Fu after six or seven of them PBR’s smart guy.”
“I am telling you I could do it may God strike me down.”
“While you was Kung Fu’ing one of them another five would sneak up and bite your drunk ass.”
“Hey now, I am just presenting the theo-rectical scenario of me fighting one zombie with my skills.”
“You are a moron.”
“I am a highly trained martial arts machine. I have been training with a seasoned master for over a decade.”
“You have been taking Kung Fu from Billy Ray Holbrook at a dojo in a strip mall next to a Waffle Hut! You are not Bruce Lee. Hell son you probably would get whooped by Peggy Lee!” The smoke from a Winston trickled out of Daryl’s mouth as he laughed at his own joke.
“Fine I’ll show ya. C’mon”
“Where the hell you going? I still got beer here and my feet are tired from working all day unlike your unemployed butt.”
“If you don’t think I can take a zombie then put your money where your mouth is. I got a hundred bucks says I can incapac-titate a zombie using only my ancient martial arts training!”
“First off you are a moron. Secondly even if we could find a zombie, which is impossible cause there is no such thing, where you getting a hundred bucks?”
“My check came. I got the money. And I just happen to know where we can find a zombie fer real.”
“Your head is full of animal crackers Bud.”
“So you must be scared then?”
“Of something that don’t exist? Nah not really.”
“Well then get off your flat redneck ass and follow me to the cemetery. They just buried that old Haitian feller who tailored over in GooseNeck all those years. Everyone knows Haiti is where zombies are from. So I figure he went in the ground yesterday that means he must be up and around by now.”
“So he is hanging out at the graveyard?”
“Little Mr. Jean-Pierre the feller who fixed my torn britches is haunting the graveyard?”
“Nah fool zombies don’t haunt! They occupy territory. They got zones of influence. He must be claiming the cemetery cause there ain't any other zombies there yet.”
“So lemme get this straight. We are fixing to go to the graveyard in the middle of the night where you are gonna beat up the corpse of a hunnerd pound, eighty year old tailor who is walking around at night?”
“Fer a hunnerd bucks?”
“And I get a hunnerd if you don’t?”
“You got it.”
“What if there ain't no such thing as zombies so you can’t do it? Do I get my hunnerd?”
“You sure enough do. I know there is such thing and he is one of ‘em.”
“Is it really fair to pick on the zombie of an old man though?”
“What do you care you don’t believe anyhow!”
“Fine. Let’s do this before I get an attack of common sense or Lydia gets home from her shift at the diner and talks some sense into me.”
Bud and Daryl grab the extra beers, secure their smokes and venture forth. The friends walk as Bud has neither a car nor a license since six months ago and Lydia has Daryl’s car to go to work at the diner. It is one of those wonderful journeys were bowling and hunting are discussed. When these topics run dry, which takes quite sometime, a combination fart and burp contest breaks out which leaves Daryl five dollars richer by the time they arrive at the cemetery.
“So Buuuud, have you thought about how we are fixing to get into a cemetery at eight forty-five in the PM?” Daryl was finishing his sixth PBR which was leaving him with nothing to hold so he reached for his Winston’s.
“As a matter of fact I have smart ass. We just go to that willow tree over yonder and shimmy on up till we can drop over the wall.”
“Brilliant. They must teach you such di-verse infiltration skills at that Kung Fu school of yours huh?”
“Nah me and Billy Thurman have been getting in that way since we was knee high to grasshopper.”
The boys head over to the willow. It becomes evident fairly soon that drunk, middle aged, chain smoking rednecks are not optimum tree climbers. Eventually they get up in the higher branches.”
“So what now Bud. That seems like a big drop.”
“It ain’t that far. I used to do it as a kid all the time. Just bend your knees when you hit and you will be fine.” Bud pauses for a moment and takes the plunge. There is a most horrendous crack when he lands.
“CHI-rist Bud what was that?”
“OWWW. Aww crap Daryl I think I broke my leg.”
“Dammit Bud. I told ya this was stupid.”
“You gotta get down here and help me.”
“So I can break my leg too? ‘Sides if I jump won’t I land on you?”
“OWWW. It hurts man. You gotta go get help then.”
“Shhh you hear something?”
“AWWW shit man it’s the zombie. You gotta come down and protect me!”
“Don’t be stupid. There ain’t no such thing. I just came out here cause we was drunk and it was fun to goof around.”
“No man I am serious it is him I know it is. OWWWW.” Daryl hears Bud actually trying to pull himself up the wall.
“What are you doing man I thought you was hurt?”
“Screw that man lower your hand I can see him coming.”
Daryl steps onto the top of the wall and reaches down. Once he leans over the edge he does in fact see old Mr. Jean-Pierre coming up behind Bud slowly but surely. The old feller is about 150 yards away. He pulls his hand up and looks down on Bud from the top of the wall.
“Bud. There is a dead eighty year old tailor behind you.”
“GET ME UP MAN!”
“You was right Bud. That is a zombie. I am thinking you are on your own Amigo.”
“WHAT? GOD DAMMIT DARYL HELP ME!”
The eyes on the corpse shine bright red and he breaks into a sprint. Daryl’s eyes grow wide enough that Bud sees it from the ground.
“I take it back Bud. I think you was wrong after all. That ain’t no zombie. I ain’t no expert but I think that there is a ghoul. I AM OUT CU’Z!”
“YOU CAN”T LEAVE ME!”
“OH YES I CAN!”
Daryl shimmies down the tree till he gets to the ground. He can honestly say he never ran like that before or ever again. He hears the screams start when he gets about 50 yards away. The half hour walk to get there takes him ten minutes to get back. He comes running up the drive way just as Lydia pulls up and gets home.
“Daryl what the hell?”
“LYDIA, oh God! I just went down to the graveyard with Bud. The ghoul ate him. It was horrible. We got to tell someone.”
“Daryl, you are a dumb ass drunk. If you need to stay out all night with your jackass friends drinking just be a man and say so.”
“It was a monster. I saw it.”
“Ghouls ain’t real. And even if there were, where the hell would a turd drop of a town in nowhere Alabama get one anyhow?”
“It was the Haitian tailor from GooseNeck that just passed.”
“Mr Jean-Pierre that hemmed my dresses?”
“You are an idiot. I am going to bed and your are sleeping on the couch.”
“Fine if you don’t believe me then get right back in that car and drive me to the cemetery and I will show you. Just let me get a couple of beers from the cooler.”
“You are a moron. I will do this just so I have something to tell the judge when I divorce you.”
“Fine start ‘er up I’m gonna grab some PBR and then I’ll show ya!”
Still funny! "Kung Fu my ass!" "You are a moron!" Funny, funny, funny!
micheledutcher - This story still cracks me up! Funny!
Sidewinder4 - It's just so much fun. The Zombie A-ppocko-lips starts and “Fine start ‘er up I’m gonna grab some PBR and then I’ll show ya!” Too cool. Jim Gardner
micheledutcher - Believe me, I know guys like this. Guys who get way tanked up and then see just how much trouble they can get into. Enjoyed reading this!
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