The lone zombie shambled toward the clubhouse, where we watched, armed with nine irons and pitching wedges. I turned to Adam and said, "Par three, buddy."
"You're on, Sev," Adam replied, and grabbed a bucket of balls, ran out to the porch, and teed up.
His swing was a bit off, and he hooked it, but the ball stayed on the fairway. Not bad, considering the threat of gruesome zombie death that potentially loomed.
"Okay, this time I got him!" Adam shouted, and teed up another ball.
This time, his shot was picture-perfect, and the ball whizzed through the air,...
"I has a bus! I iz in it!"--written in black sharpie on the pink paper. The torn end of it soft and frayed, the grocery list on the back now outraged with the bleedthrough of the ink.
"Wait, shouldn't it be like, E-E-N E-E-T?" Linda said, her glasses dangling just off her bottom lip.
"Wait, what?" Sarah replied, she stared hard at the pink paper, not wanting to look at Linda or her stupid retro horn rim super thick shiny blue metallic glasses hanging from her lips. She knew Linda thought that looked cute but it just looked gross and...
They think they can just buy me off.
They think that a lifetime's supply of biscuits and chew-toys is enough to purchase my silence. But they are wrong. I am the victim here, a victim of horrible negligence and criminal stupidity.
The researchers in the lab that day were operating sensitive equipment while violating the clearly defined safety procedures. My lawyer assures me that if we take my case to court, they'll be ruined. And that's just what's going to happen; I'm going to make them pay for what they did to me.
It boggles my small(er) mind; why would...