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Blind Dates Can Be Murder

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Unfortunately for Rob, his hopes of showing up to his blind date in style were killed by the fact that his best buddy had to provide the wheels. Jack’s Honda was the color of rust and primer and the gears only worked when they wanted to. But, still, Rob was excited. It was his first date in over a year (the last being before he was murdered by a mugger in Central Park). He didn’t like to think that his current…affliction… was the cause of his…ahem, dry spell, but it certainly didn’t help matters much.

“Dude, your head wound is dripping,” Jack said, reaching for the Hardee’s napkins in the glove box, “that is so not going to get you laid, man.”

“So, what does she look like,” he asked, dabbing at his forehead.

“Well, she has a killer personality, Robbie,” Jack said, smirking.

“Yeah, very funny, Jacka**. I mean, is she hot or what?”

“Well, she’s really funny and she digs zombie movies, so I think you’re in the clear on that one.”

“S***. She’s ugly isn’t she? That’s why you don’t want to tell me what she looks like,” Rob said, tossing the formaldehyde- stained napkin into the cluttered backseat. It’s not that he really cares what she looks like, but he knows it’s expected of him. Jack thinks every male feels the same way he does about women.

“Well, you’re not exactly in the position to judge, Rob. You look like a f****** Dawn of the Dead extra,” Jack said. “Hey, there she is!”

A rather large girl with wavy brown hair turned the corner, heading towards the movie theatre Jack and Rob were parked in front of. Black glasses framed Amber brown eyes. She was pretty for a fat girl, Rob thought.

“Look, dude, she’s wearing a White Zombie shirt. That’s a sign from God that you are going to get some a** tonight.”

“You did tell her about my condition, right,” Rob asked, fidgeting with the door handle. “I just don’t want her to see me and freak the hell out…or vomit,” he said, feeling nervous for the first time since his (now ex-) girlfriend had used her freaky voodoo shit to bring him back from the dead.

Jack smirked again, loving how uncomfortable Rob looked. He was surprised that Rob was suddenly so self- conscious about being a card carrying member of the undead. It wasn’t something they talked about a lot, considering how unzombie- like Rob acted. Besides the fact that he often smelled like dead squirrel bathed in Axe, he had never tried to eat Jack’s brains and the only time he’d ever stumbled down the street with his arms extended was when they’d tried an especially exquisite brand of marijuana. Rob didn’t need to breathe, but he still managed to choke on popcorn when they watched The Hangover last weekend. Besides the gaping wound in his forehead and a slightly gray-green complexion, no one would ever know he had actually been dead for nearly twelve months.

“What’s her name again,” Rob asked.

“Heather. Remember, if she doesn’t mention your condition, you shouldn’t either. Play it cool and you’ll have her back at your place in no time.”

Rob nodded and said, “How’s my wound? Drippy?”

“No, man, you look great. Just man up already. Text me if you need an escape option, but I doubt you will. She really is pretty cool,” Jack said, putting the car into drive and pulling out before Rob had fully exited the car.

“Dickweed,” he muttered, before turning and heading towards the girl (Oh s***, what’d he say her name was? Holly? Hillary? HEATHER!).

“Hey, you must be Rob,” Heather said, “I hope you like George Romero. There’s an all night marathon of the Living Dead flicks. Cool bullet hole, by the way.”

Oh yeah, Rob thought, this girl is definitely the one.





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