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All a zombie has to write on its shopping

  • All a zombie has to write on its shopping list is BRAINS, then underline it once or twice. But MY shopping list covers a whole used envelope, both sides. Problems!

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  • Worse yet, zombies hog the motorized shopping carts, "walking dead" my ass. I plotted my path with my Grocery GPS app. Estimated distance..[calculating]... 0.7 miles? I crossed off

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  • road into the undeveloped strip of land between Wallmarts & the effluent stream of Willy's weenies. Surely shorter but two zombies overtook my motorized shopping cart in souped up

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  • Beemers outfitted with nitro, like Mad Max meets Night of the Living Dead. The engine on my shopping cart sputtered and died as the zombies circled in their 428s, toying with me,

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  • Trying to eat my spaghetti right out of the bowl. When I refused, they grabbed the bowl and everything in my cart, before running out the front entrance. The cashier, a dog-woman,

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  • chased their car down the street, barking furiously, but was unable to bite their tires. She came back to the counter, panting. "I'm dog tired," she barked. I paid for the food and

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  • replaced her dentures. The Ada 'maddog' McHallen--my grandmother--looked them over and gave me a grin. Disgusted I gave them back to her and told her to keep them in her mouth. It

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  • wasn't until the next spring that we discovered that one of them was a Queen. We found it out when she did the very thing that makes her a Queen; her first batch hatched, first.

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  • Feathered Adonises strode forth from the broken shells- their beaks chiseled, their chests large and muscular. One by one they knelt before their Queen.

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  • She threw her arms out wide to both sides. "worship me, my subjects, worship me!" Then she let out a loud fart on accident and blushed. Then she farted even louder.

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