'Dear Shweta' she wrote in her diary. 'I

'Dear Shweta' she wrote in her diary. 'I don't know why you did this to me. how could you? I thought we were best friends. If you could do this to me imagine what you'd do to your

parents or your husband or your kids. Consider us no longer friends.' She crossed out the last sentence and began again. 'Consider this a warning: if you EVER so much as

glance in my direction, I will have you hung up by your feet and gutted like a fish! A bit harsh, but it seemed appropriate in light of what she had done to her. Maybe in time

She would understand that the gutting was in her own best interest. She wouldn't have that smell of putrifying organs, which so often gave zombies away before they were near enough

to be shot in the head with a sawed-off shotgun jammed with irradiated buckshot. So she let the Zombie plastic surgeon remove her organs, she felt lighter and hungrier

until she couldn't think anymore. "And that's where we came in." "Yeah, typical zombie infestation." "Headshots, every time." "Well, we had a little help from the deputy."

"Well, that deputy is an a--hole" "Yeah, takes on to know one" "Hey, where'd all the zombies go?" "Mmmmm grmmmmm grmmmmm merrrrrrrrr" "That's my grandma you're eating!"

Actual reality set in. Then: "So, uh, give me a bite." They set aside their arguing to consume grandma. "Mmmffft. Kinda stringy." Few understand that zombies have delicate palates.

This is due to the exclusivity of the Zombie restaurants and zombie dining clubs. To join the 'Exquisite Brains and other Entrails' dining club members have put for a large