The light flashed on his answering machine.

The light flashed on his answering machine. He stood next to it, wishing he could listen to the messages, but those times were gone. Beside it was a list of songs after his eulogy

had bombed at the funeral. The crowd had forgotten their grief and started booing him. And for what, for telling the truth? For opening with a really great ice breaker? All he

wanted was to finally get laid! What was it with the stiffs in this town anyway? A raging case of the blues wasn't going to heal itself. Well, at least not without a helping hand.

to challenge him in zombie arm wrestling - winner takes brain. The zombie would use his dominant hand, but would voluntarily

keep his inferior hand placed behind his back. As he approached the square battlefield, the undead creature rotated his lucky cap. Unfortunately, half his skull became dislocated

not great luck as you head into battle. The creature decided on a different approach, with his good hand he pulled out an extraordinary weapon that resembled a

three-legged camel with no toes, and pointed the weapon to his own head. That seemed to do the trick. Then, the creature suddenly began

to stalk the cunning linguist. He was cliterally following him through the bushes, calling his name. Peter, Peter, I feel so empty without you.

Peter just run through the bushes. In his mind, he think 'Who is he? Do he think I'm a fucking HOMO!' The one who stalk him has gone and he realize, he already in Playboy Mansion.