"Hello, Mr Alan Thompson"
"Oh, hey, doc. How'd my brother's surgery go?"
"Not so good."
"Oh?"
"Yes, we found a huge tumor. A green one."
"Ooh, ouch. What does that mean?"
"Well, we'll need to extract it and pro-"
There was some static on the line. Then some lovely, bouncy hold music.
"Brains!"
"Pardon, doc?"
"BRAINS! Brains, brains, braibrai-braibrai-brains!"
"..... Okay then. I'm gonna hang up now."
As I put the phone down slowly, I could hear the faint sound of groaning from the other end. I headed back to my beer, noticing small crumbs in it. This then made me ponder the theory of evolution, and how those little spores got in the water in the first place.
20 minutes later, there was a knock on the door. "Hey, brother! How was the hospital?"
"Uuuuuuuhhhhhh"
"That bad, huh?"
"Brains"
"Hmm, greeny face, lack of brains....... Yep, he's a zombie. I'll go get my wood axe"
I headed off to the garage to find the axe, where I also found a couple of kids grafitiing. Wait, I was wrong, they to were zombies. So up went my axe, down through their heads. And that sorted that out.
