The Sinister Mr. Corpse (14 page)

"That's probably for the best," Stanley said.
"I don't need any more reason to tell people to bite me."

"You certainly don't. There was also no real
interest in Mr. Corpse toothpaste, soap, shampoo, or really any
kind of personal hygiene products except deodorant, for obvious
reasons. But--and this would be way off in the future--there may be
a Mr. Corpse theme park ride."

"No way!" Stanley exclaimed.

"What would happen in that?" asked Martin.
"They'd kill off the riders and bring them back to life?"

"No concepts have been discussed yet."

Stanley grinned. "We could do the Mr. Corpse
Glory Hole Experience."

"You know what?" asked Veronica. "That may
well be the single most disgusting thing you've ever said to me.
I'm impressed."

"I'm sure I've said worse."

"No, no, actually, you've never...oh, wait,
yes you have. I'd blocked it. Now it's back. Wonderful."

Veronica continued to show off the
merchandising options. Stanley had never realized that there were
so many possible zombie spin-offs. He entertained the others for a
couple of minutes doing tricks with the Mr. Corpse yo-yo, and then
they headed back out for the next round of publicity.

* * *

The
Saturday Night Live
sketch parodying
his interview with Donald Mandigan was, without a doubt, the single
lamest thing Stanley had ever seen. The cast member playing Stanley
(badly) couldn't even get through it without almost cracking up and
blatantly glancing at cue cards.

An animated spoof on YouTube, on the other
hand, caused Mountain Dew to jettison out of his nose. He also
noticed that there were countless online discussions about him, and
the temptation to participate was almost unbearable, but Veronica
informed him that there simply wasn't time. He had a commercial to
shoot.

* * *

"Hi, I'm Stanley Dabernath, the Amazing Mr.
Corpse. As I well know, death can strike at any time. But you
probably won't come back like I did, and if you don't, will your
loved ones be cared for? Do you have all the life insurance you
need? Take a tip from Mr. Corpse and call the number at the bottom
of your screen..."

* * *

ANNOUNCER
#1
: And we're back with our live coverage
of the 18th Annual Bardsley Celebrity Charity Golf
Tournament.

ANNOUNCER
#2
: And at the tee is The Amazing Mr.
Corpse himself, Stanley Dabernath.

ANNOUNCER
#1
: Of course, Stanley has proven himself
to be quite a bit less than amazing today. [
Both announcers chuckle
.]

ANNOUNCER
#2
: He's lining up the shot...now he's
getting down on his hands and knees to line up the shot from
another angle...

ANNOUNCER
#1
: And he's back on his feet, ready to
swing. In this announcer's opinion, his form is not
good.

ANNOUNCER
#2
: I'd have to agree with that. And he
swings...and he misses the ball and the club flies out of his
hand.

ANNOUNCER
#1
: And now he just kicked the ball well
past the hole.

ANNOUNCER
#2
: I don't think the Humane Society will
be saving many puppies from the proceeds of this
tournament.

* * *

"Uh, okay," said Stanley, gazing in terror at
the thirty-five fifth graders who sat in their seats, staring at
him expectantly. He'd vigorously protested the idea of speaking to
schools, on the basis that 1) He had no useful wisdom to impart to
their young minds, and 2) Little kids were fine from a distance,
but they terrified him up close.

"We need this photo op," Brant had explained.
"This isn't going to be a coast-to-coast school tour; it's just one
class to show that you care about our nation's youth."

"But I don't. They're generally
miscreants."

"Then pretend, like you pretend about
everything else. And don't mess it up."

"So what happens if I mess it up? Are you
gonna inject me with the Wacky Fluid?"

"I didn't say that. And I won't say it. But
I'm pleased that your mind is moving in that direction."

And thus Stanley found himself standing in a
school classroom, the one place he'd swore to never return, facing
an army of menacing children.

"Drugs," he said. "A lot of you will
probably at some point in your life feel pressured into trying
drugs. Well, drugs are a loser's game. A few years ago I scored
some pot--that's also known as marijuana--and I lit it up and I was
getting all mellow, and then my cat jumped up on the coffee table.
And she had two heads. Now, my cat didn't really have two heads, I
saw that image because I was under the influence of the marijuana
cigarette. But to me, she had two heads, and I thought, 'Hey, I
don't want some funky two-headed cat that's going to end up in the
circus.' So I'm running all over the place trying to catch this cat
so I can pop off the extra head, you know? But the cat jumped up on
the refrigerator, and inside the refrigerator I hear all these
voices saying 'Help me! It's cold in here! It's cold in here! And
the pickle relish is trying to eat us!' The pickle relish wasn't
really trying to eat anybody, but that's the kind of thing you
might hear when you're under the influence of marijuana."

Several of the kids giggled and were shushed
by their teacher.

"I'm scared to go near the refrigerator and
get the cat, so I just walk back over to the couch and sit down.
And I'm there for, like, three hours. I didn't even notice when my
cat jumped into my lap. It was a complete waste of an evening.
What's ironic is that now that I've been resurrected, marijuana
wouldn't have any effect on me. I could smoke it all day long and I
wouldn't see a single two-headed cat. But I'm not going to, because
it's illegal and wrong. Don't do drugs. And always do your
homework, and study hard, and listen to your teachers. And your
parents. And cops. So, uh, are there any questions?"

At least twenty hands shot up. Stanley
pointed at a little boy in the front row.

"If you were in a fight with Spider-Man, who
would win?"

Stanley flexed his muscles.
"I would
destroy him!
"

The children cheered and applauded. Maybe
kids weren't so bad after all.

* * *

"You don't have to be dead to stink," Stanley
told the camera, holding up the deodorant container. "That's why
you need the guaranteed protection..."

* * *

Stanley flipped through the
magazine covers.
Newsweek, Time, People,
TV Guide, Entertainment Weekly
...he'd made
them all. Of course, the
Newsweek
headline was "Are They Squandering a
Miracle?"
Newsweek
could kiss his ass.

"Two different networks have expressed
interest in a Mr. Corpse reality show," said Veronica. "Don't
worry, that's something we'll save until you're washed up and
desperate for publicity."

"Thank God."

"But how do you feel about doing a rap music
video?"

"I'd feel like it was a really stupid,
shamelessly commercial idea that probably pays extremely well."

"And you'd be right. And you don't have a
choice. We'll be shooting in a couple of weeks."

"Sweet."

"So how do you think things are working out?
Seriously?"

Stanley smiled. "Getting killed was the best
damn thing that ever happened to me."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A week after his whirlwind publicity tour
began, Stanley sat alone in a hotel bar in New York City, nursing a
beer at a corner table. Since he couldn't get drunk, there was no
sense chugging it.

Brant, Veronica, and Martin
had all gone up to bed, leaving Stanley alone to enjoy a rare quiet
moment. It wasn't a
private
moment (he was being monitored by hotel security),
but at least it was relaxing.

The bar was set to close in about ten
minutes, and aside from the bartender, the only other occupants
were a pair of girls, a blonde and a brunette, seated on stools at
the bar. They looked to be in their early twenties. Incredibly hot.
Downing numerous shots.

Stanley noticed that they kept glancing at
him, whispering, and giggling. He wondered what they were saying.
Probably something along the lines of "Eeeeewwwwwwww!" That was
okay. They could ridicule him all they wanted as long as they kept
displaying that ample cleavage. The blonde in particular had a
superb rack.

The blonde and brunette each downed another
shot, whispered to each other, giggled, and then got off their
stools and approached Stanley's table, clearly tipsy.

"Hi," said the brunette.

"Hi," said Stanley.

"You're the dead guy, right?"

Stanley nodded.

The brunette elbowed her
friend. "I
knew
it!"

Gee, what clued you in? The
rot?
Stanley thought, but instead of saying
anything he just smiled politely.

"Can we sit down?" the blonde asked.

"Sure."

The girls each pulled out a chair and sat
down, although the brunette had a bit of trouble with the process.
"I'm Mandy," said the blonde. "My friend is Dot."

"Hi, Mandy and Dot. I'm Stanley."

The brunette smiled. "What's a celebrity like
you doing sitting all by himself?"

"My entourage retired for the night."

"Oh,
really
...?"

Stanley glanced back and forth between the
two women. Were they actually interested in him? Or were they
waiting for the right moment to laugh and throw a drink in his
face? Even the ugliest celebrities seemed to be able to attract hot
women, but did that apply to zombie celebrities as well?

Were these women zombie groupies?

"Yeah," said Stanley, taking a swig of beer
in what he hoped was an incredibly masculine manner. "They're a
bunch of lightweights."

"I saw you on TV," said Dot. "You're kinda
cute for a dead guy."

"And you're kinda cute for a live girl."

Dot giggled much louder than was warranted by
the comment. "I like guys with tattoos and piercings and stuff, but
I've never been with a real zombie before."

"I'm one of a kind."

"I bet you are."

"Can we touch you?" asked Mandy.

Stanley leaned forward. "Be my guest."

Mandy ran her fingers across Stanley's face
and shivered. "Ooooh, wow, that's freaky!"

Dot joined in, still
giggling. "It
is
freaky!"

"Good freaky or bad freaky?" asked
Stanley.

"I haven't decided yet," said Mandy, sliding
her hand down to his chin. "I think I'm leaning toward good
freaky."

"Good freaky all the way," said Dot, leaning
over and giving Stanley an unobstructed view of a good thirty-five
percent of the surface area of her breasts.

"So, uh, can I buy you ladies a drink?" he
asked, feeling more than a little self-conscious.

"You can buy us anything you want," Dot
informed him.

Stanley waved to the bartender. "One more of
whatever they're having."

"Your face doesn't feel at all like I
thought," said Mandy.

"How'd you think it would feel?"

"Colder."

"Well, they keep it pretty warm in here. I'm
room temperature, you know."

"Really?" asked Dot.

"Yep."

"That's awesome! So you're like a
lizard?"

"No, I'm not cold-blooded. I'm
no-blooded."

"Does that mean you wouldn't bleed if we bit
you?" asked Mandy, making it sound like the single naughtiest
activity imaginable.

Bite me, baby, bite me.

Mandy and Dot removed their
hands from Stanley's face as the bartender brought over their
drinks. Stanley made meaningless but flirty small talk with them
for a few more minutes, still not completely sure that they weren't
just messing with him. He didn't
think
they were teasing him,
considering that they were totally plastered and probably not
particularly intelligent while sober, but still, he was one ugly
zombie.

The bartender informed them that the place
was closing. Mandy gave a mock pout, while Dot rubbed Stanley's
thigh. "Do all of your parts still work, Mr. Corpse?"

Stanley shook his head.

Dot mimicked Mandy's pout. "That's too
bad."

"I mean, my heart doesn't pump blood anymore,
if that's what you were asking."

Dot slid her hand further up his leg and
gently brushed her fingers against his crotch. "Does this
work?"

"Oh, that thing? Yes, it works."

"Rrrrrreally?" Mandy purred.

"But it's...unattractive."

"Uncircumcised?"

"No, just, y'know, it looks like the rest of
me."

"I like the rest of you," said Dot.

Oh my God, I believe I'm
going to get laid tonight
, thought Stanley.
He wondered if the security guard watching him was getting sick to
his stomach. Stanley would have been puking in a very large bucket
if their roles were reversed.

"We could continue the party in your room,"
said Mandy. "Unless you have a prior commitment."

"Nope, no commitment. I mean, I have to get
up early, but that's not really a commitment."

Mandy pushed back her chair. "Then lead the
way, stud."