The Sinister Mr. Corpse (17 page)

"Wow, I didn't realize that your rot
splotches were slightly different on Leno and Letterman."

"A website wouldn't lie."

"And legendary makeup artist Tom Savini was
reportedly seen putting a box of Mr. Corpse masks in the trunk of
his car."

"Kinda makes you think, doesn't it?"

* * *

"
'Mr. Corpse: The Musical' An Off-Broadway
Dud
."

While Mr. Corpse remains the hot topic of
discussion around the world, apparently theatre-goers don't want to
see the musical. "Mr. Corpse: The Musical," which was licensed by
Stanley Dabernath but produced without his direct involvement, had
a strong opening night but faded fast as critics savaged it as
perhaps the worst of the season. Critics cited weak acting, insipid
songs, and the generally rushed nature of the production as reasons
for its failure. The musical will close on Sunday, one week after
it opened.

* * *

Our chat guest tonight is
Stanley Dabernath, the Amazing Mr. Corpse! Are you ready for some
questions, Stanley?

Bring them on!

anyone here from
ca

asl?

hi everyoe

everyone lol

whats ur fav movie

Ferris Bueller's Day Off

whats that

anyone here from
ca

Remember, if you have a
question, type ? and we'll get to you in order.

?

Corpse my man! What's your
favorite CD, dawg?

fine don't call on
me

ca
anyone???????????

lol gothchick

***has left the chat***

* * *

"
Mr. Corpse Not Dead Again
"

A widely circulated news
story about Mr. Corpse dying again turned out to be satirical. "Mr.
Corpse did not, in fact, die of a broken heart," said Tyler
Williams, editor of the mock news site
The
Weekly Plum
. "It was a joke. Readers should
perhaps be a bit more discerning." Other news stories currently on
the site include "Dumb-Ass Hurricane Victim Believed God Would Save
Him" and "Weapons of Mass Destruction Found in Olsen Twins'
Panties."

* * *

Hey you zit-laden twerp, this is Mr. Corpse
himself! How's the view from your mom's basement? I'm glad you're
all nice and comfy talking trash about me online (but learn to
spell, dipshit) but if we met in person you'd wet yourself, then
soil yourself, then start blubbering like a big fat baby, and then
soil yourself once more because you're so full of shit that you
could handle sixteen or seventeen defecation sessions in a manner
of minutes. Go out and get laid, dude! Or at least discover the
joys of self-love, if you can lift your fat gut out of the way long
enough to tug your wiener. Get a fuckin' life, you pathetic
reprehensible sweaty smelly grotesque appalling ignorant morbidly
obese sexually confused uni-browed dullard!

"Don't post that," said Veronica.

"Why not?" asked Stanley with mock innocence.
"He shouldn't have friended me on Facebook if he doesn't want to
hear my opinion."

"I'll kill you if you do."

"Can I post on his wall if I lower it to
twelve or thirteen defecation sessions?"

"No."

"Meanie."

* * *

Cheers!

...to Mr. Corpse for his clever presentation
at the MTV Movie Awards! Mr. Corpse, who gave out the award for
"Best Death Scene," did his presentation while being digitally
inserted into clips from classic zombie films. Our favorite moment:
Mr. Corpse's hilariously out-of-step dance with the ghouls in
Michael Jackson's "Thriller."

* * *

"Stop struggling, bitch!"

Henry Sweet smacked the girl across the face
as hard as he could. It took a lot to make him angry these days,
but her bite had done it. He raised the bloody hatchet as if he
were going to bring it down upon her skull.

She cringed and whimpered.

"If I have to kill you, I'll be really
annoyed, but I'll do it. Believe me, I'll do it." She'd bitten the
hand he used to play guitar and drawn blood. Damn. This job just
got worse and worse all the time. "Now do you want me to chop your
head in half, or do you want to behave and live a while longer? Nod
for the head chop and shake your head for living a while
longer."

She shook her head.

"Good." He walked over to the stereo and
ejected his CD. "I don't know what you're all upset about, anyway.
I thought you didn't get along with your family." He gestured to
her father's body. It took six separate gestures to do so. "Hey,
it's not like he can complain about your bad grades now, can
he?"

The girl closed her eyes and sobbed. The
sound made Henry's teeth ache. He didn't enjoy his job, but he was
looking forward to getting to watch this one suffer.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Four months after his return to life, Stanley
relaxed in a hammock in the living room of his luxury apartment.
His interior decorator had just about had a stroke when he insisted
on it ("No! No! No! I won't do it! I won't!"), but Stanley liked
the hammock and used it often.

He'd moved to New York City into a building
where the security actually prevented gun-toting maniacs from
shooting him. He had a whirlpool bath, a wide-screen television
with eight trillion channels, three video game systems, enough
movies to open his own rental store (but not enough to avoid being
immediately put out of business by NetFlix), some paintings that
Veronica assured him were fine art, and basically everything he'd
ever wanted.

Stanley had not pressed charges against
Charlie. Veronica had suggested that approach, saying that showing
sympathy for a dying cancer patient would be good for his
reputation, but Stanley hadn't wanted to press charges in the first
place. Charlie was a complete whack-job, obviously, but somehow
he'd gotten to Stanley. Not enough to ask him to move in and share
the Jacuzzi, but enough that Stanley found himself thinking about
him quite often.

Charlie's lawyer had argued that because Mr.
Corpse was known to be impervious to death by shooting, his
client's actions could only be considered assault, not attempted
murder. Since Stanley argued for leniency on Charlie's behalf, he
was indeed only found guilty of assault. He received probation and
underwent outpatient psychiatric treatment.

His son was pretty darn adorable. Stanley
gave him a free action figure.

The intercom buzzed. Stanley reluctantly got
out of his hammock, walked over to his door, and pressed the
button. "Yeah?"

"It's me," said Martin.

"I'll buzz you in."

A minute later Martin opened the door and
came inside, wheeling in several boxes. "I brought your mail."

"Thanks." Stanley had a pair of secretaries
who spent all day sorting hate mail from fan mail and stuffing form
letters into envelopes (Stanley's first draft of the form letter
response to hate mail had been, to nobody's surprise, rejected),
but they didn't work on weekends. He picked up the magazines and
flipped through them. "Wow, I'm not on any of the covers. How'd
that happen?"

"Yeah, you are. It's the top
headline on
Entertainment
Weekly
."

"'Are People Getting Sick of Mr. Corpse?'
What the hell is this?"

Martin shrugged.

Stanley chuckled in disbelief. "Okay, so,
their top story is about how people are sick of me being the top
story. How stupid is that?"

"Well, you
are
kind of
overexposed."

"Excuse me for being interesting."

"You have to admit, you don't really do
anything."

"What do you mean, I don't do anything? I do
stuff every day!"

"No, what you do is go out and promote the
fact that you're The Amazing Mr. Corpse. You're famous for being
famous."

"I'm famous for being a scientific
phenomenon!"

"Yeah, but you don't
actually
do
anything with it. It's not like you're out there teaching
science or performing resurrections on your own."

"I was in a rap video!"

"It was stunt casting."

"I'm writing a book!"

"Your ghost writer is writing a book."

"I have more Twitter followers than 'Weird
Al' Yankovic! I'm always a trending topic!"

"So?"

"I did a beer commercial yesterday!"

"That's not an accomplishment. You're just
cashing in on your fame. You don't even like that brand of
beer."

Stanley set the magazines down on the
counter. "Did you just come over here to harass me?"

"Pretty much, yeah. I've been thinking about
this. I think you're wasting the gift."

"I'm a goddamn millionaire! I'm one of the
most famous people in the world! How am I wasting the gift?"

"I just think that perhaps we should do
something of lasting value, instead of simply exploiting your
resurrection."

"Are you kidding me? Do you remember where we
were before I died?"

"Of course."

"We were living in a run-down trailer,
running a sleazy movie distribution business that didn't make a
dime. We sucked. I cried every single day. Did I ever tell you
that?"

"No, but I heard you through the door,"
Martin said. "You were kind of loud."

"We had nothing going for us! We even talked
about distributing porn! Is that what you want me to do? Do you
want me to become a porn actor?"

"God, no."

"So what the hell do you want?"

"I don't know, exactly. But I think you're
squandering the gift, and I think if you continue this track you'll
be washed up before you know it."

"Martin, there's no such thing as a has-been
zombie!"

"There will be, if you keep this up."

Stanley couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"All I'm doing is what Project Second Chance tells me to do. I'm
their freakin' puppet. You know that."

"You don't have to be."

"Actually, I do. They sort of keep me
alive."

"I'm not saying to run away from them. But
there are things you could do on your own. I've been thinking about
this idea. You're going to live forever, right?"

"In theory, maybe."

"That means that a hundred years from now,
you'll still be around and everybody currently walking around will
be dead."

"Except for a few babies."

"Right. You should be wandering the land,
meeting people, gathering stories. You would be the only person who
knows what it was really like to live in the 21st century. You
could be a source of unparalleled wisdom and experience."

"What the
fuck
?"

"Think of how much knowledge you could
gather."

Stanley plopped down on his sofa. "That's
what the Internet is for! Do you really think I'm going to wander
the countryside like a vagabond? What kind of drunken hippie
bullshit are you babbling about?"

"I just think you should do something
important. It doesn't necessarily have to be the unparalleled
wisdom thing."

"What's this all about, Martin? Are you
jealous? Is that it? You wish it was you who got flattened by that
milk truck?"

"No, but as your friend--"

"My leech."

Martin froze. "What do you mean, your
leech?"

"You're leeching off my success. You have
been from the beginning."

"I was your employee when you were Stanley
Dabernath, and now I'm your employee when you're Mr. Corpse. How is
that leeching? I work for you!"

"Then if you work for me, don't try to throw
a guilt trip on me! I don't have to put up with this kind of crap
from you. I'm the Amazing Mr. Corpse!"

"I thought you hated that name."

"Yeah, well, I thought you were my
friend."

"I am your friend! I'm just trying to keep
you from becoming a flavor of the month!"

"Flavor of the month? Fuck you!"

"Fuck you back!"

"Fuck you sideways!"

"Fuck you forward!"

"I don't even know what the fuck that means!
You're fired! Get the fuck out of my apartment, fucker!"

"I'm fucking leaving!"

"Then go! And you say 'fuck' like a
sissy!"

"Fuck you!"

"See?"

Martin turned and stormed out of the
apartment, slamming the door behind him. Stanley had never seen him
lose his temper. Jealousy affected people in strange ways.

What a jerk. How dare he
tell Stanley that he was wasting the gift?
Famous for being famous
. Yeah, right.
He was the first human being ever brought back to life by
scientific means. Famous for being famous. Jesus Christ.

Martin could go get a job at McDonald's for
all he cared. Let's see how worthless he thought Stanley's life was
when he was flipping burgers for a living.

Jerk.

He slammed himself down into the chair in
front of his computer. Martin Vines didn't have six billion
websites devoted to him, now did he? Jealous bastard.

Stanley had plenty of friends now, and he
didn't need to hang around with some dopey-looking green-wearing
weenie.

He played around on the Internet for a few
minutes, visiting new sites where he could learn new information
about himself.

He read a short article.

Read it again.