Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

"When you went to personal assistant school, did you ever think you'd be uttering that exact sentence?"

"I need one more reason."

"I'm grateful because even though I'm a zombie and I don't breathe or have any blood, pizza still tastes good."

"That we can use."

"Let's see your walk," said Veronica.

Stanley walked to the other end of her office and back.

"Nice."

"Did I have my groove on?"

"You had your groove on."

"Should I maybe limp? Do a zombie shuffle to make it more believable?"

"Nope. You don't want people to catch you walking normally and assume that you're a fraud. Just be yourself, except for the behavior modification that we're doing right now. Let's see your smile."

Stanley gave her a wide grin.

"That's more than a little creepy. Try to tone it down so you don't scare the kids."

"I think they'll be scared anyway, what with the death mask that I've got for a face."

"Possibly, but your grin is really macabre."

"Want to hear my macabre laugh?"

"No. But chuckle for me."

"What kind of chuckle?"

"Just a chuckle."

"Give me something to chuckle about."

"Part of being a gracious celebrity involves chuckling politely at things that aren't funny. So do it."

Stanley cleared his throat. "Heh heh heh."

"That's a macabre chuckle."

"I can't chuckle under pressure."

"A zombie walks into a bar and orders a screwdriver. The bartender says 'Do you want that in your ear?'"

Stanley gave her a blank stare.

"Have you seen the original Dawn of the Dead? A zombie gets a screwdriver jammed in its ear."

"Ah."

"That's the kind of humor you may have to chuckle at."

"Can I cry instead?"

"Okay, we want to make sure that you won't be nervous during the interview," said Veronica. "If you get nervous, I foresee you resorting to sarcasm and the F-word, and we want to avoid that."

"I don't get nervous."

"How many one-hour prime-time live television interviews have you done?"

"Seven or eight."

"Uh-huh. What we're going to do are some visualization exercises."

"You mean like picturing the audience in their underwear?"

"Would that work for you?"

"I doubt it. I'd be thinking, orgy!"

"Close your eyes."

"Do you promise not to touch me inappropriately?"

"Believe me, I promise."

Stanley closed his eyes. "Good thing my eyelids didn't decompose. I'd be peeking."

"What do you see?"

"The back of my non-decomposed eyelids."

"Anything else?"

"A bunny."

"Erase the bunny."

"Bunny's toast."

"Now imagine a chair. A very comfortable brown chair with leather cushions."

"Maytag just delivered it."

"Do you see the chair?"

"Yes."

"Now imagine yourself sitting on the chair."

"Whoops…was that me or a whoopee cushion?"

"Stanley, take this more seriously or I'll have to report you to Brant."

Stanley flinched and opened his eyes. Did she know what Brant had done to him? "Don't do that," he said, louder than he intended.

Veronica frowned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't mean it. I just need you to work with me here."

Stanley nodded and closed his eyes again. Now he saw his skin pulsing as something burrowed underneath it. He managed to switch the image to that of a comfy brown chair pulsing as something burrowed within the cushion.

"Are you back on the chair?"

"Not yet." Stanley mentally placed himself back on the chair, desperately hoping that the burrowing thing would remain a polite distance from his ass. "Okay, I'm there."

"Visualize yourself being very, very comfortable. Not sleepy, just comfortable."

The burrowing thing vanished. "I'm there."

"Visualize yourself being confident. Imagine actual rays of confidence shooting out of your body."

"Actual rays?"

"Yes."

"Are they scaring people?"

"Only you can see them."

"I can't do the ray thing. That's just too freaky. Sorry."

"How about waves of confidence. What's your favorite color?"

"Ochre."

"Imagine ochre waves of confidence emanating from your body."

Stanley couldn't think of any particular benefit to imagining waves of confidence emanating from his body, so he imagined Veronica naked instead. Supple breasts with sensitive nipples that responded to the gentlest touch. A firm, luscious, massage-seeking ass. And, proving that she was a natural brunette, a tight-

"Are you imagining the ochre waves of confidence?"

"You know it."

"You are relaxed. You are confident. You know exactly what you're going to say, and you do so in an articulate, highly quotable manner."

Why, Veronica, you seem to have dropped your notebook! Perhaps you should crawl around the floor on your hands and knees to retrieve it.

"I'm quotable."

"You chuckle at Donald Mandigan's jokes."

Veronica, you keep accidentally bumping into me during your crawling expedition. What's that? My shirt looks too constricting? Now that you mention it, the A/C is on a bit too high in here…

"Heh heh heh."

"Still too macabre."

"Hee hee hee."

"Much better."

What's that? You want me to grasp your hips tightly and thrust into you repeatedly from behind in a most rapid manner? Goodness gracious, I've never known a woman to be so forward. My mind says no, no, no but my heart says yes, yes, yes…

"You can open your eyes now."

Stanley opened his eyes. "That was very productive."

"At least your erection thinks so."

Stanley glanced down at the surprise bulge in his pants. "Whoa! Hey, it still works! How about that? I thought I was gonna be Mr. Limpy forever. I wonder how I did that without blood? That's pretty weird."

Veronica didn't look as amused as he hoped she would. "Do you need some privacy?"

"Nah."

"Well, I think it's time for a break. Let me know when your emergency backup brain has gone back into hiding."

"How did he do?" asked Brant.

Veronica shrugged. "I think he's getting better. We did three sample run-throughs of the interview. It would've been easier if the producers had been willing to give us the actual questions, but I think we've got a pretty good idea about how it's going to go."

"That's good to hear. Is he still an obnoxious cretin?"

"He's getting better. I think he'll be fine during the interview. I really do."

Brant nodded thoughtfully. "I'm going to trust you, then. Because ultimately his behavior is your responsibility."

"It's not like I can sit behind his chair and zap him with a cattle prod if he gets out of line. I've been working with him. I'm comfortable putting him on television. But he's not going to be Cadbury."

"Cadbury?"

"Richie Rich's butler. The perfect gentleman."

"Ah."

"How come nobody ever gets my pop culture references?"

"The only pop culture reference I'm interested in right now is Stanley Dabernath, the Amazing Mr. Corpse."

"He hates that nickname."

"Woe is him. The interview is tomorrow evening. Do I have your assurance that he won't humiliate Project Second Chance?"

"Yes, sir."

"Perfect. Then I very much look forward to reaping the fruits of our labor. I'll have three bottles of the finest champagne waiting here. I sincerely hope that we'll be in a celebratory mood."

Stanley sat on the comfortable brown chair, feeling extremely nervous. He wasn't used to that. He suspected that it had something to do with the fact that his last public speaking engagement had ended with a bullet puncturing his chest.

He was in the same building where they'd held the press conference, although now it had been redecorated into a fairly cozy set where the interview would take place. Various members of the television crew were scurrying around, finishing all of the last-minute setup. Donald Mandigan was seated against the far wall, having his makeup done.