Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

Stanley began to enthusiastically applaud, as did Donald and the rest of the camera crew and onlookers. Brant looked as if he weren't sure whether to be deeply touched or deeply pissed. Veronica was obviously trying very, very, very, very hard to stifle a grin.

"Those are very inspiring words," said Donald. "I think your message is one that everybody should take to heart. Because let's face it, most of us who die aren't going to come back to life. Unless you believe in reincarnation, but that's a topic for a different show. Now let's talk about some of the controversies surrounding your resurrection. Obviously, there was the incident at your press conference. Let's take a look at that clip again."

On the monitor, they showed the clip of Stanley getting shot. He still looked like a sissy.

"I guess my first question is, how's your chest?"

"They dug the bullet out, but there's still a hole."

"Can we see it?"

"Uh, yeah. I don't see why not." Stanley unbuttoned his shirt as one of the cameramen rolled his camera forward to get a close-up. Stanley draped his tie over his shoulder to get it out of the way and then opened his shirt, revealing the bullet hole.

"Wow," said Donald. "You could almost stick your finger in there."

"I'd rather you didn't."

The cameraman moved back and Stanley buttoned his shirt. "Did it hurt?" Donald asked.

"It definitely stung."

"I can imagine. This whole incident has to be disturbing for you because he's obviously not the only person who believes that you're-pardon my choice of words-an aberration that should be destroyed."

"Well, I got that a lot from my teachers in high school, so I don't let it bother me too much."

"But seriously, you're a corpse that was brought back from the dead. To a lot of folks that's pretty scary stuff. And a lot of people think that we've entered territory that mankind was never meant to touch. What do you say to the people who think your existence is blasphemy?"

"I invite them all to kiss my dead ass."

Stanley froze. He and Veronica had practiced a very similar question to this, and the agreed-upon answer had not involved the kissing of any deceased ass.

"I'm just kidding, of course," he said with a smile. "I can understand their point of view. But blaming me is like blaming Frankenstein's monster for the actions of his creator. Which is what they did in the movie when the angry mob destroyed him, so that's a poor example. I'm just saying, I'm a regular guy who was given a second chance, and I'd have to be an ungrateful hooligan not to run with this chance. Because life is so very precious, and I know this now, and I don't think I knew it before, and if being a blasphemy is what it took for me to appreciate the beauty of life, well, then maybe the good Lord above doesn't mind a little blasphemy every now and then."

"And with that, we're going to take a short break, but we'll be right back with more from The Amazing Mr. Corpse. Don't go away."

As they went to commercial, Veronica and Brant walked up on stage. "I'm sorry about the whole Frankenstein thing," Stanley said. "I got a little nervous."

"No, no, that's fine," Brant assured him. "No harm done. You did slip near the end, but aside from that I think you're doing a marvelous job. Keep it up and I think we're in business."

"Cool. Thanks."

"Great job, Stanley," said Veronica. "I knew you could do it."

"You thought I was going to make dick jokes the whole time, didn't you?"

"I thought you might try to squeeze in fifteen or sixteen of them, yes."

"You should have more faith in your client. I clean up very nicely."

"Indeed you do."

"Great stuff," said Donald. "So what do you think if I try to yank off your face in the next segment?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The idea came to me when you gave that answer about people thinking you were a fake. We could get a close-up and I could tug on your cheek or something. It wouldn't convince everybody, but it might switch over a few non-believers."

Stanley turned to Brant. "My skin won't actually rip off, will it?"

"Not any more than if he were to tug on my cheek."

"So, Donald, how about you tug on Brant's cheek to see what happens?"

"Don't worry, if it feels like anything is actually coming off, I'll stop," said Donald. "And I'm going to wear surgical gloves, if that's okay. No offense, right?"

"No offense."

"Good. If you could get me a pair of surgical gloves, that would be great."

"I'll get right on it," said Brant, walking away from the stage.

"Places, everyone!" said the director.

Stanley found his stride again as they launched into the second segment of the interview, though he wasn't sure it was necessary to repeat the clip of him screaming in his underwear. He was (mostly) witty without being sarcastic (often), and managed to convey a (partially simulated) grateful tone.

"So you wouldn't mind if I tugged on your face, would you?" asked Donald, slipping on the surgical gloves.

"Of course not. I'd welcome it."

Donald stepped over to Stanley's chair and knelt down next to him. "I have to say, if this is a makeup job, it's the best makeup job in the world. There is not a seam to be found. And you can see how close up our high-def camera is getting. I also would like to assure the viewing audience at home that there is no post-production tampering going on here. We are indeed broadcasting live, and to prove it I can share that the Cowboys just went into their third quarter with a 14-6 lead." Donald hesitated. "Hopefully none of you were recording the game to watch later. If so, you have my apologies."

Donald poked Stanley's cheek, somewhat harder than Stanley would have liked. "I know that you at home can't feel what I'm feeling, but you can at least see that this is not rubber or foam latex. And watch when I tug on his skin." Donald pinched his cheek and yanked on it. "That, ladies and gentlemen, is genuine flesh."

"You can stop now," said Stanley.

"Can I squeeze your nose?"

"Uh, no."

"Stanley, I'm trying to prove that you are truly what you say you are."

"Can I squeeze your nose?"

Donald blinked. "Certainly," he said, uncertainly.

Stanley reached over and squeezed Donald's nose between his thumb and index finger. Donald did the same to what little existed of Stanley's nose. They squeezed each other's noses for a long moment and then released their grip.

"And that's going to be on the front page of every newspaper in the country tomorrow," said Donald.

Stanley nodded. "Some guy on the Internet has already made the t-shirts."

The rest of the interview continued without any pinching or squeezing. Though there were a couple of other slip-ups and lame answers, Stanley had to say that it had been a darn good hour of television.

"I've really enjoyed talking to you and hearing your fascinating story," said Donald, shaking Stanley's hand as the bad music swelled. He turned to the camera. "Ladies and gentlemen, you've met The Amazing Mr. Corpse. He's not a shambling, flesh-eating beast like you'd expect, but rather a kind-hearted human being who has learned that life truly is worth living. Can't we all take a page from Stanley Dabernath's book and appreciate the gifts around us just a little bit more? I'm Donald Mandigan. Good night."

"That was wonderful!" said Veronica, giving Stanley a big hug. "You did great!"

"Thanks."

"It was quite acceptable," said Brant, extending his hand. "I'm very pleased."

Stanley wasn't keen on the idea of breaking his hug with Veronica in order to shake Brant's hand, but he did so anyway. "Thanks. Do you think people will like me?"

"We'll find out."

"Guess what?" Veronica asked. "Tomorrow's your big day."