Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

Stanley crumpled up the paper. "I challenge you to a rematch. Name the Three Stooges."

"No time for that," said Brant. "It's time to meet up with the Mr. Corpse Cavalcade."

"Oh my God," said Stanley as they turned the corner, so astounded that he couldn't even think of a sarcastic remark, let alone deliver one.

Both sides of the street were jam-packed with people as if it were a parade at Disneyland. Cheering people with balloons and confetti. A huge banner stretched out over the street read "SANTA FE WELCOMES MR.

"All these people are here for me?" Stanley asked.

Brant nodded. "Miles of them."

"I thought I was supposed to be a freak."

"No, you're a celebrity," said Veronica. "Now stand up and make thousands of people happy."

Stanley was almost too dazed to get to his feet. This was incredible. He was a zombie, for God's sake!

He stood up through the small section of open roof and waved at the crowd. Their cheers intensified a hundredfold.

They'd gone over the security precautions beforehand. Supposedly lots of highly trained individuals were monitoring the crowd very closely, and at the first sign of trouble Stanley would be given the signal to duck back down into the limousine. Stanley had personal safety concerns, but still, he had to trust that Project Second Chance would do everything it could to protect its investment, and he sure as hell didn't want to spend the rest of his life underground.

The limo moved slowly down the street, flanked on all four sides by police cars with their lights flashing. Stanley waved, blew kisses, and hoped that his smile wasn't too creepy.

Some college-age girls were holding a banner that read "WE LOVE

"I love you, too!" he shouted back.

He gave a thumbs-up sign to a crowd of children. Why hadn't they brought candy along to throw out? He'd have to rectify that at the next parade.

Another sign: "MR. CORPSE IS AMAZING!"

And another: "I WANT YOU DEAD OR ALIVE."

"I love you, Santa Fe!" Stanley shouted into his microphone. "All of you, remember that life is precious! Help a neighbor! Give blood to the Red Cross! Feed a stray cat! And then go PARTY TILL YA PUKE!!!"

The crowd roared.

There seemed to be no end to the people, all of them cheering and shouting their support. Stanley knew that there was an alternate gathering of angry protestors, and he would've loved nothing more than to drive by, give them all the finger, and request that they all pluck their thumbs out of their rectums, but he suspected that Brant would veto the suggestion.

An amazingly hot blonde held a sign that said "MARRY ME MR.

"But think of the babies!" Stanley shouted to her. She laughed and waved her sign at the camera crew.

Finally, what seemed like hours later, the crowd thinned out and Stanley ducked back down into the limo. His legs were sore from standing for so long but he was feeling great.

"People love me!" he said, plopping down into the comfy seat.

"Of course they do," said Veronica. "You're the Amazing Mr. Corpse."

"But I thought our culture worshipped youth and beauty."

"That's for female celebrities," said Martin. "You're a guy. You're allowed to be ugly."

"Ah, so that's it," said Stanley. "Still, I never would've expected this. I was thinking lynching, burning at the stake, voodoo dolls…that kind of stuff."

"That's six blocks away," said Brant.

"I think I know what was missing from my life before," said Stanley, settling back into his comfy seat. "I wasn't an adored celebrity. I guess now it seems like such an obvious solution to my lack of direction, but hindsight is fifty-fifty."

"Twenty-twenty," Veronica corrected.

"Right." Stanley frowned. "Martin, did I say dumb stuff like that before?"

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so. Why am I suddenly becoming a bimbo?"

"Don't worry about it," said Veronica. "I'm sure it's just stress and excitement."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Stanley agreed, with more conviction than he felt. His mouth spewed out a gigantic waterfall of stupid comments on a regular basis, but he'd always said them on purpose. Being an accidental dullard was something new. Did sudden celebrity turn one into an idiot? It would certainly explain a lot…

Next up was a press junket, where Stanley got the unbearable thrill of sitting in a room and talking to a series of reporters for five minutes each. This was not quite as cool as the parade, because it was pretty much the same questions over and over and he eventually quit trying to think of new ways to answer them. He only had two decent answers for What was it like to be dead? ("Like being alive, but without quite as much breathing" and "Sort of like living in Iowa") and so he just alternated between them, until Veronica suggested that he try not to annoy his Iowa fan base, forcing him to stick with a single answer.

Several of the female reporters were damn attractive, though. He flirted with the first one ("What's your sign? Mine's a tombstone") but she seemed kind of creeped out by it and lost her place in her notes, so he stopped.

After the assembly line was finished, they went to a private room in an exquisite steakhouse, where Stanley ordered the New York Strip and lobster. He usually preferred his steak rare, but was concerned that the rumor mill might equate that with a desire for raw human flesh, so he went with medium well.

The food was delicious. It had been a ridiculously long time since Stanley had a restaurant meal, and the waiter was sufficiently snotty enough to make the whole experience seem like he was living the high life.

Which he was.

Stanley Dabernath, the Amazing Mr. Corpse, had finally found his niche.

The next day was more of the same. Interviews, cheering fans, and great food. After a seafood lunch, Stanley, Veronica, Martin, and Brant sat in a luxurious hotel room. Several boxes were piled on the bed.

"Most of these have already been approved," said Veronica, "but I wanted you to see what we've got." She reached into the first box and took out a shirt. "T-shirts, of course." She unfolded the shirt and held it up to her chest. It was a close-up of Stanley's face.

"I'm sure teachers will love seeing their students wearing that," said Stanley.

"Don't forget, you're educational." She modeled several more t-shirts, including a couple with the annoying skeleton version of him.

"A lot of bootleg shirts are already on the streets," said Brant, "but that's only to be expected given your instant popularity."

"There aren't any with Calvin peeing on me, are there?"

"No, but I've seen one depicting you as an African American that says 'Mista Corpse.'"

Stanley thought about that. "I can't decide if that's racist or not."

"It was a black teenager wearing it."

"Then I guess it's not."

"There are lots and lots of t-shirts, so I won't show you all of them," said Veronica. "But I've got a prototype of the Mr. Corpse action figure."

"Wow, that was quick."

"Oh, they started on it before you came back to life, then they did some tweaks after the resurrection." She tossed the action figure to him.

Stanley inspected the figure carefully. "It doesn't look anything like me."

"Between you and me, I think they just painted a Luke Skywalker figure."

Stanley walked the Mr. Corpse figure up his leg. "They should make a super-villain figure of Brant." He suddenly wished he hadn't said that, but Brant chuckled and seemed genuinely amused.

"Let me see that," said Martin. Stanley tossed the figure to him. "Does it have Super Punching Action or anything like that?"