Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

"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.

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

‹MrCorpse› Bring them on!

‹CorpseFan10327› anyone here from ca

‹BobBitesBoob› asl?

‹Iluvstanley› hi everyoe

‹Iluvstanley› everyone lol

‹JoeyTaylorIII› whats ur fav movie

‹MrCorpse› Ferris Bueller's Day Off

‹JoeyTaylorIII› whats that

‹CorpseFan10327› anyone here from ca

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

‹GothChick666›?

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

‹GothChick666› fine don't call on me

‹CorpseFan10327› ca anyone???????????

‹Iluvstanley› lol gothchick

‹MrCorpse›***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.

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!"