You grab one of the skateboards and plunge out the window after him. The little shit has already coasted down the driveway and is getting away.

You jump on your own board, and the moment your feet touch it, you flash back to your own awesome skateboarding days of youth. Well, not quite youth. You were 27, and still trying to pick up high school girls, and the international megablockbuster Gleaming The Cube, starring Christian Slater, had just come out. You devoted a whole summer to learning Slater's badass moves, so that you could hang out in the parking lot of the McDonald's near the high school at lunch time and try to impress girls. You didn't get much for your efforts. A couple fatties with low self-esteem. Ah, it was what it was.

Now as you race along on the board, you forget about Tanner and begin doing all your old tricks--and somehow you're awesome. Maybe it's the zombie reflexes.

Other zombies take notice. They gather around you, checking that shit out, nodding in approval.

Then you ditch the board altogether and begin a complex dance routine, and the other zombies fall into a phalanx formation behind you, matching your dance moves with perfect synchronization. People are really getting into it--and then your cell phone rings. You answer.

"Mr. Keene, hi, this is David Cohen. I represent Michael Jackson. I just received word of what you're doing, and you need to knock it the fuck off, or we're going to sue you. Michael could use the money."

You hang up, then shake your head dejectedly at the other zombies. Depressed, they stagger off into the night.

You wander away and try to spread some more death and destruction, but now it's just not fun anymore. Fuckin' lawyers, man.


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