Realizing that you simply have to do the honorable thing here, you meet Candace's eyes.

"Deep down," you say, "I actually do care about you a little bit. Weird."

And then you jam the .357 barrel against the side of her head.

Her eyes bulge in terror. "Richard, wait, no--"

You pull the trigger, blowing half of her head all over the place.

At that moment every zombie in the room flinches and staggers back, and the nearest speaks in a muffled voice: "Richard, what the fuck, man?"

You look around, confused. "Huh?"

By then, all the zombies are pulling off their masks to reveal that they're regular people: your friends and coworkers, including Rachael. They tell you it was all just a prank to celebrate your surprise promotion: you just made president of supply-chain-management. Candace had loaded your .357 with blanks just to be safe... but blanks are lethal when the gun is right against someone's head.

Clutching your wife's cratered head, you sink to the floor in misery... not so much about your wife, but just thinking of the deep shit you're in now.

You're arrested minutes later and charged with murder. Over the coming months, as the trial plays out, the whole prank thing gets seriously downplayed. What doesn't get downplayed is the fact that you were schlonging your 21-year-old secretary while your wife suffered all kinds of mental disorders as a result. Minnesota decides to bring back the death penalty just for you, and within a year of the zombie prank you're strapped down and given a lethal injection. Take that, you cheating, wife-murdering piece of shit.


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