Free Uschi! by Tony Ungawa

real fine, too.
    Wait a minute. Hello? That blood should seriously not be there. He didn’t even come close to spilling a drop of the ol’ red stuff when he was working on the fat girl. Li’l Bocephus may be many things—murderer, borderline illiterate, despoiler of female virtue, bigot, hater of cats and dogs, crier like a baby the day he learned CBS had canceled Gunsmoke— but a sloppy eater was not one of them. And it appeared the dead woman with the roomful of bazooms didn’t have any gore on her she could’ve smeared over him. Well then where the fuck was it coming from, huh? He raised his shirt, lower lip chewing with worry at what he might discover.
    She’d gotten him real good, no trying to deny that. There was on his pale as fresh sour cream freckled belly a jagged and deep tear a number of inches away from his navel. A hole in him size sufficient enough for a videocassette tape to be inserted through. The bleeding was vigorous and bubbly, leaving a foamy head over half his lap. The interior meat exposed was raw pork pink and the thin sheet of fat bathtub rubber ducky yellow. Again he looked to the homemade zombie girlfriend. How could she have done such a thing to him? It weren’t natural, no.
    “I’m fairly confident,” Uschi all rainbows and unicorns cheerfully informed, “it’s your gallbladder.” She began to lift the organ toward her mouth.
    Denny was working at getting his britches back where they belonged. He was an individual who assumed he knew enough about anatomy from repeat viewings of classic Herschel Gordon Lewis splatter movies to voice an opinion. “Yeah. You’ve got the gallbladder there.”
    She popped the whole thing in her mouth and hungry big dog chewed. Noxious fluids moistened her lips. She spat the gravel-like gallstones out as if they were watermelon seeds. Swallowed it all in one impressive gulp. Followed it with the last of her Dr Pepper, and then tossed the cup aside. “Mmm, not halfass bad. Almost go far enough to label it ninja killing cool tasty. Think I’ll try a bit more.”
    Chesty Morgan from beyond the grave moved, coming at Li’l Bocephus with the self-confident sashaying of a stripper taking to the stage to the pounding beat of a Nashville Pussy tune and satisfied only with hundred dollar bills stuffed in her G-string. She energetically clacked her teeth together in anticipation of more.
    Li’l Bocephus told himself to remember what the movies had taught him. The brain. The only way to kill a zombie was to destroy the brain. That totally sounded like a chore he could accomplish. Get with it.
    Lunging up off the parking lot with all the inhuman force he had to spare, Li’l Bocephus went at the organ thieving zombie female with arms spread wide and lips skinned back from his creepy Zuni fetish doll freak teeth. His mouth was a gusher, instantly and quite profusely salivating yarns of stout drool that were wind-tossed as he was in motion to thrash and wave about the lower portion of his face like the tentacles of some animated jellyfish. His eyes were bloodlust blazing. Fast as ever, he got her down with a linebacker’s tackle before being challenged by even so much as a molecule of any resistance from her.
    Moist wash rag limp, Uschi was laid out toes up over the asphalt, and Li’l Bocephus perched himself atop her. He pinned her arms to her sides by planting his knees into her bicep muscles and parked his bony ass on her buoyant breasts, which audibly sloshed as he wiggled and situated himslef into the most comfortable position he could find. Sitting there as if he were on a bean bag chair, high and mighty and lording himself over her, he clamped a hand over her mouth, putting a stop to all that obscene teeth chattering, while his other hand obliged itself to a right large fistful of hair located just in front of her head’s crown.
    That bantam rooster cockiness in him refused to keep its attitude in place. “Yeah, how ’bout that?” he said. Li’l