My Life as a White Trash Zombie

“God-fucking-damn but he was seriously good-looking. “Have you ever had the stuffed pancakes here? They’re evil. I highly recommend them.”
“Heh. The cop is recommending evil,” I said. “Too funny.”
To my surprise, Ivanov chuckled. “You’ve discovered my dark side.”

“Hey, look, I thought with a miserable laugh, this day just got worse.”

“What did the zombie say to the whore?
Keep the tip!”

“So I told the lady Biology and high school were useless crap, I was going to get a job, and I was never coming back to school.
And I didn’t.
Yeah, I sure showed them.”

“But then again, I was about as far from touchy-feely as you could get. Unless you’re fucking me, don’t put your hands on me.”

“Look, I know this is the last thing you want to talk about, but I wanted to ask you . . . .” He trailed off, looking strangely uneasy.
“Ask me . . . ?” Ask me to dinner? Ask me out for drinks? Ask me if I wanted to see what he looked like under that uniform? Yow, where’d that last one come from?”

“Still, waking up this early was just wrong. “Why can’t people be reasonable and only die after eleven A.M.?” I whined.”

“The over-weight and out of shape guy who owned the house had apparently decided that having a half-million dollar house meant that he couldn’t afford to hire someone to clean out his gutters. Now he was dead with what looked to me like a broken neck after the ladder had slipped. He’d taken the plunge into his fancy landscaping—complete with rock garden. But hey, his fucking gutters were clean.”

“It reminds me of an old joke: What did the Zombie say to the whore?"
I looked at him blankly. "Um....what?"
He winked. "Keep the tip.”