The Walking Deceased

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I'm here on the ground where a group

of what the White House

is now officially calling

the walking dead

are what I'm officially coining

brain feasting.

Now full disclosure. I've been absolutely

warned against coming here

and have signed a liability release

in the case I am ravaged on camera.

News 13, consider this

my interview for lead anchor.

We are now confirming

the virus raping humanity

is in fact a simple case of a restaurant

employee not washing his hands,

then preparing sushi gloveless

for a group of homeless men

invited in after raiding the dumpster.

This restaurant will not be passing

its next health inspection.

Excuse me, sir. Where were you

when the outbreak began?

We're live, so please don't cuss.

Sh*t! Shaun, we gotta go.

Come on. Let's get out of here.

I'm a dumb-ass.

Even for a dead guy, this is stupid.

A hospital? Why the hell did I drag

my cinder-block feet in here?

There's no food, no living people.

Everyone dies and rots

on their own in hospitals.

The living treat us

like second-class citizens.

They've coined us what we

consider racial slurs...

zombies, walkers,

travelers, shufflers.

We're the new gingers,

soulless and shunned.

My zigga. Man, I was really hoping

for a pumping heart.

Poor guy hasn't remastered speech yet.

I'm getting there.

'Sup?

Well, sort of.

So? Everybody my age had...

Oh, sh*t.

All right, my man's got two choices.

One, charge straight at this guy

and hope he misfires.

Then he can chow down.

Or two, he can do the dumb thing

and try to reason with him.

See, we're somehow inexplicably

regaining our humanity.

Judging by our greeting, this guy

isn't very far along in the process.

Go with option one, buddy.

- Bad move.

- Good shot.

- Ain't computer programming, kid.

- Outnumbered. I'll skip this meal.

...if you learn, like, C++,

HTML, just like the basics...

I knew that was a bad analogy

when I said it. Let's go. Vmonos.

- Any specifics?

- I don't know. Let's find some sh*t.

Looks like they bounced pretty quick.

This place is, like, fully stocked.

Just get somethin'.

We don't got much time.

- Do you have diabetes?

- No. You find any...

No, there's no porn.

This is a hospital, not a sperm bank.

Keep looking. It's important.

I always wanted to pee on one of these.

- Can we hustle, Usain?

- Yes!

- Vmonos!

- Coming.

You get that blue, Heisenberg?

No. Stop calling me that.

That's, like, super close...

Carl!

Living or dead?

Speak English, or you're headless,

you son of a b*tch!

- Ain't computer programming, kid.

- You know, that's actually not...

Carl.

Carl!

Speak English, or you're headless,

you son of a b*tch!

Lower your weapons.

Be a lot more intimidating if you had

more than a finger gun there, chief.

Sheriff.

Oh, God. Looks like some

sort of mass-murder crime scene.

How long was your slumber?

- God, it's like staring at the sun.

- Don't look at it, gay wad.

I can't stop. It's like a fri...

Oh, my God.

It's like the two dried grapes

at the end of a branch.

- Boots first? Interesting choice.

- And wide-open a**hole.

Whole gang came to play.

That redefines chode.

I don't know if these are my boots!

- That is a tiny, tiny coma dick.

- Yeah.

What happened?

You get in a shootout or something?

Take a bullet for your partner

like a bad-ass?

Last thing I remember...

- Daddy? You're gonna watch me bat, right?

- Oh, absolutely, Chris.

I'm just gonna... gonna go over here

and get a hot dog while you're on deck.

- All right, buddy?

- I'm gonna hit a homer for you.

Okay, you do that.

I'm 150% confident in you, Chris.

Hot dog! Get your hot dogs!

Hot hot dogs!

All right, boys, pile in!

- Give me one of them wieners.

- Daddy, look!

Nice. Yeah. Keep goin', Chris!

Good swing, follow through!

Fundamentals, that kind of sh*t!

- Strike!

- It's right on the tee, buddy!

- Go, Chris!

- Strike two!

Gotta swing through it. It's on the tee!

Hit the ball on the tee!

- Come on, Chris!

- Strike three!

Would you goddamn hit the ball?!

Chris! Chris! Chris! Chris...

He's out!

Kid sounds like a real big p*ssy.

- No offense.

- Hey, baseball's just not his...

Yeah, he's a real big p*ssy.

Somebody tell me what the hell's

going on here.

- Kind of hard to explain.

- Is it, though?

No, it ain't.

It's the goddamn zombie apocalypse.

World has gone crazy.

#ReasonsIHateZombies

was the number one trend on Twitter

- before the Internet went out.

- Truth.

Is a zombie in a yellow shirt ironic?

#ShitIGotNothing.

Stop reading my tweets, Jane.

Stepmoms are b*tches.

You're telling me...

that there's no more Twitter?

- Yeah.

- There's no more @TheRealSheriffLincoln?

It's gone.

Instagram?

No. No, no...

- Pinterest?

- No Tumblr.

LinkedIn?

- Yeah, yeah. LinkedIn's still there.

- Nobody uses that.

Well, hey, man, we are shacked up

at a mall, couple of other people.

- We're surviving, so if you want to come...

- I gotta go find my family.

- Ain't too many people left out there.

- Yeah, and judging by that baseball story...

- Hey, my family is alive, all right?

- Okay.

I know it. My wife is smart.

She used to fend for herself

all the time at work.

- Well, good luck with that, Dep.

- Sheriff.

Deputy Sheriff.

- Just Sheriff.

- Just Sheriff.

Well, we're gonna get these supplies

back to our people.

If and when you find your family,

Sheriff, we're there.

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