SPAL: Hello, nice people. I sure hope I don’t have the strange flu they’ve caught on The Walking Dead. My tummy’s been upset and Mummsy has put me back on canned food with probiotics.
HB: Yeah. Hello, nice people. My brother is such a pansy. He can’t even stomach watching the show. But I am fearless and brave. Those stupid zombies don’t scare me.
SPAL: But what if I turn into one? What if my respiratory system explodes through my mouth, ears, and nose?
HB:Zombies aren’t real, pansy.
SPAL: They are too.
HB: Are not.
SPAL: Are too.
HB: Well…I just hope Mummsy doesn’t feed us any live or dead rats for treats. That’s gross.
SPAL: Only zombies eat nasty things like that. And we’re not zombies…well, I’m not one yet. Please don’t let me turn. I never want to be like Cujo and bite Mummsy like he bit his.
HB: He didn’t have zombie flu. He had rabies. Remember?
SPAL: I don’t want rabies either. ***he begins to sob***
HB: Well, if you turn, maybe you’ll be some cool zombie dog like on I Am Legend.
SPAL: ***He wails*** Yeah. But they bit Sam, the good German Shepherd dog and then---
HB: I know. His Daddy-O snapped his neck. ***he shivers***
SPAL: Let’s talk about something else. I don’t like where this conversation is going. ***he sniffles***
HB: Me neither.