Ficlets

Zoulag the zombie was sitting, smoking a roll-up, and admiring the puffs of smoke that swirled out of both sides of his neck.

Disturbed by a moustachioed lifetoid brushing past, he grabbed it. “Mruoaaalwg!” [Who dares disturb me] he rumbled.

“Yagshemaash!” [I am doing the bidding of the great dark lord] the lifetoid exclaimed. Knowing what was good for him, Zoulag let go.

Genially puzzled yet relieved, Borat came to the door of the Mutant Brotherhood. “I come to call muties on order of Darth Supremie, they must cleanse sheep of strikers?” he told the steel door containing them.

“Ooooh, you must be Borat, I have heard so much about you” the door gushed, “Marvin told me about you, and I am jolly glad to open for you”.

As the door opened, a tide of crawling, slithering, slimy and septic creatures rolled over Borat, bowling him over and disappearing in the distance with a general grumbling about finally being freed and being dreadfully peckish.

Exposure to the door seemed to have turned them British.