“I just saw a werewolf bite a zombie.”

“What did you say?”

“Outside, just now. Werewolf bit a zombie.”



“How do you know it was a werewolf?”

“Well, there’s a full moon out tonight. He was covered in hair, looked like Chewbacca. Big pointy teeth. Claws. Standing upright. Definitely not a bear, dog, wolf, or wookiee.”

“And he bit a…zombie?”


“How do you know it was a zombie?”

“Rotting flesh, stench of the grave, shuffling feet, head tilted on shoulder. Come on! I can identify zombies. Werewolves too.”

“Jesus. What does a zombie turn into when it gets bitten by a werewolf?”


“Well, it doesn’t matter, there’s probably not much left of the zombie by now anyway…”

“Sure there is.”

“What do you mean? You said a werewolf was eating a zombie.”

“No, I said a werewolf bit a zombie.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, obviously zombies must not taste very good. The werewolf spat out the bite.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It sure is. Want to see it?”

“No. Not really.”

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