Zoulag was pawing at a window again. He always did that, but it never seemed to work

Me? I’m by the door, groaning, “Brrrraaaaiiinnsss.”

I think the vocal accompaniment to my already ghastly exterior puts a really sophisticated touch on the effect I’m trying to create.

I can smell those delicious lifetoids from here and it’s maddening, but how else can I convey my insatiable hunger?

“Mmmmblleeeaaauuurrgghhhh!”

<crash>

Yes! Zoulag put a brick through the lower window!

“Ggggroockkfllaaarr!”

For those of you unfamiliar with Zombie, I just congratulated him on a job masterfully accomplished. His response isn’t as articulate as I hoped, but that’s what you get for being intelligently undead.

Now, where was I?

Oh yes. Brains.

Zoulag starts canvassing the living room, but me, I’m heading straight upstairs. Slowly, and noisily, I ascend. Contrary to current movie propaganda, undead joints aren’t conducive to full-speed sprinting.

During the climb, I ponder. Just where are my tasty friends hiding…