Thought it woldun't to give it a shot. I was right.
Hurt. I think the word I left out was hurt. Then again, I don't like to think of the words "hurt" and "shot" together. I'm the sort that faints at the sight of hypodermic needles.
So when if I were to shoot or draw blood in any way, it would have to be fatal to be worth it. Only wounding my adversary would give him the advantage as my vision would inevitibly start blur, leaving me at his mercy.
I delivered a series of rapid punches to his nose and mouth, and he bled violently. I sent a bone-shattering knee into his crotch. He was on the ground, weeping in a pool of blood.
I walked over to his limp body and demanded for him to give me my eyeball back. He tried to spit into my face, but it just dribbled down his chin. I picked him up by the collar.


"Now look here, you," I said,"I've only been a zombie for two minutes and you've obviously had years of experience. What say we just agree to disagree?"



"Well, look at the big brain on Brad!" comes my reply. "Did someone say brraaaiins?" you inquire.