Night of The Living Creeping Crawling Undead Dead
Well, it all started about two years ago, it was two years ago on Feast Day…
when all of the excited inhabitants of our little hamlet, ACHOO – A FALLS,
were at the end of the annual feast celebrating the life, death and finally departed soul of Saint Alphonso.
You see, Saint Alphonso was unlike any other saint who poured down his blessings on our little hamlet, why he was a saint of great proportions and size and heralded for nomadic greatness. 
His reputation spread far and wide as did his waist and girth, his stature was tall and broad.
Beloved Saint Alphonso was highly recognized for his annual trecks once a year on the same day of the same month, when he would descend from high up upon his mountain to bask in the sun with the local villagers, 
all the while feasting upon plate after plate, serving after gargantuan serving, of his most beloved meal, most cherished meal and most eaten meal – the American Pancake.
Pancake, you say!
Oh, but these were no ordinary pancakes, no, no, remember, it was Marie Anntoinette who shouted from the mouth of her pre-guillotined neck, ” peasants, why let them eat cake “, which they did because she no longer could.
At any rate, the point is these were the great American Pancake, not some 
felonious fledglings attempt at famous fancy foods cookery.
The problem arose this particular year when the Clarion call came from the North, on whatever it is that Clarions use to make calls, at any rate, the clarion call came and the village exploded in an uproar! What was it, what was it, you say…
ZOMBIES!
The bell tower began to signal the alert with official alert signaler setting to his single signal alerting bell, the very bell left to him by his very own mother and former signal alert bell ringer, Ma Bell.
Clang, cling, bong, and so forth. It was loud, it was noisy, it was scary and it became progressively scarier, as the town folk scrambled out from their ever so humble but cherished none the less, little homes and proceeded to gather in the small square at the very center of this nostalgic but otherwise mundane little hamlet.
They greeted one another with warm hearteded sentiments such as, “hello Mr. Beansby, how are you fairing sir”, “well Mrs. Donecker, under the circumstances quite well, I would say, quite well. For you see, I have lost a brother who was driving his one horse carriage just three miles north of here, just beyond Sterling Poofenpeckers field of freely falling forestry, he’s gone I’m afraid, taken in no uncertain terms by the, why the, the, oh God man, must I say it?
By the Living Creeping Crawling Undead Dead!
At this point, it was decided by all of those who decide such things, when no one else knows what to do or even how to do it if they even knew what IT was that they should do, so others who were capable of making decisions discussed, rehearsed, revamped and reviewed said decisions, then went ahead and made them.
LADIES and GENTLEMEN
The curtain is now drawn as we partake of a small intermission which hopefully will allow us and all of the other noteworthy participants, to sniff some salts and relegate themselves to the regal lounges provided by the young handsome and beautiful, if not yet noteworthy denizens of this fair hamlet.
Until we return then, Ta, ta.
When Synapses Go Bad 