Tea Time

The Dreadful Obazy looks out his office window to see a group of citizens holding signs, and throwing things. At the distance he has little worries that what they are throwing will come any where near him. All he has is the curiosity of the zombie blood that flows through his body. He wonders if the little things taste good. After all a dutiful good zombie is always on the out look for food, and he being the leader of the zombies is no different.

?What are they throwing??

?Tea bags,? says Dead Fish the most obedient of all the zombie followers.

?Tea bags, why are they throwing tea bags?

Dead Fish looks out the window with a sneer, the flesh on the side of his face hanging limply.

?They are acting out a protest against taxes, like the founding fathers at the Boston tea party.?

The heavy clock hits Dead fish on the side of his head and knocks him to the floor. He lurches to his feet, and then crumbles back to his knees, black blood oozing out the gash in the side of his head like used motor oil from a spigot.

Obazy stands over him, fists clenched and legs slightly apart, looking like a boxer waiting for an opponent to rise so he can beat him back down.

?Founding fathers, whose founding fathers,? splutters Obazy, in his blind wide eyed rage, ?not my fathers. My founding fathers are Marx, Owen, Fourier, and Castro. Don?t ever allude to any other founding fathers in my presence. This country was built on a sham; I will destroy it and rebuild it as it should be. No zombie will be responsible for his will and his own actions, all religions will be destroyed they only make man a weak.

?ZOMBIES, I WILL HAVE MY NATION OF ZOMBIES.?

Dead fish lies on the floor below the pontificating Obazy, covering his eyes with his hands and crying, moved by the sheer enchantment of the one.