Linoleum Raiders: Back in Time

Linoleum Raiders: Back in Time

“Are you sure it’s okay to take this?” Meatster screamed quietly to his compadre.
Compadre caressed Meatster’s monstrous face, “Yeah. My old man says windshield wipers are hot property, but with the profit we’ll turn on this heist I’d be willing to take any risk.”
“You’re the boss.” Meatster howled, blushing as he lifted his skirt.
It was early morning, and was still dark out. The musty city air was accompanied by the noisy splashes of traffic through rain washed streets. The two criminals shivered in the cool, damp weather as they continued to rip the windshield wipers from each car in the Park-N-Ride. Conversation did not start again between them until an old man stumbled towards them.
“Where’d he come from?” Measter imploded.
“Must have wandered off the streets.” Compadre replied, while showing Measter the correct way to swing a golf club.
They watched the old man weave his way through the parked cars, slowly shambling in their direction. When he was within distinguishing proximity Meatster noticed his security guard outfit,
“Hey boss! The old man must be the security guard, you think he’s wasted or something?”
Compadre quickly put away his lipstick, “Yeah, Maybe. Let’s show our guest to the inside of a Buick’s trunk, shall we?”
Meatster secretly wished he could show the old man a human pancreas covered in soy sauce, but Compadre would certainly not approve. Pushing his hidden desires to the back of his mind, Meatster motioned to wrangle the old man. Compadre took the old security guard down with a hard kick to the ear; Meatster shuffled over to pick up the soggy remains. The criminals lifted him into the trunk of the aforementioned Buick--it was only then did they notice the gory, gaping cavity in the old man’s chest.
“Uhh… you shouldn’t have kicked the fogey so hard boss.”
“I didn’t do that you fool! This man is clearly a flesh hungry zombie!” Compadre translated.

The old man began to stir inside the trunk, no doubt provoked by that furious kick to the ear. “Boys…Boys…I…have…..only antidote. Must…save….world..” He wheezed, barely clinging to his pitiful old man life. But Compadre wouldn’t have it—BANG! BANG! – two 45mm bullets splattered the man’s zombified brains and silenced him forever.
“I didn’t want you to see that, but I won’t have him spreading his lies. Old people can’t be trusted” Compadre whispered as his finished up a game of racquetball with an old friend from community college.
The pair made off with their windshield wipers and walked toward Slickfoot Sandy’s pawn shop where they could cash in their loot. The inside of the shop was filled with a brown glow emitted from an antique lamp behind the counter. A TV set buzzed atop a rolling cart, little people screamed and wrecked havoc on its screen. Compadre switched off the set, “I can’t believe people watch this filth.”
“I really gotta piss boss.” Meatster constructed a successful amusement park.
“Well hurry up! I don’t want to hold onto these wipers for long. Where is Slickfoot Sandy anyways?” But Meatster was already upstairs teasing the Tyson.
Compadre plopped down on a dusty couch in the corner of the shop, admiring the décor for a few moments before drifting into a light sleep. He hadn’t dozed off for long when Meatster came tumbling down the staircase in front of him. Compadre was about to let loose a torrent of insults when he saw blood spilling from his friend’s neck.
“No!” He erupted in a sea of diarrhea.
Meatster looked up at Compadre from the foot of the staircase with soft, welcoming eyes.
“I guess you don’t have to split the money with me now.” He ultra-spanked with a fiery compassion, just before peacefully slipping into a permanent sleep.

Compadre kissed his deceased toes and formed a cross on his chest with some macaroni noodles he had found behind the counter. He whispered some apologies and sang a few of his favorite songs, using the corpse’s hand as a mic. By this time the walking cadaver of Slickfoot Sandy had descended the staircase and threatened to create a convincing reenactment of his previous murder. Compadre backpedalled with the force of thirteen sick parrots. Door crushing pounding at the door resulted in the collapse of the door, and revealed a zombie horde outside the pawn shop. The dangerously boring undead army moved in on Compadre with Slickfoot Sandy taking the point.
“I should have seen this coming.” Compadre jet-skied, realizing his impending doom, yet somehow unable to accept being torn apart by the living dead. In a swelling moment of brilliance Compadre elbowed the jukebox behind him, which consequently sputtered to life with the hit song “Catnip” by Sidewinder and Lyle. Compadre knew there was only one way to escape a flesh-hungry army…

crowd surfing.