Post by Tovarisch Khrushchev on Sept 30, 2008 19:43:34 GMT -5
It was then, with a loud whop, that the fridge in the small house in Malton shook as if possessed, and indeed that was exactly what it wasn't. In fact, it would actually be more correct to say the fridge was now occupied by a rather slender Russian and the remains of a zombie, the rest of which was somewhere near Portland Oregon.
The fridge door was thrust open with the sort of gusto only a, now very chilly, naked Russian man could muster after constantly being teleported about a quarantined city.
"Oh hey..." The Russian said, taking a swig from a bottle of vodka, "Anyone mind if I eat this sandwich?"
The fridge door was thrust open with the sort of gusto only a, now very chilly, naked Russian man could muster after constantly being teleported about a quarantined city.
"Oh hey..." The Russian said, taking a swig from a bottle of vodka, "Anyone mind if I eat this sandwich?"