When Wandaful went out to play,
The living dead were roaming ’round.
She’d picked a very dangerous day,
With corpses bursting from the ground.

She ran in fear of being shredded,
Torn to bits, eviscerated.
Throat torn out, then beheaded,
Being killed was over–rated!

She found a hide, she caught her breath.
She hoped they wouldn’t find her there.
But stopping still would be her death,
A zombie grabbed her by the hair……

When last we saw our title chick,
The excrement had hit the fan.
The zombie hadn’t missed a trick,
The end of Wanda’s cunning plan.

The lunging teeth, the blood-filled eyes
Fingers tangled in her hair.
So sure she was of her demise,
Her strength gave out, she didn’t care.

The zombie lunged to bite her head
Then suddenly it fell away.
No longer un-, just merely dead.
What twist of fate had saved the day…..?

When last we met, our girl survived
The revenants, up from the grave.
The zombies who did putrefy,
They lurch along, warm flesh they crave.

Then looking down she gave a start,
A friend she saw, a face she knew.
Tasmaniac, who’d passed away
From ruptured gut and loss of spew.

The bullet wound that saved her ass,
The one that gave the final death,
To Zombie Steve who still had class,
(and a shocking case of cannibal breath)

Was fired from up the grassy knoll,
by some sort of mystery person.
Surprised to see, while on a stroll,
A dead man attacking Elle McPherson

That fateful day, that dreadful rising,
When the dead crawled from the ground,
That millions died is not surprising,
Blood and entrails scattered round.

We nearly lost the one we love,
And lost another on the way
Poor Tassie needs a body glove
The man’s a mess, I hear you say.

But Wanda’s safe, and now you see,
She didn’t die so please don’t sook.
If more you want, don’t look at me
Just ask the Keene to write the book!!!