Oh, you'll have to excuse me for a moment. Dragon! "Oui?!" I think you'll want to get back in here. "Really!?" Really. "Hooray!" For yes, gentle reader, we have finally arrived at the exciting portion of this evening's festivities, wherein Darling Sammy raps at a decrepit-looking barn of a house's front door, all the while calling out for a Mrs. Jones who never answers. Looking down, he spots a tiny bit of blood on the threshold, and so cracks open the door to tippy-toe his ginormous self into the barn's foyer, and good God. It's like Grey Gardens up in here. "You can always take off the skirt and use it as a cape!" Thanks for that trenchant bit of commentary, Raoul. "No problem!" In any event, Darling Sammy gingerly shoulders his way through the mounds of trash to find a wan-looking little old lady propped up in a decaying bed about where the dining room furniture should be, and oh, crap. The camera's just leapt over for a close-up on the little old lady's face, and she's got gaping, suppurating sores on her cheeks and lips, and her already pale eyes seem to be clouded over with cataracts, and from somewhere deep within her scrawny chest, her struggling lungs are hacking up moist bits of God knows what, and as she drools no small amount of viscous fluid down her neck, she motions for Darling Sammy to come closer. Sam hesitates. "What is it?" he asks oh-so-politely from the far side of the room. The little old lady gestures again, a bit more insistently this time. "You think you can tell me from over here?" Sam wonders. Hee. The little old lady's only response is another flap of her hand. "Yeah, I'm gonna regret this," Squicked-Out Sammy winces, and yet he soldiers on over to her bedside, whereupon the weak, tiny granny...kicks his tantalizing derriere clear across the room! "VIOLENCE! WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT ZOMBIE-RELATED VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Yep, Darling Sammy soon finds himself flat on his back next to the rapidly decaying corpse of Mrs. Jones's eviscerated husband, and we get a brief of glimpse of the hole where the corpse's stomach should be right before Zombie Granny flings herself on top of Our Intrepid Hero. At which point she proceeds to, you know, drip ropy foulness from her snarling, gaping maw directly onto his face! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Fortunately for Our Dear Boy, he remembered to tuck Dashing El Deano's trusty pearl-handled automatic into the waistband of his jeans, and he now retrieves the weapon to shove the business end of the thing into Zombie Granny's mouth, and BAM! "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" And as Zombie Granny's brains spray straight up into the air to splatter against the ceiling, Darling Sammy wastes not a second before pushing her hoary corpse directly into the METAL TEETH CHOMP! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"