Every once in awhile, Rory would say something that would make Eisen’s brain ache. This was one of those times. He’d learned, however, to keep a straight face and calm himself before telling Rory that his brain was swirling in his head. “If we’re using lexiconed? You just lexiconed me, dude. I can keep up with you most of the time but sometimes…” he chuckled and shrugged. “Dude! Crusaders of vocabulary would be badass!” he nodded excitedly. “Someone misuses a word and we smack them in the head with a dictionary all like ‘CORRECT THINE ENGLISH,’ or something like that,” he straightened up and allowed his voice to boom a little bit more. “I draw the line at funny costumes though.”
Eisen chuckled and shrugged. “It’d be pretty sweet to be a zombie psychologist…so long as the zombies were in cages, anyway,” he mused. “What psychological problems could a zombie possibly have, though? Maybe the inability to eat because they’re afraid of brains? Or not wanting to be one of the shambling masses, so they actually say more than ‘auuuuugh?’” He chuckled a little. “And one would argue that there is a brain shortage. Or at least a working brain shortage, so there’s that.”
Eisen snickered. “I can totally see you as a lawyer, too, Rory. Psychologist by day, lawyer by night?” he paused, chuckling. “That would be an epic, very lucrative combination. You’d have chicks throwing themselves at you, too. The smart, loaded psycholawyer…actually, wait. That makes you sound psychotic.”
“Can’t we just have like, eighteenth century week in present day? Because as soon as you mentioned regular bathing, time travel became less of an appealing concept,” he admitted. “I like bathing regularly, thanks. If we were to go back in time, I think I’d have to have my memory wiped, too, because I’d inevitably miss all my little materialistic trappings of life.”