Are you there? Get me donuts. Drive by, throw them out at me. I can't be arsed to do it myself. I'm the hacked off fucker that's going to be shooting and stomping future zombie fuzzies into the grass, on his front lawn, while the neighbor children giggle and watch and tell me to shoot things more.
I can't tell them no. They're bright eyed and clap a lot.
Donuts. Need. Them. And coffee. No cream, it makes me phlegmy and I cough a lot.