"The Joker. Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. I thought God and I had an understanding, but I guess not. Fan-freaking-tastic."
She whipped around at the living bozo.
"Don't ever use the word voodoo. Don't even think it. The scariest person I ever met was a little old grandmother who made undead zombie creatures in her basement composed of bits and pieces of humans and animals. I don't do voodoo. I'm not that evil. But if you're asking can I raise him as a zombie, the answer is yes. I mean, he's even new dead. You should see people who want to raise long-dead ancestors to settle land disputes and crap like that. Hell, this should be a breeze. I probably don't even have to do a ritual."
In fact, she decided to try right then and there, without bothering to ask how long ago said Joker whacked off said head. She focused her pent-up sexual frustration and anger on the dead body, which really wasn't too far away.
Her hair blew around in the cold wind that surrounded her as she animated the corpse, eyes closed and fists clenched.