F-Wording the Zombots

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“Forget about it, Mom,” said Marylou Brambach in response to her mother’s inquiry concerning her make out habits with me.

“Why should I forget about it?” Mrs. Brambach asked.

“Because that cop is pulling you over,” Marylou exclaimed without an exclamation mark at the end of her sentence which was sure to upset Mrs. Appleburger, the sophomore English teacher. She didn’t really teach the sophomore English class. She taught the junior class, but she was a sophomore at Northern Illinois University, which is, as they say, another story.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Brambach pulled over for the police officer. The officer stepped out of his patrol car. He wore a black uniform with a large Glock on a black leather belt as his most noticeable accessory, except for the shiny badge on his shirt and the big white helmet on top of his head. About fifty feet behind the police car marched a gaggle of high school football players singing the zom… zom… zom… fight song.

“May I help you, officer?” Mrs. Brambach sounded indignant. You’d be in Dignant too if you lived there, but that’s not the point, is it? Well, it would be the point if you were looking at a large map of the state of Nebraska where you might find a point or dot next to the name Dignant.

The police officer stared admirably, if a bit cold, during the entire paragraph above, obviously waiting for a break in the conversation. When one appeared, he said, “Zom… zom… zom…” He even got all the little dots in the right place as he reached for his gun.

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