The scene: An empty road somewhere in the Midwest, where Future Moose recently ran someone over. That someone is now biting Moose on the arm. It seems pretty fair, all things considered.

Ballsofsteelandfury (approaching): Hey, what the hell…?

Future Moose (sighing as the man continues to bite at his outstretched arm): Well…

Ballsofsteelandfury (eyes wider than OSZ’s were earlier): Hey, he’s…he’s…

Future Moose: Keep it down.

Ballsofsteelandfury: But you’ve been bitten! You’re gonna go all “Grr, argh” now!

Future Moose: Don’t be silly. Zombies don’t exist. Besides, I’m an android, remember? This guy can’t even break my skin.

Ballsofsteelandfury (grimacing): Man, those dead eyes…that vacant look…the drool…

Future Moose: He could be a Pats fan, amirite?

Ballsofsteelandfury (high-fiving Future Moose): Just what I was thinking!

The man stops gnawing on Future Moose and lunges at Ballsofsteelandfury.

Future Moose (grabbing the man and hoisting him off the ground with one arm): No, you don’t. Balls isn’t made of cutting-edge polymer resins and a titanium skeleton like yours truly.

Ballsofsteelandfury: Hey, he’s wearing a Vikings jersey!

Future Moose (holding the guy up to take a look): Number five!

Ballsofsteelandfury: Aww…poor guy. Does he have a name on the back?

Future Moose (looking): It just says Teddy.

Ballsofsteelandfury: That’s…kind of sad.

Future Moose: You’re getting that look.

Ballsofsteelandfury: What? I was not!

Future Moose: You can’t just pick up every stray that comes along. Isn’t that how you ended up with an elephant?

Flashback to: Ballsofsteelandfury sitting on a couch in his apartment watching a football game, with his elephant sitting behind him, taking up pretty much the rest of the room.

Ballsofsteelandfury (celebrating): Touchdown! Woo! And what do we do when we get a touchdown?

In response the elephant raises his trunk and trumpets loudly.

Ballsofsteelandfury (shooting a finger gun and handing the elephant a bunch of peanuts): Attaboy!

Cut to: The present day again.

Ballsofsteelandfury (shrugging): At least I don’t get my apartment broken into any more.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (wandering up, bong in hand): Hey, guys. Like, OSZ wanted me to find out if you guys were, like, zombies yet, man.

Future Moose: No. And he’s not a zombie.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (taking a hit off of the bong): Cool, man. Oh, hey, I fixed the bong!

Ballsofsteelandfury (reaching for the bong): Nice job, Marc! It looks as good as new.

Ballsofsteelandfury takes a hit off of the bong. The man being held by Future Moose groans and reaches out for the bong.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Hey, zombie-dude wants to burn one, man!

Future Moose: He’s not a zombie. Balls, let him have a hit.

Ballsofsteelandfury: Seriously?

Future Moose: What could it hurt?

Ballsofsteelandfury hands over the bong to the man. Future Moose sets him down on the road and he happily takes a yuuuge hit.

Ballsofsteelandfury (surprised): Hey, look at that grin!

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Whoa, zombie-dude’s really chiefing it!

Future Moose (getting out a cell phone): Keep an eye on him. I’ve got someone I want to call.

Cut to: The DFO clubhouse. Cookiethulhu, wearing his prospect patch, is out front, raking all of the leaves into a massive pile.

Cookiethulhu: Finally! I can’t believe this took me all day!

Beerguyrob (coming out of the clubhouse, phone in hand): Hey, prospect! You’ve got a phone call!

Cookithulhu (putting down the rake): I do? Why, whoever could it be?

Beerguyrob (handing over the phone): Do I look like your secretary? And what have we told you about personal calls on club time?

Cookiethulhu (taking the phone): Sorry, sir! Won’t happen again.

Beerguyrob: Better not. And when you’re done with the leaves, you can take a break.

Cookiethulhu (into the phone): Hello? Moose, is it? Fancy that! What’s that…a dead Viking, you say? Well, of course! No, I know exactly what you’ve got there…

In the background, unnoticed by Cookiethulhu during his conversation, Beerguyrob takes a running dive into the leaf pile. Leaves scatter everywhere. Beerguyrob emerges from the pile, scattering even more leaves, and kicks them around until they’re littering the entire area again.

Cut to: Future Moose on the phone. Marc Trestmans Windowless Van and Ballsofsteelandfury are sitting next to the man, passing the bong around.

Future Moose (putting the phone back into his pocket): OK, guys, I found out what we have here. Just like I thought, he’s not a zombie.

The man takes a yuuuge bong hit and sighs happily.

Ballsofsteelandfury: So, what is he then?

Future Moose: He’s a draugr.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (accepting the bong from the…well…draugr): Makes sense, man.

Ballsofsteelandfury: It…does? What the hell is a draugr, anyway?

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (exhaling smoke): It’s, like, an undead viking, man. Like, sometimes they come back, y’know? Especially if they were, like, unsatisfied or pissed off, man.

Ballsofsteelandfury: Sometimes it worries me that you know these things.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: And they’re tough, man! I think we needed, like, a +5 sword to kill one.

Ballsofsteelandfury (taking the bong from Marc): Aaaaand that’s enough for you.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: So what do we do with him, man?

Ballsofsteelandfury (looking at Future Moose): We have to take him with us…right?

Future Moose (sighing): We can’t just leave a dead Viking fan wandering around. He might eat one of Cutler’s kids and catch something. So…

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (getting up): Bitchin’, man! Hey, he’s gonna dig the clubhouse, man!

Ballsofsteelandfury: And Yeah Right’s gonna need a drinking buddy for this year’s Minnesota games.

The four walk back to the car.

Future Moose (opening the door): Scoot over, guys, we have ourselves a passenger.

OSZ (from inside the car): Are you crazy? We’re not riding with a zombie, Moose!

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van (helping the draugr into the back seat): He’s not a zombie, man. Besides, he’s in Stonation, man. He’s harmless.

Ballsofsteelandfury (getting in the passenger side): So what do we call our new friend?

Future Moose: His jersey says “Teddy.” Why don’t we go with that?

Teddy (nodding): Grawr.

Low Commander: I guess he approves…?

Future Moose: Hey, Balls, turn on the radio.

OSZ: This thing has a radio?

Future Moose: I’ll have you know this car has a perfectly serviceable AM radio.

OSZ (grumbling): My Prius had Sirius. And a nav system.

Ballsofsteelandfury (turning on the radio): Your Prius is probably wanted in at least three states by now.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Hey, man, does Teddy need a last name?

Future Moose (driving): Maybe. We’ll think of something. Turn up the radio, Balls…I like this song.

Ballsofsteelandfury shoots a twin pair of finger guns and turns up the volume. The car continues its journey down the road, the dulcet tones of Simon & Garfunkel drifting out of the windows.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Whoa, dude! I’ve got it! How’s this sound, man: Teddy Garfunkel.

Teddy: Grrf.

OSZ: Keep working on it, Marc. Hey, Moose, turn on your headlights!

Future Moose: I told you, I have night vision. We’re fine.

Ballsofsteelandfury: That’s what you said right before you ran over Teddy.

Future Moose (clicking a switch): There! Happy now?

OSZ (trying to see out the front window): Maybe you should try the high beams…?

Future Moose: Those are the high beams.

OSZ (taking the bong from Ballsofsteelandfury): If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die high.

Marc Trestmans Windowless Van: Teddy Paul Simon?

OSZ (taking a yuuuge hit): Keep trying, Marc…

To be continued…