😈 ​The Underwhelmed Undertaker

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This week’s ad slot was purchased by friend of Foofaraw, Evan Passero, in support of Elevated Access—a non-profit organization that enables people to access healthcare by providing flights on private planes at no cost, whose volunteer pilot network transports clients seeking abortion or gender-affirming care across the United States.

Foofaraw will match up to $300 in donations to DIFFA Dallas, Elevated Access, and Denton Community Food Center through the remainder of 2025.

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Horace listlessly stared out at the empty rows of cushioned chairs facing a dais that should have held a corpse in the coffin. The phone behind his counter rang. He set aside his newspaper, intending to finish his crossword puzzle later. “Happy Meadows Funeral Home. How can I help you?”

“This is Mrs. Peters. I called this morning about picking up my husband’s body at noon.” The woman’s voice cracked as she sniffled.

Horace used his best soothing tone. “Yes, I’m sorry about your loss. At Happy Meadows, we’re here to help make your loved one’s transition as easy as possible.” He glanced at the clock. It was only ten AM. He still had plenty of time before he needed to leave to pick up the body.

The woman blew her nose. Horace picked up his crossword as he waited for her to calm herself. He still needed a six-letter word for “too little too late.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to tell you this.” The woman sighed dramatically. “You see, there’s been a resurrection. It seems Phillip didn’t die of the flu after all. He was infected with a zombie virus. We can’t find his body for burial. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

Damn it! He threw down his newspaper. That was the third cancellation in twenty-four hours, not counting the body that had risen from the coffin during the morning ceremony and chased off everyone attending the service.

Horace cleared his throat, trying for a professionally calm voice. “Yes, of course. If you should locate his body and decide to have him decapitated, you are more than welcome to bring the body here to be dressed and prepared for burial. Or if anyone else in your family should become infected with a zombie virus, we are happy to pick up the body sooner to ensure your loved ones stay dead.”

A squeak came from Mrs. Peters. The line went dead.

Horace returned to his crossword puzzle, but he didn’t have the heart to finish it. When he’d first decided to be a mortician, he’d assumed it would be a lucrative job, especially with the aging baby boomer population. But ever since the recent wave of zombie viruses, his business had become half-dead.

He pushed aside his newspaper, pausing when he saw the advertisement with the headline: “Get your sample of bubonic plague for a limited time only!”

Horace picked up his phone and dialed the number under the ad. “Hello, I’d like to place an order for your extra-large disease package. Also, I see you sell a book called, How to Contaminate Your City’s Water Supply. I’d like to purchase a copy of that as well.”

The friendly voice on the other end of the line said, “Thank you for your order with Chaos Supplies. Can I get your credit card number?”

Horace smiled. A plague would solve his problems. It looked like there was hope after all.