I was hanging out with my friend Bob; Bob was, unsurprisingly, grumbling as he read the newspaper.
At one point Bob sighed heavily. “O.J. Simpson is back in the news again,” he said testily, “why can’t that guy go away and leave us alone?”
“O.J. just needs some crack legal help,” I said. “He needs to hook up with Johnnie Cochran again…that’ll do the trick.”
Bob sighed again, more heavily than before. “Michael, you do know that Johnnie Cochran is dead, don’t you?”
I took no umbrage because I knew that on some level Bob thought I was an idiot and we’d long ago made our peace with that. “Yes, Bob, I know that. But I was thinking that O.J. should go find himself a good voodoo woman and have Johnnie brought back for one more hurrah!”
“So you’re saying that Simpson should get a zombie Johnnie Cochran to come back from the dead to defend him?”
“Exactly!” I replied excitedly. “That would be so cool!”
Bob rolled his eyes and went back to the paper. “I don’t know what the problem is with people in so-called “professional” sports. You got that idiot baseball player who hurt his own stupid self because he let somebody get him riled up beyond control. You got that bicycle guy who lost his title because of ‘performance enhancing’ drugs. And don’t get me started on…Michael…Vick…” Bob’s words trailed off as he looked over and saw me staring off with goofy grin on my face. “And you’re not listening to me at all, are you?”
I shook off the reverie. I knew that the truth wasn’t the answer Bob wanted to hear but I decided to go with it anyway. “Um, no I’m not. Sorry, Bob.”
Bob cocked an eyebrow. “You’re still thinking about a zombie Johnnie Cochran, aren’t you?”
I smiled, almost laughed, and nodded. “Yes! I’m mean, come on, you have to admit that it would be something cool to see!” Can’t you just see zombie Johnnie Cochran in court, skin rotting away under a sharp $3,000 suit?” I shifted into a spooky voice. “If it rains you must feed me more brains...”
I thought I saw Bob stifle a smile. “You need help, Michael,” he said as soberly as he could. “Besides zombies don’t talk that fast.”
“Zombie Johnnie Cochran would be as glib as ever,” I opined confidently. “…until the jury delivers, I needs me more livers…”
“Stop it,” Bob protested, though I could tell he was desperately trying not to laugh.
“…when the feasting starts, I’ll have three human hearts…”
“I’m not listening to you anymore…”
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