One night, they go to a party. The man decides that it's time to go home and wants to find out if his wife is ready to leave as well.
He shouts at the top of his voice, 'Shall we go home now Mother of Six?"
His wife, finally fed up with her husband, shouts back, "Anytime you're ready, Father of Four!"
To wreak an unholy vengeance upon the driver of the car who's standing there, scratching his head, trying to figure out how a zombie baby's head can be beneath his car tires but the rest of the body is nowhere to be seen-- unless he were to turn around and notice the zombie baby body bearing down on him, coming ever closer, ready with grasping, pudgy zombie baby fingers to tear and rend at the flesh of this self-same driver who ran his head over, on the dark and rain-swept road that snakes down from the castle of the madman who's creating an army of zombie babies to do his dark, libidinal bidding.
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