You’re not sure what disturbs you more—the fact that set you up with a zombie or the fact that it took half an hour for you to distinguish it from every other internet date you’ve ever had. The last thing you need right now is to go tagging along with Crazy McShooterson out there. If there are any more of those things running around, let her take care of them. You need to sit down with a stiff drink and think long and hard about how it all came to this.

The bad news is that the waitstaff has completely abandoned the place along with all the customers. The good news is, so has the bartender. You grab a bottle of gin off the top shelf and play with the squirter gun thing until you figure out which button makes the tonic water come out. The first drink is exactly what the doctor ordered, although it doesn’t seem to provide much insight into your dating troubles. Surprisingly, the second and third don’t bring any startling revelations, either.

Your slow, steady march toward oblivion is interrupted by a chorus of moans, and you look up from your glass to see several zombies marching toward you. But their vacant, drooling faces just remind you of all the self-absorbed losers you’ve ever been set up with. Busting a few zombie heads might prove cathartic right now.

You know what your trouble is? Zombies. If it weren’t for those rotting bastards, your life would be great! If you wisely take out your frustrations on the undead, turn to page 67.

Slow down there, champ. That’s just the booze talking. If you decide that violence is not the solution and try to escape through the kitchen, turn to page 180.

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