| What do you get when Todd Delzinko passes on and the world doesn't know? Wacky sightings of Todd all over! Here at DDI, being the source for all your Todd Delzinko needs, we hear about Todd's escapades and, if we're lucky, we get photographic evidence! Since our current company strategy is awaiting verification on the desk of Jimmy House, we decided to go ahead and splurge our employee resources on a chronicle of the many ways that Todd Delzinko is still touching our lives today. He is like Elvis without the public awareness or appeal or social skills or sexual magnetism or basic animal passions. Our Todd. What would we do without him? Maybe make money. |
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| Is that central figure Todd
Delzinko? If some poor soul physically resembles Todd to
that degree, I wish him a quick and painless death.
However, we are relatively certain it is Todd. Note the
blank expression and lack of fashion sense. Both these
qualities are very Todd. The young man in the camouflage
shirt seems disturbed, perhaps by the rancid stench of
the undead given inhuman life. Undead Todd also explains
the cheery fellow in the yellow shirt; he wouldn't even
notice the acrid odor of decay if his brain has been
consumed to feed the unholy fire burning in Todd's belly. A deliveryman suggested that if this is a picture of Todd Delzinko and he's dead now, it might have been taken before his demise. We laughed him out of the office. I don't think he'll be back, even if he has a DDI delivery. He'll probably just throw it in a ditch somewhere. Man, we showed him. If a delivery guy named Ron comes to your house, laugh at him. We'll spread the DDI merriment nationwide. |
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| Here is Todd about to consume a
live hamster, an abomination and affront to nature.
You'll notice the inset that reveals Todd's meal in
horrifying detail. Look at the poor, sweet hamster,
determined to escape. Imagine our little furry friend's
fear as the gaping maw approaches inexorably; he
scrabbles madly at the hands clutching him but cannot
escape because of Todd's superhuman undead strength. He
scratches away madly but, as we all know from Night
of the Living Dead, zombies feel no pain, only the
continuous desire for human flesh. We all wish the
hamster would get away, but look in Todd's eyes. Look at
his zany zombie face. He is really excited about eating
this hamster. Almost too excited, like he knows that the
opera ends with the fat lady falling off the balcony and
crushing the hero, allowing the devious Delzinko to once
more burst forth with his laborious singing. Look at the
inset, into the hamster's eyes. He knows he's doomed;
right now, he's just hoping it'll be quick. I think it
will be quick too because I've heard about Todd's eating
habits from Fritz and they don't sound pretty. One time,
Todd had four pieces of pizza and only two minutes to eat
them before he had to leave his apartment (due to bug
bomb's reaching maximum toxicity about fifteen minutes
after they've been set off). Fritz said that Todd took
that as a challenge and destroyed the pizza, as well as
several of society's more beneficial conventions, in less
than the time allotted, then swore to the sky and his
ceiling, "Should you feed me pizza again with bug
bombs blasting, you'll see a similar result only I'll eat
your pizza too!" Here is a thought. Why is a human zombie eating a living hamster? If I was Mr. Placebo or Ms. Leaning, I would be very quickly and quietly edging out of the room. Normally I wouldn't advocate such a copout, but if Todd Delzinko is about to start gnawing on your flesh, I don't think etiquette is as important. |
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| Oh please God no. I hoped we
wouldn't have to see this. I was typing on my knees so I
could stop frequently to pray, but it looks like all of
that has come to naught. Yet again, I am alone and
confronted with the most horrible visage imaginable, and
everyone at DDI is at lunch so I can't turn to them for
help in battling the rising gorge or the metallic taste
of discontent in my mouth. All I can do is push forward,
full of bluster to combat the overwhelming desire I now
have for inertia. I don't want to talk about what this
photograph represents, but I most. My job, nay, my very
existence rests on my ability to find words for the most
horrendous, most hideous activity of the undead. Reading
our mail. Reading every single piece of personal
correspondence we receive. Zombie Todd is like a kid in a candy store with the owner locked out and a riot keeping the police busy. He's got somebody's mail and he's reading it, over and over, probably aloud. If you look in the lower left corner, you can see Todd's zombie overlord stretching out a shrivelled, rotted hand to grant Todd a second piece of mail, a second piece of you or I's soul. If we had a sound to go with this picture, it would be the gleeful cackling of the undead and Todd's meticulous, stumbling monotone voice reading the letter he holds in his hands. They gather in our houses late at night and pilfer the fruits of our American postal service. That is why the undead must be stopped. It's too big a job for DDI because Lord knows we've tried so hard. Our founder, Fritz Morcheeba Delzinko, gathered the roughest, toughest band of SOBs this world has ever seen for his corporation; he just forgot that none of them care about the world's zombie infestation except for me. And I was only hired last week to carry people's beverages around for them. |
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| Here is Todd in action. Notice how he springs on an unsuspecting and helpless victim, who can only cower in fear as Todd's bloated tongue searches for entrance into the cranial cavity. I know how that feels. When I was seven, a zombie followed me home and, as I wheeled my tricycle into the garage, attacked! He lifted me high in the air, seeking to deprive me of leverage to strike back, but I was ready. I clutched in my youthful fist a pinecone, which I slashed at the zombie's face viciously with. Then I kicked him in the heart and he dropped me, gasping in a zombie-like fashion. I shouted, "Burn in Hell, undead scum!" and doused him with gasolene, then lit him on fire. The zombie staggered around, flames and smoke billowing, then collapsed in a heap. I removed every trace of it because I thought then that zombies could respawn from any remnant. Now I know better from experience. It's a sad story, though, because my dad never came home. I guess the zombie got him first. Just like this poor girl's relatives will never see her again after undead Todd is done with her cerebrum. |
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| Here is the undead Todd, finally at
rest after bringing chaos and wickedness to the known
world. He rides the bus of the dead back to where he came
from, oblivious to the pain and suffering he has caused.
What slew Todd the Zombie? Why, it was myself and Jimmy
House and you can read about it here.
What of Todd's equally redead companion? What story lies
behind this female zombie? We may never know, but I made
one up. I may very well be right: "Astra the zombie decided to get some coffee. She went to the nearby Starbucks, which is a clever joke about how there are lots of Starbucks. You might see that joke on Friends or The Simpsons so you know it is comedy gold. Well, Astra discovered that Starbucks didn't have the coffee she wanted so she left or maybe went on an undead killing spree. I can't decide which. Then Astra went to the gas station and ate some gasolene or something. The undead aren't too bright. I guess she thought it was a brain. Then it was a dream or something. I don't know. She died somehow. Then she was put on the bus to take her back, just like Todd. Todd is redead too because of me and Jimmy House. You know how it goes." |
| This was written by DDI's newest employee, a temp we lovingly refer to as 'The Faceless, Soulless Employee Who Must Do Everything We Say' |
