“My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.” Hans pointed down the street at the small group of young men heading their way, gesturing with his chocolate shake.

“What?” Dan looked up from his lawn mower and wondered why Hans kept making milkshakes and then coming to his yard without bringing him one.

“Check out my milkshake. Eet’s bringing all those boys to my yard.”

“Hans, those aren’t boys. They’re… they’re… not boys!”

“Vat? They’re little girls saying, ’They’re, like, it’s better than yours’?”

“Put on your glasses, Hans! They’re too slow to be young men attracted by a frozen dairy-based treat. And they’re muttering something. I think they might be out for more than your milkshake, pal.”

“Vat? You think they might be French?”

“Run! I think they’re… ZOMBIES!”

“But zombies don’t like milkshakes. They’re all lactose intolerant! Vhere are you going? Vait, Vait for me! Don’t let them get my milkshake!”