The next day was more of the same. Interviews, cheering fans, and great food. After a seafood lunch, Stanley, Veronica, Martin, and Brant sat in a luxurious hotel room. Several boxes were piled on the bed.
"Most of these have already been approved," said Veronica, "but I wanted you to see what we've got." She reached into the first box and took out a shirt. "T-shirts, of course." She unfolded the shirt and held it up to her chest. It was a close-up of Stanley's face.
"I'm sure teachers will love seeing their students wearing that," said Stanley.
"Don't forget, you're educational." She modeled several more t-shirts, including a couple with the annoying skeleton version of him.
"A lot of bootleg shirts are already on the streets," said Brant, "but that's only to be expected given your instant popularity."
"There aren't any with Calvin peeing on me, are there?"
"No, but I've seen one depicting you as an African American that says 'Mista Corpse.'"
Stanley thought about that. "I can't decide if that's racist or not."
"It was a black teenager wearing it."
"Then I guess it's not."
"There are lots and lots of t-shirts, so I won't show you all of them," said Veronica. "But I've got a prototype of the Mr. Corpse action figure."
"Wow, that was quick."
"Oh, they started on it before you came back to life, then they did some tweaks after the resurrection." She tossed the action figure to him.
Stanley inspected the figure carefully. "It doesn't look anything like me."
"Between you and me, I think they just painted a Luke Skywalker figure."
Stanley walked the Mr. Corpse figure up his leg. "They should make a super-villain figure of Brant." He suddenly wished he hadn't said that, but Brant chuckled and seemed genuinely amused.
"Let me see that," said Martin. Stanley tossed the figure to him. "Does it have Super Punching Action or anything like that?"
Veronica shook her head. "Nah."
"What a lame toy."
"Well, most of them will probably be kept in their original packaging anyway."
"Like my first condom," said Stanley.
"There's serious interest from several different companies in doing a Mr. Corpse video game," said Veronica. "We haven't yet decided which bid to accept. Obviously, the development period on that will be fairly long, but we intend to keep your popularity going strong."
"I could fight zombie Pac-Men."
"Anything's possible." Veronica took more items out of the box. "Of course, we've got the Mr. Corpse watch, in both realistic and skeleton models. Tomorrow we'll be taking you in to record some dialogue for the Mr. Corpse Talking Alarm Clock."
"They'll have to record his dialogue on a five-second delay," Brant noted.
"Hey, I uttered nary a swear word in any of my interviews or during the Corpse Caravan."
"And I applaud you for it."
"But I think there'd be a market for a swearing alarm clock. 'Get the fuck out of bed, you lazy zombie.'"
"There was very little interest in food tie-ins," Veronica admitted. "The closest we came was Sour Gummi Corpses, but they didn't want the word 'Corpse' in the name of the candy. We tried to sell them on Sour Gummi Stanleys, but that's still up in the air."
"That's probably for the best," Stanley said. "I don't need any more reason to tell people to bite me."
"You certainly don't. There was also no real interest in Mr. Corpse toothpaste, soap, shampoo, or really any kind of personal hygiene products except deodorant, for obvious reasons. But-and this would be way off in the future-there may be a Mr. Corpse theme park ride."
"No way!" Stanley exclaimed.
"What would happen in that?" asked Martin. "They'd kill off the riders and bring them back to life?"
"No concepts have been discussed yet."
Stanley grinned. "We could do the Mr. Corpse Glory Hole Experience."
"You know what?" asked Veronica. "That may well be the single most disgusting thing you've ever said to me. I'm impressed."
"I'm sure I've said worse."
"No, no, actually, you've never…oh, wait, yes you have. I'd blocked it. Now it's back. Wonderful."
Veronica continued to show off the merchandising options. Stanley had never realized that there were so many possible zombie spin-offs. He entertained the others for a couple of minutes doing tricks with the Mr. Corpse yo-yo, and then they headed back out for the next round of publicity.
The Saturday Night Live sketch parodying his interview with Donald Mandigan was, without a doubt, the single lamest thing Stanley had ever seen. The cast member playing Stanley (badly) couldn't even get through it without almost cracking up and blatantly glancing at cue cards.
An animated spoof on YouTube, on the other hand, caused Mountain Dew to jettison out of his nose. He also noticed that there were countless online discussions about him, and the temptation to participate was almost unbearable, but Veronica informed him that there simply wasn't time. He had a commercial to shoot.
"Hi, I'm Stanley Dabernath, the Amazing Mr. Corpse. As I well know, death can strike at any time. But you probably won't come back like I did, and if you don't, will your loved ones be cared for? Do you have all the life insurance you need? Take a tip from Mr. Corpse and call the number at the bottom of your screen…"
ANNOUNCER #1: And we're back with our live coverage of the 18th Annual Bardsley Celebrity Charity Golf Tournament.
ANNOUNCER #2: And at the tee is The Amazing Mr. Corpse himself, Stanley Dabernath.
ANNOUNCER #1: Of course, Stanley has proven himself to be quite a bit less than amazing today. [Both announcers chuckle.]
ANNOUNCER #2: He's lining up the shot…now he's getting down on his hands and knees to line up the shot from another angle…
ANNOUNCER #1: And he's back on his feet, ready to swing. In this announcer's opinion, his form is not good.
ANNOUNCER #2: I'd have to agree with that. And he swings…and he misses the ball and the club flies out of his hand.
ANNOUNCER #1: And now he just kicked the ball well past the hole.
ANNOUNCER #2: I don't think the Humane Society will be saving many puppies from the proceeds of this tournament.
"Uh, okay," said Stanley, gazing in terror at the thirty-five fifth graders who sat in their seats, staring at him expectantly. He'd vigorously protested the idea of speaking to schools, on the basis that 1) He had no useful wisdom to impart to their young minds, and 2) Little kids were fine from a distance, but they terrified him up close.
"We need this photo op," Brant had explained. "This isn't going to be a coast-to-coast school tour; it's just one class to show that you care about our nation's youth."
"But I don't. They're generally miscreants."
"Then pretend, like you pretend about everything else. And don't mess it up."
"So what happens if I mess it up? Are you gonna inject me with the Wacky Fluid?"
"I didn't say that. And I won't say it. But I'm pleased that your mind is moving in that direction."
And thus Stanley found himself standing in a school classroom, the one place he'd swore to never return, facing an army of menacing children.
"Drugs," he said. "A lot of you will probably at some point in your life feel pressured into trying drugs. Well, drugs are a loser's game. A few years ago I scored some pot-that's also known as marijuana-and I lit it up and I was getting all mellow, and then my cat jumped up on the coffee table. And she had two heads. Now, my cat didn't really have two heads, I saw that image because I was under the influence of the marijuana cigarette. But to me, she had two heads, and I thought, 'Hey, I don't want some funky two-headed cat that's going to end up in the circus.' So I'm running all over the place trying to catch this cat so I can pop off the extra head, you know? But the cat jumped up on the refrigerator, and inside the refrigerator I hear all these voices saying 'Help me! It's cold in here! It's cold in here! And the pickle relish is trying to eat us!' The pickle relish wasn't really trying to eat anybody, but that's the kind of thing you might hear when you're under the influence of marijuana."
Several of the kids giggled and were shushed by their teacher.
"I'm scared to go near the refrigerator and get the cat, so I just walk back over to the couch and sit down. And I'm there for, like, three hours. I didn't even notice when my cat jumped into my lap. It was a complete waste of an evening. What's ironic is that now that I've been resurrected, marijuana wouldn't have any effect on me. I could smoke it all day long and I wouldn't see a single two-headed cat. But I'm not going to, because it's illegal and wrong. Don't do drugs. And always do your homework, and study hard, and listen to your teachers. And your parents. And cops. So, uh, are there any questions?"
At least twenty hands shot up. Stanley pointed at a little boy in the front row.
"If you were in a fight with Spider-Man, who would win?"
Stanley flexed his muscles. "I would destroy him!"
The children cheered and applauded. Maybe kids weren't so bad after all.
"You don't have to be dead to stink," Stanley told the camera, holding up the deodorant container. "That's why you need the guaranteed protection…"
Stanley flipped through the magazine covers. Newsweek, Time, People, TV Guide, Entertainment Weekly…he'd made them all. Of course, the Newsweek headline was "Are They Squandering a Miracle?" Newsweek could kiss his ass.
"Two different networks have expressed interest in a Mr. Corpse reality show," said Veronica. "Don't worry, that's something we'll save until you're washed up and desperate for publicity."
"Thank God."
"But how do you feel about doing a rap music video?"
"I'd feel like it was a really stupid, shamelessly commercial idea that probably pays extremely well."
"And you'd be right. And you don't have a choice. We'll be shooting in a couple of weeks."
"Sweet."
"So how do you think things are working out? Seriously?"
Stanley smiled. "Getting killed was the best damn thing that ever happened to me."