There once was a lonely Country Zombie named Rudy.  It was only a matter of time before his manhood rotted away and fell down his tattered pant leg, and he pined for some of the old zombie in-out.

He had dated a few human girls but it never felt right.  Sandra accidentally fell and cracked her head open, and all her juicy delicious BRAAAAINS fell into his mouth.  Ellen loved foreign films, Jesus, and having her organs ripped from her torso and consumed under a full moon.  She was nice, but their union could not endure.  Joanne suffered a spontaneous case of tragic deliciousness one tragic evening.  He missed her.

His cousin, Marty the Mummy, lived in town, and frequently told tales of cock starved sluts and nymphos, so Rudy packed his bags for a weekend in the big city.

In the nightclub, the prospects seemed better than Marty had foretold.  There were more wet brains than you could shake a fallen limb at.  But mostly there the noise of abrasive voices.  Overwhelmed by this, Rudy asked his cousin, "What is that horrible wailing?"

"Oh, those are the ghost girls.  They cry all day and night, but if you'll move things for them, they will do anything you want, brah.  AN- Y-THING."

"I see," said Rudy.  "And what is that horrible smell?"

"That's just wart cream," said Marty.  "The witches cake that shit on like war paint.  But, they have to look their best, because they have awful personalities and reek like a corpse."

"And who are those hairy ladies, by the window?  They don't look very interested in meeting someone."

"Those are the wolf-women," said Marty.  "Right now they're obsessed with the moon, but when they are in heat, they'll either drive you wild or rip your head off.  50-50 chance."

"Seems like these city women all have issues," said Rudy, sadly.  "How do you ever get around to doing any serious fuckin' in this environment?"

Marty was perplexed.  "Fucking?  My dick's been a dusty flap of cartilage for 250 years.  If it weren't for these bandages, I'd have lost my last ball years ago!"

It seemed that these women were nothing but trouble, and Rudy recalled with fondness the simple but gentle girls of the country, their skulls packed to the brim with the only organ that really mattered.  So there he returned, his zombie willy as dry as ever, and lived there in contentment for the rest of his days, until the mobs came with their rifles.

MORAL:  Brains over beauty.

The end!  Happy Friday!