Attack of the Fairytale Zombies! by Pj Jones

wielding either large butcher knives, rolling pins or frying pans, grumbled behind him.
    Barth fanned his face as the sweltering heat from the royal ovens was becoming unbearable. Not to mention the continuous stream of steam emanating from Drag’s nose was making breathing difficult. The dragon’s breath smelled like old bacon and stale beer.
    “Hey, Drag.” Barth looked up at his friend whose large snout was protruding in through the kitchen door. “Could you exhale outside please?”
    Drag rolled his eyes and then inhaled an entire pot of steamed clams.
    One of the chefs swatted Drag’s nose with a broom. “Back, you stupid dragon! That was food for the king.”
    Annoyance flashed in the dragon’s eyes before he belched clam residue all over the irate chef. “That’s a lot of food for one king. No wonder the town is going broke.”
    The chef dropped his broom and swatted shards of clam off his clothes as he stumbled backwards and knocked over several baskets of fruit. The monster only laughed as he withdrew to the kitchen gardens.
    “Barth, I’ve got terrible news!” Arms flailing wildly, the wizard rushed into the kitchen.
    Barth sheathed his sword and crossed his arms. “What can be worse than mushy spaghetti?”
    “Douchebagga has stolen my potion!” the wizard cried. “See, she left this note.” He held out a yellow Post-it with an image of a cute little black cat, along with Douchebagga’s cell number and email address. Beneath her address was a message printed in Papyrus font.
    Barth scowled. Nobody used Papyrus anymore. It was such an outdated and ugly font, almost as bad as Comic Sans. No wonder she was considered the most evil and vile witch in all of the kingdom.
    He read her message aloud. “If you want your potion back, bring me the dragon. Cackle. Cackle. Sincerely, Douchebagga.”
    Heather, who’d been conveniently standing there the whole time, but didn’t have any dialog until now, gasped.
    Drag burped again, then growled as he stuck his head back inside the door.
    The wizard sobbed into his hands. “What do we do? I’m not cut out to battle witches. I should have gone to law school.”
    Barth wadded the note up into a ball and tossed it into an oven. “There is NO way I’m sacrificing my best friend’s balls to Douchebagga.” He turned to the wizard. “How long will it take you to make some more potion?”
    The wizard threw up his hands. “I can’t make any more.”
    “Why not?” Barth, Drag and Heather asked in unison.
    “I’m out of Snurf turds and all the Snurfs have been zombified.”
    “What do we do?” Heather asked.
    “Looks like we need to stick to our original plan and flee the kingdom,” Drag said with finality in his hardened expression.
    “We can’t flee.” Heather’s voice rose several octaves as she stomped up to Drag. “What about all these innocent people?”
    Drag flinched. “What innocent people? There’s nobody left but a bunch of zombies and a few royal dickwads.”
    “Drag, we can’t leave them as zombies forever,” Heather groaned before turning her pleading gaze to Barth. “Would you please talk some sense into Drag?”
    Barth was torn between helping the girl he really wanted to land in the sack, and risking the life, and possibly even the balls, of his best friend.
    But it had been a really, really long time since Barth had been laid, so in the end, he decided to do what was right for the kingdom. He turned to Drag. “Look, you just need to fly in there, pretend you have the hots for her, then we steal the potion and get out.”
    Drag snorted and arched a brow. “And you think it’s going to be that easy?”
    Barth scratched his head. “Well, this book is only about 15,000 words so far, so probably not.”
    Heather struck a prayer pose and bent down before Drag. “I’ll make you all the ale you want.”
    Drag’s huge eyes narrowed to slits. “A lifetime supply.”
    “Okay,” Heather said.
    His ruby red lips turned down in a