Giant snapping turtles violently attacking college kids on spring break at Lake Powell.  Oooh…the menace!  The role of Dr. Boobs hasn’t been cast yet, but we’re pretty sure we can get former Miss Hawaiian Tropic Scarlett Chorvat.

We’re not officially in negotions with the Sci Fi Channel yet, but we think we’re on the right track with our pitch.  Thanks to Mrs. MightyThor for the story concept.

Legend:
MightyThor
MrHattyHat
Atticusser

   It had been two weeks since my death, and amid all the things that had changed, at least for me, two things had remained the same for those long 14 days: that old guy down on the bench by the bus stop was still staring at me with those creepy bug-eyes, and I was still really thirsty…
   “Get off my train!” the old man suddenly shouted.
   “Hey, wait a minute…” I replied suspiciously. “That’s a different movie!”
   Shamed, the old man committed hara-kiri right there on the bench. As his lifeless body slumped over on the bench, I watched as his soul awoke and looked around, smacking his lips with a dry click.
   “Man, you got any water?” he asked me.
   “No. Let’s go find a drink.” And off we went in search of liquid to satiate the thirst of the dead.
Suddenly, he stopped and looked at me with those buggy eyes.
   “Hey…wait…Oh no!” He exclaimed.
   ”What?” I asked.
   “There goes Yoko Ono!”
   He pointed at a duck that was waddling in the other direction.
   “You’re an idiot.” I said.
   “Quack!” said the duck.
   We walked a little farther. All the time I was trying to figure out how to ditch this loser, but he looked pretty fast, so I couldn’t come up with anything. 
   Just then the bus pulled up.
   “I guess we only walked from one end of the bench to the other,” the other guy astutely pointed out.
   We got on the bus. It was carrying 300 Iranian Spartans.
   “Are you just writing whatever MightyThor says?” I asked myself. I ignored me and turned to the bus driver, who said…
   “Well, you want an engraved invitation or what?”
   “What?” I said. “You can see me?”
   “Who are you talking to?” said hara-kiri man.
   “The bus driver,” I explained. “I think he can see us!”
   “Yeah, he’s totally looking at your crotch, brother.”
   “Well? In or out, pal? This bus has a schedule to keep,” said the bus driver, apparently accustomed to addressing others respectfully by way of the crotch, in Iranian Spartan tradition.
   “Is this some sort of special bus that transports disembodied spirits between metaphysical worlds?” I asked.
   “Quack!” came the response from my crotch. The duck was standing in the midst of my disembodied self, with its head situated somewhere in the core of my pelvic region.
   You can imagine my disappointment, but it gave me an idea…
   Quickly, I grabbed the duck by the feet and swung it over my head. Setting it back down, it looked up at me with crossed eyes and said, “Man, it’s windy in here.”
   “Well, that didn’t work,” I said to myself. Undeterred, I poked the bus driver in the eyes, tripped the old man and leapt from the bus. Only then did I realize that the bus was flying at 30,000 feet.
   “Typical,” I said with disgust, and busied myself fashioning a makeshift glider out of my pants and the duck.
   “If only I had…
   …not died!” I lamented belatedly and at the most inconvenient time.
   “You didn’t,” said the duck. “You suffer from a condition that makes you believe you are dead when in actuality you are very much alive.”
   “What?” I exclaimed.
   “I mean, ‘Quack!’”
   Then I hit the ground with the duck underneath me.
   “I guess my duck-pants glider didn’t work,” I stated. “Luckily the duck broke my fall.”
   “You’re an idiot,” said the duck posthumously.
   “Quack!” I replied.

   P.S. That duck was pretty much a jerk anyway.