The powder was in the top cabinet, behind packs of organic barley and quinoa that we never use. I unwrapped the plastic and took out the bottle. I put on a pair of wash gloves and carefully unscrewed the lid, catching a faint whiff of something, thick, clotted and musty, like a crypt filled with dead spider's webs and moth's wings. I took a tea spoon and scooped out a tiny pinch. It was a dull grey colour. Quick, I stirred it in. A brief fizz as it met the JD and Coke, then nothing. I added two ice cubes. This is a story about an Exploding Zombie C**k by the brilliant James Miller. What more do you need to know?! (If you really have to know more, it definitely lives up the title. And is a bit rude.)
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