"I love you, too!" he shouted back.
He gave a thumbs-up sign to a crowd of children. Why hadn't they brought candy along to throw out? He'd have to rectify that at the next parade.
Another sign: "MR. CORPSE IS AMAZING!"
And another: "I WANT YOU DEAD OR ALIVE."
"I love you, Santa Fe!" Stanley shouted into his microphone. "All of you, remember that life is precious! Help a neighbor! Give blood to the Red Cross! Feed a stray cat! And then go PARTY TILL YA PUKE!!!"
The crowd roared.
There seemed to be no end to the people, all of them cheering and shouting their support. Stanley knew that there was an alternate gathering of angry protestors, and he would've loved nothing more than to drive by, give them all the finger, and request that they all pluck their thumbs out of their rectums, but he suspected that Brant would veto the suggestion.
An amazingly hot blonde held a sign that said "MARRY ME MR.
"But think of the babies!" Stanley shouted to her. She laughed and waved her sign at the camera crew.
Finally, what seemed like hours later, the crowd thinned out and Stanley ducked back down into the limo. His legs were sore from standing for so long but he was feeling great.
"People love me!" he said, plopping down into the comfy seat.
"Of course they do," said Veronica. "You're the Amazing Mr. Corpse."
"But I thought our culture worshipped youth and beauty."
"That's for female celebrities," said Martin. "You're a guy. You're allowed to be ugly."
"Ah, so that's it," said Stanley. "Still, I never would've expected this. I was thinking lynching, burning at the stake, voodoo dolls…that kind of stuff."
"That's six blocks away," said Brant.
"I think I know what was missing from my life before," said Stanley, settling back into his comfy seat. "I wasn't an adored celebrity. I guess now it seems like such an obvious solution to my lack of direction, but hindsight is fifty-fifty."
"Twenty-twenty," Veronica corrected.
"Right." Stanley frowned. "Martin, did I say dumb stuff like that before?"
"No, sir."
"I didn't think so. Why am I suddenly becoming a bimbo?"
"Don't worry about it," said Veronica. "I'm sure it's just stress and excitement."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Stanley agreed, with more conviction than he felt. His mouth spewed out a gigantic waterfall of stupid comments on a regular basis, but he'd always said them on purpose. Being an accidental dullard was something new. Did sudden celebrity turn one into an idiot? It would certainly explain a lot…
Next up was a press junket, where Stanley got the unbearable thrill of sitting in a room and talking to a series of reporters for five minutes each. This was not quite as cool as the parade, because it was pretty much the same questions over and over and he eventually quit trying to think of new ways to answer them. He only had two decent answers for What was it like to be dead? ("Like being alive, but without quite as much breathing" and "Sort of like living in Iowa") and so he just alternated between them, until Veronica suggested that he try not to annoy his Iowa fan base, forcing him to stick with a single answer.
Several of the female reporters were damn attractive, though. He flirted with the first one ("What's your sign? Mine's a tombstone") but she seemed kind of creeped out by it and lost her place in her notes, so he stopped.
After the assembly line was finished, they went to a private room in an exquisite steakhouse, where Stanley ordered the New York Strip and lobster. He usually preferred his steak rare, but was concerned that the rumor mill might equate that with a desire for raw human flesh, so he went with medium well.
The food was delicious. It had been a ridiculously long time since Stanley had a restaurant meal, and the waiter was sufficiently snotty enough to make the whole experience seem like he was living the high life.
Which he was.
Stanley Dabernath, the Amazing Mr. Corpse, had finally found his niche.