Half Dead! Half Alive! Tally of the Tide!

Shag dipped his head to shed the rain from his bedraggled fedora as he surveyed the numerous bullet holes in his body. “Fuzz, we’ve been beat by a hurricane, damn near buried alive in mud, shot several times, died and gone to the Hereafter only to be rejected by both Heaven and Hell because we hadn’t done something we were supposed to do before we got there. “And this “something” according to some bald headed guy named Harold, who works in Afterlife Receiving, is of such importance to the Great Scheme of Things that we got sent back. “Now we aren’t dead or alive but something stuck in between…half dead, half alive. “We smell like cat vomit. Look like shit warmed over. We feel rain but no pain. “You’ve got a hole in your head the size of a saucer, you’re covered in white airbag dust and you’re playing with a musical pitchfork tine sticking through your chest. “I got black hair dye running down my face. White circles around my eyes. I look like a zebra owl. “All night I’ve been swatting bad guys with a military grade flyswatter left behind by a female semi-transparent giggle box spirit image that happily roller skated through solid walls while trying to escape from some joint called Limbo.” Fuzz thumped the long pitchfork tine sticking out of his chest. A soft, sweet chime sounded. “Well, we got one thing going for us old bounty hunters. Bad guys can’t kill the dead. So, let’s kick some ass!”