CYNTHIA CLAGGART, 5K: Thanks for coming, everyone. I called this meeting because we need to address our neighbor in 5J, the reanimated corpse of Keith Moon. He has been unresponsive to complaints about noise and explosions coming from his apartment at all hours of the night, so I think we have no other recourse than to evict him promptly. Because of Mr. Moon, I have lost countless hours of sleep and also my crock pot, which I’m pretty sure he stole.
FRED KLEIN, 2D: Cynthia is overreacting. Keith has lent our building a cool rock ‘n’ roll vibe and proved a great mentor for my teenage son, Hayden. He has worked tirelessly with Hayden’s band and as a result Hayden’s obsession with backyard wrestling has waned and his grades have improved.
DR. IGOR MINKOV, 6C: I agree that Mr. Moon should stay, although I could do with fewer explosions, at least on weeknights. I just fear that if we kick him out, another co-op will scoop him up and trade on the cachet of having a legendary undead drummer as a resident. If we play it right, he could help the value of the building.
GLEN HOLDEN, 2A: I support Cynthia’s proposition. Mr. Moon is not only a dead person, but one whose main hobby is throwing lit M-80s into the plumbing system. Has anyone noticed that there’s no running water in the building?
FRED: That’s the price we pay to have such an accomplished artist-in-residence. Sometimes brilliant artists have to destroy everything in their vicinity, including their own drum sets—which I continually replenish, much to the chagrin of my wife Ann, who prefers jazz.
ANN KLEIN, 2D: Yup, I disapprove of the $3,000 you spend on drum sets every month because of my musical taste.
FRED: Hi honey, thanks for coming to support Keith.
ANN: I actually think he should go. Besides the obvious problems with him, I’m bored of the whole zombie thing.
FRED: But honey, Keith has agreed to write Hayden a college recommendation. I just hope he wasn’t only nodding because I promised to buy him several new toilets to blow up.
DR. MINKOV: I think we should ask Mr. Moon himself about all this. He’s a member of this co-op and he should at least be able to defend himself.
FRED: I’ll go get him.
(Fred leaves, then returns with the reanimated corpse of Keith Moon, who is missing a large chunk of his face.)
CYNTHIA: Mr. Moon, how do you respond to the noise complaints? Also, where is my crock pot?
(The reanimated corpse of Keith Moon doesn’t answer. He then attempts to drum on several residents’ heads.)
FRED: What he’s trying to say is that he apologizes for the noise and the explosions. He loves living here and will do his best not to bother any of his amazing neighbors in the future.
(Hayden Klein enters with the reanimated corpse of The Who’s bassist John Entwistle, who hides several sticks of dynamite behind his back. The reanimated corpses nod at each other.)
HAYDEN KLEIN, 2D: Mom and Dad, look who showed up.
FRED: It’s the reanimated corpse of John Entwistle, The Who’s legendary bassist! This is perfect, Hayden, because I’ve been thinking—your friend Kimmy is a nice girl, but her bass chops leave something to be desired.
HAYDEN: But I want her to be in the band, I have a crush on her.
FRED: She can be manager or something.
HAYDEN: I guess. Anyway, we’re gonna go jam.
FRED: Cool, just make sure you wear your flak jacket.
(Hayden leaves with the reanimated corpses of Keith Moon and John Entwistle.)
CYNTHIA: Great, now there are two undead rock musicians in our otherwise peaceful co-op building.
FRED: Would you prefer undead residents who aren’t incredible musicians?
GLEN: Well, yes, they’d be quieter, but I’m mostly concerned with Mr. Moon’s penchant for live explosives.
FRED: I think the problem here is that you are prejudiced against drummers, you think they’re replaceable.
CYNTHIA: That’s not it at all. I love drummers. I’m married to a tympanist!
(Loud rock music is heard. It doesn’t sound that good.)
GLEN: Listen to that racket!
FRED: They’re just warming up.
CYNTHIA: It’s time for a vote. All those in favor of evicting the reanimated corpse of Keith Moon…
(Meeting is cut short when an enormous explosion caves in the ceiling.)