Evan hated Business Casual Friday, so it figures that's the day he would die.

"Uuuugghhh," he moaned.

He was dead, but some small part of him remained and chafed under his Polo shirt and tan slacks. He was a professional. He had a closet full of expensive suits.

But he no longer had the will to control this decaying form. He couldn't run home and change.

"Uuughhh," he complained.

At least the zombie apocalypse didn't happen on Hawaiian Shirt Day.