Dispatcher: Paramedic. Please state your emergency.

Caller: AHHH! You’ve gotta help me!

Dispatcher: Calm down, Sir. Please tell me what’s going on.

Caller: PLEASE HELP ME! SHE’S THE UNDEAD!

Dispatcher: Sir, I cannot help you unless you calm down and tell me what’s wrong. What is your name?

Caller: It’s J-Joe.

Dispatcher: Okay, Joe. It’s gonna be all right. What happened?

Caller: (Whispers.) Okay, okay. I was walking down the West Colonnade toward the bathrooms on the West Wing, and then, I saw…her.

Dispatcher: Who is she, Sir?

Caller: A she-zombie. A female zombie. I didn’t read anything in HuffPo this week about she-zombies, but I mean, how else do they get new baby zombies, right? Oh, it was horrible. Bloodshot eyes. Skin was all grayish and hung down from her face like soggy paper towels. She reached toward me with her limp, bony arms, and I just ran like there was no fucking tomorrow.

Dispatcher: So there was a woman coming out of the bathroom–

Caller: Do she-zombies still eat your face? Or do you think they strictly feed on newborn babies and male genitalia?

Dispatcher: I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Sir.

Caller: NO! CAN YOU HEAR ME?

Dispatcher: Sir, please remain calm. I’m here. I’m just not entirely sure what the problem is. Where are you now, and where is the woman in question?

Caller: I’m hiding.

Dispatcher: Hiding? From the, ahem, zombie?

Caller: Yes. Behind a potted plant.

Dispatcher: All right, but what building are you in? What is your address? If you feel that you are in danger from this person, I will send the authorities to check on the situation.

Caller: Um, I forget the address exactly, but it’s the White House. It’s big and white and the prez lives here. You can’t miss it.

Dispatcher: I probably should have asked this when you used the term”she-zombie,” but honestly, Sir, if this is a prank–

Caller: –Does a zombie sighting at the White House sound like a prank call? Do you know what this means? It means that the zombies have officially taken over! Do you even READ the news? This is a matter of national security! She was going to tear out my small intestines! Chew on my flesh and spit out the bones! Suck out my soul with one of those horrible kisses–

Dispatcher: Well, I think you may be confusing zombies with dementors, made famous from J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series–

Caller: Whatever! Point is, there’s a she-zombie on the loose. I’ve been warning Hil and Barry for weeks, but no one listened to ole Joe, ‘cept maybe Sasha. And oh, you can bet Michelle was not pleased about that. But, I say that kids deserve to know the truth, too. It’s not my fault she’s been having nightmares. So have I!

Dispatcher: Can’t the Secret Service deal with this?

Caller: Nope. They’ve stopped answering my calls– oh my god! Here she comes! SHE IS COMING TO RIP ME TO BLOODY SHREDS AND DINE ON MY BRAINS!

Dispatcher: Sir, calm down. I’m sending someone now. Is she armed?

Caller: HELP–Ahem. Hey there, Nancy. You look very nice this morning. That’s a lovely dress. Yeah–I’ll be there soon. Nope, just–uh–just finishing up this important call.

Dispatcher: Sir, what is happening now? Who are you speaking with?

Caller: Shh. Yeah, it’s actually a comfy little spot back here, Nance. I’ll, um, climb out in a second. Yeah. I’ll meet you in a few minutes, okay?

Dispatcher: Hello?

Caller: Hi. Uh, I may have confused a zombie with the House Minority Leader.

Dispatcher: (Pauses.) Sir, I’m hanging up now.

Caller: Yeah, I think that’s best. But will you do me a favor? Will you stay on the phone with me just a little longer? I need to pee before the meeting, and I’m scared to go to the bathroom alone.

Dispatcher: (Sighs.) Fine.