This is from my unpublished short story, "Mr. Crane".
Sometimes the severed head that I keep in a bowling ball bag talks to me. It tells me things. Things that no one else can hear. No one else can know. Secrets. It knows many secrets, great and small. It once told me that Jesus was alive. He was working as a construction worker on fifth street, building a new church right in between Zanada's Roller Rink and Happy Town Taco. I've been to Happy Town before. Good taco's but I always end up spending forever on the crapper. I feel bad for Jesus, because I bet he eats lunch there, but the head in the bag tells me he could handle it because Jesus is really a Mexican.
One day the head in the bag, who likes to be called Mr. Crane, told me about how the government has been pouring a mind control drug into the nations' water supply. It turns everyone into zombies. He told me that no one was to be trusted except Elvis and Jim Morrison. I told Mr. Crane that they were both dead, but he told me about how Elvis and Jim were actually undercover agents working for a secret agency devoted to bringing down "The Man". They had to fake their deaths because "The Man" was onto them. I believed him. Mr. Crane is wise.