A small, squat man rockin' a combination clown outfit and rainbow Afro— aesthetic ranging between certified juggalo to simply homeless— jogged past graves in a cemetery; he strolled down a fresh tunnel to the catacombs below. He knocked on the remnant gravel edging a giant, makeshift hole.
"Knock, knock, wife-y! Hubby's home."
A garbled, drooling yell answered. A lumbering, fat figure— without head and nipples for eyes— barged out from the dark with a blackboard and chalk.
He began furiously writing. "Codenames, cocksucker! I'm Mister Motivator, your Mister Anart. Remember? Pretentious, pimple-prick, east-coast, art-types, runnin' around like they own the place."
The pretentious art-type smiled. "Touch a nerve, Mister Motivator?"
"Why the hell do I have to dig out our Pub?"
"What can I say?" Anart smiled, lifting a bleached skull from the messy assortment of bones below, tapping it twice. Light surged out from the eyesockets; the skull became animate. It's bright eyeballs darted from side-to-side and its teeth chattered nervously.
Anart then threw up the reborn (or newborn) cranium, clutched a nearby femur, and then THWACCK! Shattered bone scattered and rained.
"These hands were made for pranks!"
He honked a rotting tomato duct-taped to his nose.
Motivator sneered. "That guy was just down on his luck!"
"Oh come on, that was funny."
"Depression and anxiety are no laughing matt— oh whatever. Point is, I only dug up five."
"And…?"
"And, we still need waiters, bathroom attendants, a drummer for the band?! I was going to put that head back on his shoulders, and have him play for us. After a surcharge for life-coaching, of course."
"Still not hearing the part where this is my—"
"You fucked me out of $50."
Anart smiled. "Buddy, relax. You did great at rigging this place together on such short notice."
At his immediate right was a crudely designed coat rack, which towered over a cascading wall display; 26 print-outs of Motivator cropped into black-and-white photos.
Stools were made from telephone stacks. Tables from cardboard.
"Did you make the pool table out of headstones? Rad." asked Anart, his eyes already admiring the absolutely authentic portrait featuring Richard D. Chappell side-by-side with Motivator. The bottom-text read, sorry, no WiFi!
"Look," continued Anart. "I'll take care of the rest."
Electricity bubbled out of the clown's fingers, bursting into a frenzy; spreading to both disturbed and undisturbed corpses in a white flash of necromancy.
RAISA POST INVESTIGATIONS:
On 4/24/2019, field agents responded to reports of "bright raves", grand mal seizures, dancing skeletons, drug abuse, experimental (or industrial) rap music, and underage alcohol consumption happening underneath Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, New York.
MTF were deployed. Upon arrival at the entrance, 120 animated skeletons (including the bouncer) assaulted personnel with commandeered, bone-based weaponry. There were no survivors.
Anomalous humanoids remain at large.