Once, in a village where the moon was a silver coin, lived a clever lad named Ivan. He didn’t have a rifle—just a battered fishing rod and a wooden spoon. A horde of zombies crept toward the market square, groaning like old windmills. Ivan thought the spoon was useless, but the fishing rod was a secret. He rigged it with a long line and a bucket of water, then tied a squeaky rubber chicken to the end. As the zombies lured closer, Ivan flicked the line. The chicken squealed, and the bucket of water splashed over the nearest zombie, soaking it until it turned into a soggy, giggling puddle. One by one, the zombies slipped, their heads slipping into the water like coins into a well. The villagers laughed, and the horde was turned into a splashy, less scary parade. Ivan’s trick proved that wit and a little creativity can outshine a gun any day.