"How are you two this fine morning? Well, Mrs. Thomas I must say that you look utterly spry for one in such an advanced state of rigor. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Thomas?"
You jog in place, awaiting the dead neighbor's reply. His lips didn't move of course; his lips had long been pecked away by the crows, but you thought it would be rude to mention it, so you feigned surprise and said, "Mr. Thomas, of course she's dead! Yes, uh-huh, and your neighbors, too. All of 'em."
You nodded, then added, "Well, except for me. I haven't bathed in three weeks and I still smell better than you."
You laugh at your own joke, but soon get serious. You lean over the fence to whisper conspiratorially to the decaying Mr. Thomas, "I realize what this is going to do for your property values, sir, but you've got to admit: there have been no taxes in the last couple of years anyway, so things are good. Let's just keep the whole 'End of Civilization' thing under our hat, hmm?"
You touch your pointer and index fingers to your pulsating carotid and exhale slowly while you count to ten. At that point, you catch Mr. Thomas staring at you with solemn and empty eye sockets and you sigh, "Of course I could check your pulse as well, Mr. Thomas, but there is one really big problem with that."
You wait for the dead man to state the obvious: that it's because he has no heartbeat, but instead you burst out laughing and say, "Because you haven't been exercising, that's why!"
Your eyebrows shoot for the sky as you suddenly whirl toward Mrs. Thomas. You put a hand over your heart and say, "Why yes, Mrs. Thomas, I have lost weight. Thank you for noticing."
Your gaze shifts from rotting husband to rotting wife a dozen times before you whisper back to Mrs. Thomas, "are you hitting on me, Mrs. T?"