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Toby, Harry, Anita, Chobee, Marcus, REAPER, Theodore, Rodham, ___? |
| [Introduction]
This section is for writers. If you are a reader then skip ahead to the first entry. Thanks!  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- What are the story rules?  Entries will be brief. 1000 word maximum. But you'll probably want to stay well below that most of the time or you will get burned out by the rapid pace. Humor and comedy are allowed and encouraged. Some randomness allowed but not too much. You can kill any character but respawning is allowed. Make the return of the character as interesting as possible. Character definitions are not required but when you introduce a new character always make sure that there is something about him/her/it that is unusual, unique, distinctive, and memorable. NON-HUMAN CHARACTERS ARE WELCOME! Aliens, hybrids, animals, manimals, chimeras, demons, elves, fairies, whatever.Number of writers will be limited to 3, 4, or 5 with replacements enlisted as needed. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
| In the country of Khasachasistan there is a little village called Lufchatel... Toby the Zombie stumbled blindly along. He couldn't see where he was going but he wasn't sure if that was because it was dark or if he had accidentally plucked out his eyeballs while he was sleeping. It had happened before. Some slight echo of his footsteps convinced him there was a wall nearby. He reached for the wall but instead of hitting the expected hard surface his fingers encountered something soft and spongy which he squeezed. There was a surprised gasp from that direction and a hand loudly slapped his face. Toby growled. |
| "You shouldn't growl at my wife buddy," said a deep male voice. "As it is you should apologize for squeezing my wife's breasts like that." "And why should I?" Tony said, with a gravelly voice. "Because I'm highly tempted to tear you to pieces, rot-face," the person said, grabbing a hold of him and digging a set of claws into him. It was at this moment that Tony realized what he was dealing with, a pissed-off werewolf. |
And not just any old pissed-off werewolf. This one had the power to alter your given name into it's Italian version. "My name isn't Tony, it's Toby!" Toby said. "Like I give a rat's ass!" the werewolf said. Then he lifted Toby up and threw him through the air so that Toby splatted into the brick wall and separated into six pieces - two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head. "I think I'm done here," Toby said. The werewolf's wife rubbed his arm. "Oh Harry, you were so powerful! That awful boob-squeezing zombie got what he deserved!" "No boob-squeezer is going to make my little honeypot feel uncomfortable." She hugged him. As they walked away down the path, a tall thin figure stepped out from behind a tree and watched them go. He flipped open a notebook, wrote something in it, and flipped it shut. Then he kicked Toby's head so that it rolled about 12 feet. "I don't know which is worse, the zombies or the werewolves," he muttered. "I guess I better get a bucket and clean this mess up." |
(Oops, my bad. B's and N's should bot ne beighnors (not be neighbors).   )"What do you think was wrong with that zombie?" the woman asked. "He probally saw how good looking you were and forgot his manners," Harry said with a chuckle. "After all Anita, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." "Do you mean for humans, or all of the different races?" Anita asked. "To paraphrase 'Snow White', you are the fairest of them all," Harry said. Then, he gave her a kiss, and breathed in the scent of her purfume. "And nothing will ever change that." |
| Little did Harry and Anita realize that, just around the corner of the building where Toby the Zombie had splatted, stood a nine-foot tall half-ogre named Chobee. He'd grown up in a Xanth novel but had come to life after the last chapter had been written and now he was on a mission to prove to the world that there WAS a place for his kind in this world. Carefully, he assisted the man with the flip-up notebook, fitting Toby back together again. Toby and Chobee would get along just fine, provided nobody tried to make their names rhyme when said together. And if they did? Well, Chobee would show them just how strong a nine-foot tall half-ogre could be. "Chobee?" said Toby in his way of thanking the large gentleman, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." Then the two walked off into the distance, just like in that movie with Humphrey Bogart. |
| The man with the notebook was a little disappointed that Toby and Chobee hit it off so well. To see the reassembled zombie and a nine-foot-tall ogre walk off together was not part of his plan. Marcus Zinnia was a Zombie Bounty Hunter, or ZBH for short. He had been casing Toby for quite a while, and was this close to having him within his grasp. He would have had him too, but he was afraid of that ogre. Marcus was not quite human, well, scratch that, he was once human, but now only pale shadow compared to his glorious former self. Marcus Zinnia was a vampire. Frustrated, he loped down the alley and locked himself in a rat infested building, snacking on the denizens until his fury ebbed. His mind sated by the rodent’s life fluid, he flipped open his note pad and scribbled. “Plan B… Marcus couldn’t think of a plan B. He sat there for quite a while. |
| Meanwhile, Toby and Chobee were having their first argument. They had walked off into the distance believing they were friends but had stumbled into a new scene where suddenly they were in the foreground again. It put quite a strain on their relationship. Things came to a head when Chobee excused himself to use the restroom. "I think I'll do that too," Toby said. "I've been drinking too much tea." "Um... can you wait until I'm through?" Chobee said. "Oh, I won't stare," Toby said. "It's just that I'm a bit curious, what with you being nine feet tall and everything, whether you are... you know... proportionate." "It's really none of your business, is it? Yes, we're friends, but that don't give you no right to know every last intimate detail about me, does it?" "But my unsatisfied curiosity will gnaw away at me and might possibly erode our friendship." "If it's THAT kind of friendship," Chobee huffed, "Then maybe I don't want no part of it anyways." |
| Meanwhile, Harry and Anita were entering their home. "I tell you Harry," Anita said, as she took off he spring jacket. "It's a good thing that we go on our walks together. Some of those people are getting a little fresh as my mother would say." "Well at least they don't try to eat you while I'm around," Harry said. "After all, given my reputation as a street fighter, no one wants to cross me." "Except for my mother and father," Anita said, with a chuckle. "Well, I respect your father, guy was a title champian for more than thirty years you know," Harry said with a smile. "Your mother though, she just hates the fact that I 'have more in common with a street thug instead of a professional fighter,' as she would say." "Well in a since, you do," Anita said. "You haven't fought professionally in a couple of years." "I just don't like the new rules," Harry said, nuzzling the woman's hair. "I prefer competitions in which the victor was to keep the loser as a slave, instead of eating them. A waste of good talent is how I figure it." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The following is by purplehaze. A glitch (caused by me) prevented him from posting it. Chobee stood just outside the second floor window of Harry and Anita's poorly-kept home. "What a disgrace! Living in a house filled with bits of fur flying everywhere," Chobee mused. He was intent on crossing this hairy werewolf alrighty. To think that an educated ogre such as he would have to resort to violence just to maintain his character in this zombie-riddled story was enough to make his head overheat. His large brain was in proportion to his rather large features, which Toby would have noticed, if he could stretch his neck that high. He had no intention of calling out said werewolf while Anita was nearby. So he stood waiting for the well-endowed creature to go to sleep. He peered in through the upper window pane at the figure in the reflection of the mirror over their bed. When she was truly fast asleep, he walked around the house and confronted Harry. "Toby meant no harm back there," he began. "But I am here to defend his honor." And while I'm at it, he thought to himself, I'll defend the honor of those not yet written into this wonderful piece of literature. "Let's get it on!" Harry, beside himself with fury, guffawed at the obvious faux pas of this half-ogre before him. "Do you realize I'm a big fan of Marvin Gaye?" he asked. "Now bend down here and tell me what's going on!" "Well, I heard it through the grapevine that things ain't what they used to be around here," Chobee said. "It makes me wanna holler!" "You're just a stubborn kind of fellow, aren't you?" cried the werewolf. "If you'd just bend down low here, I would be able to show you that it takes two to feel pride and joy about one's work. Now, I'll be doggone if you think that that's the way love is. Anita will wake up if we start to fight." "Too busy thinking about your baby?" Chobee yelled back. "Ain't nothing like the real thing," he lamented. Then, thinking he was a lover, not a fighter, he turned away and left the werewolf family to themselves. He was despondent. |
| Marcus closed his notebook. Plan B would go unwritten for a while. Sighing, which was difficult for him since he was a vampire and had no breath to speak of, he rose and ambled down the street under the dim guttering gas lamps. There were other zombies to pursue, one nasty one in particular. He called himself REAPER, (always spelling it in capital letters) and was a foul, vulgar piece of work. He was a crafty one though, and constantly eluded capture from Marcus Zinnia, ZBH. REAPER was wanted for crimes against the Living Challenged; including, but not limited to sexual harassment, zombie belching in public (zombie belching cold be lethal to the living) and flinging parts of himself at others. If a living being is hit and otherwise injured by a flying zombie part, that individual gets infected and becomes a zombie within forty-eight hours. That’s why Marcus had become a ZBH. He didn’t have to worry about dying, but he sure hated the stench. |
| Rodham McFletchersan let out a loud burp before wiping his face with his sleeve. Theodore Stratford Clinton only winced and shriveled his brow. Or he would have, if Clinton wasn't a ghost. "Dagnabbit dear Rodham, but your disgraceful burping is ruining the modesty of the evening!" Clinton adjusted his spectral monocle and ghastly top hat, both as pale white and intagible as Clinton himself. "If it wasn't for the fact I'm your Spectral Familiar, I'd certainly fly the coop, as you Neanderthals say!" "Oh TSC..." Rodham began. He knew Clinton hated when he called him that. "You know us Spectral Mutterers don't pick our familiars, we are bonded!" It may be a good time to explain the situation. Rodham, you see, was a man from tribal decendents who was a "Spectral Mutterer", someone who could see and communicate with the Supernatural, and help them to "move on". And if they didn't want to? That'd be what his shotgun "Hillary" is for. Clinton was his assisstant, who would do assisstantly things. Like fix supper. And do paperwork. And before you ask how a ghost could do such things, don't ask, it's another story. They certainly were an odd couple though. Rodham was rude and ruthless, but terribly fun at parties. Escpecially parties with cocktails and shotguns. Clinton was a Nobleman from long ago, who was polite, courtious, and well liked, but a dreadful bore. Legend says foes that don't die of Rodham's guns die of boredom after talking to Clinton. But those are besides the point. The duo was on it's way to Khasachasistan, where they heard reports of zombies, werewolves, and ZBHs. They were called in to "persuade" them to move along. But there was a feeling in Clinton's ghastly guts that this was going to be a long, and surprisingly random, mission. |
CHARACTERS Toby ........ a zombie body parts loosely connected has an unhealthy interest in the male appendageHarry ........ a werewolf streetfighter Marvin Gaye fanAnita ........ a human Harry's wifeChobee ........ an ogre 9 feet tall a lover, not a fighterMarcus Zinnia ...... a vampire occupation: Zombie Bounty Hunter ever present prop: a small notebookREAPER ........ a zombie a public nuisanceRodham McFletcherson ........ a human occupation: Spectral Mutterer rude and ruthless, but fun at partiesTheodore Stratford Clinton (TSC) ........ a ghost once was a nobleman, now is Rodham's "assistant" polite and courteous, but boring---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- People in the village of Lufchatel don't talk to their neighbors much, other than to complain about dog poop on the lawn or make vague comments about the weather. "Aye, tis likely may rain or be sunny today if it don't snow, eh?" So Rodham McFletcherson was surprised when there came a knock on his door and a cheery female voice called out, "Hello? Anyone home?" "I'll get that," said TSC, Rodham's ghostly assistant, and before Rodham could stop him TSC had opened the door and the cheery voice turned into a scream. "It's alright!" Rodham called out as he ran to the front door. "He won't bite! TSC! Go back! Go back!" Anita put her hand to her chest and took a deep breath. "My! That was unexpected." "Sorry about that," Rodham said. "We just moved here today. Wasn't really expecting any visitors." "You can meet everybody at my party. I'm trying to get all the neighborhood together for a big brouhaha at my house, or I should say my and Harry's house, on Saturday. Can you come?" "Of course! I love parties." "Good! See you there!" When she returned to the sidewalk Anita noticed a thin man scurrying around. "Hello? Is that you Mister Zinnia?" Marcus stepped out from behind a tree. "Hello, aren't you the werewolf's wife?" "Yes, but I have a name. It's Anita. Harry and I are having a party Saturday at our house. I would love for you to be there." "Hmmm, I don't know..." "There will be zombies there." "Count me in." Marcus quickly scribbled something in his little notebook. "Excellent!" Anita said. "Do you know where Chobee lives?" "You can't miss it," Marcus said. "It's the only house on the street with a 10 foot tall door." |
Meanwhile, Harry was in his house staring at a mop, a broom, a bucket of water, and several rags. I hate it when she decides to throw a party, he thought. Because I get stuck with cleaning up the whole place. Of course, it could be worse. I could of married her twin sister Atina and got stuck having to deal with the potions she makes with her witchcraft, like my cousin Larry does with his wife. **** A while later, Harry was finally sitting down in a chair relaxing with a good movie playing on the TV when the door opened. "Hi, honey, I'm home," came Anita's voice. "Tell me that you didn't invite everyone in a one mile radius of the house?" Harry asked, because he knew his wife liked to throw big parties. "Of course not," she said, causing Harry to let go of a breath he'd been holding. "I invited everyone in a five mile radius." At this, Harry fainted. |
| Chobee was standing in his massive front room, trying to line up a floor-to-ceiling, fifteen-foot-wide mirror. Every time he tried hanging it, the darned thing fell off-center a bit. Toby walked right on into his Chobee's house without knocking. "Can I lend you a hand?" he asked, holding out an extra five-fingered appendage from his right paw. "No, I'm fine, but could you keep an eye on my pet crocodile?" Chobee replied, pointing to the now-empty cage in the back room. Toby went in search of the croc and called back when he'd found it. There was a loud crunch from somewhere in the back of Chobee's house. "Ummm, Chobee? What happens if the crocodile EATS the eye I had laid on your croc? And what's his name anyway?" Toby called out. "HER name is BeeCho. And she loves eating stray eyeballs, that burp you just heard is her thanking you," Chobee replied. He'd just gotten the mirror successfully hung when Toby walked back into the room. "Are you going to Anita and Harry's party this Saturday?" "I thought I'd hang out there, yeah. You?" Toby answered back. "Still cogitating it, my zombie friend. Still cogitating. Did you know that Harry and I share one thing in common? We both love Marvin Gaye!" |
| Marcus Zinnia stared into the mirror, proving once and for all that vampires could indeed produce reflections. Only the feral undead have no reflection, because they were born from vampires, not created from humans like Marcus had been. All the literature on vampires said they couldn’t produce heirs, but a few had. His cousin Bartholomew had sired two children with his wife, Claudette. The children from such a union are wild creatures with no lingering human conscience, bent on mayhem and destruction. Feral vamps grow up quickly, and reach adulthood before age seven. They have to be institutionalized shortly after birth to protect their parents and those around them. No one has ever rehabilitated a feral vampire. The man staring back at him was pale and drawn, with dark circles hanging under his dishwater green eyes. He had dark wavy hair that draped to his shoulders. Some would have called him handsome, but Marcus hadn’t had a date in three hundred years. That saucy little Anita had caught his fancy though, and when she invited him to the party, his fangs snapped to attention along with another part of his body that lately had been as dead as he. Alas, Anita belonged to the Werewolf, Harry. Werewolves and vampires were sworn enemies. However, both races had a low tolerance for zombies… Perhaps he and Anita could get in a discussion of this very topic? Marcus picked up his tattered notebook, paused, and placed it on the nightstand by his coffin. “Tonight, old buddy, you spend the evening alone,” Marcus whispered to his journal, and switched off the light, bound for Harry and Anita’s party. Moments later, a pair of milky blue eyes peered over the edge of Marcus’s bedroom window, and the scratching sound of a glass cutter interrupted the dead silence. |
| The party was already in full swing when Clinton arrived. He had stayed behind to finalize some drafts and told Rodham to go first, as if he needed telling. Clinton sighed. He hated parties. Everyone was always staring at him with quizzical looks and shreiks of bloody murder. It usually took a while to calm everyone down. As he phantasimed through the back gate and into the backyard he heard the sounds of shotguns, screams of delight, and "Ricky Martin's Greatest Hits" being played. A sure sign of a party. Only people totally drunk could possibly listion to that much Ricky Martin. "Well...Things aren't so bad...And hey, if they're this inebriated no one will notice I'm a ghost..." "Heeeeeeeey!" called a young attractive woman staring at Clinton. She smirked and gave a wink. Clinton hastilly adjusted his monocle and top hat and made his way over. He was quite a player before he died. The whole "death" thing kinda ruined his style though. "Hello ma'am" came Clinton. He bowed then introduced himself. "Heeeeey...Aaahm...I'm Bethy! You know THAT guy?" and the woman named Bethy pointed at the sharpshooting range convienently set up for party purposes. There was Rodham, in one hand a Mossburg Shotgun, in the other a duo of cocktails, and three gorgeous Gorgons draped around him. "Ladies please..." Rodham stated, sucking down one cocktail and tossing it into the air. With a flick of his wrist he twirled around and shot the glass, shattering it into bits. The Gorgons, along with the crowd around him, "Oooohed" and "Ahhhhed!" "Can you get me that guy's number man?" Bethy asked Clinton. The Ghostly Nobleman only buried his face in ghostly hands. |
"Good shot!" Toby said. "Can I try?" The shooting range had been set up at the very back of Anita and Harry's large yard. Lights hung from the trees and one of the Gorgons had brought her boombox so the sound of Black Sabbath CDs at the shooting range was battling against the Marvin Gaye songs drifting down from the main house. Another center of activity was Harry and Anita's swimming pool with its underwater lighting. Some of the more fastidious guests hung out there so they wouldn't have to rub elbows with any zombies. Zombies can't swim. The doorbell rang and Anita answered it. The REAPER stood there in all his rotting, putrescent glory. "Why you no invite me to party? Grrrr!" Anita jumped back from the angry zombie. "Harry! HARRR-EEEE!" Out on the patio Harry's ears perked up and he set down his whiskey and soda. "Uh oh! Wife trouble. Excuse me, folks." He ran toward the front door. |
| When Harry got to the door, he saw the cause of the trouble, the REAPER. The zombie was the city's Number One Public Menace, and even worse than most of the other zombies joined together, litterally, as that had happened once or twice when a bunch of ZBHs had tied like fifty or more of them together. It had caused nothing but chaos when they tried to get rid of them, as it ended up creating more zombies by accident. Nowdays zombies had to be caught one at a time, especially rouge ones. "Hey Rot-Face!" Harry shouted. "Get your stinking puke breath away from my wife!" "That fine," the REAPER said, turning to face him. "She no my type any way. You be though." "I don't think so buddy," Harry said, rushing him and taking out his mid-section, breaking the unruly zombie into three pieces. "I don't date zombies that try to invite themselves to a party that they weren't invited to." Harry then picked up the pieces and threw them as hard as he could, tossing them into a lake a couple of miles outside the city, one that had a very large crocodile-like creature, named Ruffes, that loved eating zombies, and couldn't get enough of them. "Thanks Harry," Anita said looking at her husband. "I just don't like those sort of uninvited, not to mention unruly, guests." "Well Ruffes should be happy with him at any rate," Harry said. "Of course, that zombie always has that annoying habit of coming back." "Well let's get back to the party," Anita said, dragging him. "I don't want to miss it." **** A while later, Marcus was looking at Anita. He could see he blood flowing in her veins and arteries just beneath the skin. Her fragrence was just wonderful. "Oh how lovely it would be if I could have you for the night," he said, in a low voice. "In that case you can have her for the night," came a familiar voice. Marcus turned around and saw Harry drinking a soda. "What are you talking about?" the vampire asked. "I said that you could sleep with her if you want to," Harry said. "I wouldn't mind it, providing that you don't turn her or something." "And Just why would you allow that?" Marcus asked. "It helps to spice things up a bit from time to time," Harry said. "Of course if you don't want to sleep with a married woman, she does have a twin sister who is just as lovely and lively. Her name is Atina." "Isn't that Anita pronounced backwards?" Marcus asked. "Yeah well their parents were planning on giving their daughter the name Anita Atina," Harry said. "Then they found out that they had twins coming and gave each of them a part of it." "Interesting." |
| Chobee sidled up to Marcus Zinnia and put his beer mug on the ZBH's head. Marcus grabbed the mug and screamed. "Are you nuts?" "No, I'm Chobee," the half-ogre smiled down at Marcus. "Are you fruits?" He wondered if the ZBH would understand that joke. Nobody ever did. "I'm not - I think you're looking for Toby. He's fruitier than a nutcake," Marcus replied. "I thought your head was a beer stand. I guess not. Has anybody seen my toes? They're too far down for me to see clearly. Or maybe that's just the beer talking," Chobee asked. "I've got a head on me, Mister," the beer retorted. "So don't be placing me on anybody's head!" Chobee looked around and saw TSC standing just around the corner, throwing his voice. "Very funny, Clinton. But can you do Harry's voice? I want to get his wife Anita alone and I want him to think it's Marcus calling him," Chobee queried. "She's hotter than a firecracker in Miss July's bikini bottoms, if you know what I mean." "Will do, Chobee. But, if I may ask, is everything proportionate down there? Just wondering how you'll fit something half-ogre-ish into a tiny creature like Anita." |
| Marcus Zinnia cleared his throat, gathering the half-Ogres attention. “Chobee?” Chobee looked around in an exaggerated way, making TSC chuckle. “I’m down here, nutcase. In case you haven’t noticed, Harry said I had dibs on the luscious Anita, and now YOU are ‘going for it?’ What gives?” “I think we should let Anita decide,” Chobee retorted, as his eyes grew distant. Anita was emerging from the house with a tray full of shot glasses, each one had a brown liquor on the bottom with a light brown center, and a spiral of whipped cream. She approached Chobee, Marcus and TSC with the tray and offered it to them. “Blowjobs, anyone?” Chobee blushed and turned away to grin. Marcus stared at her, and his fangs descended rapidly. TSC just looked on dreamily. Meanwhile in a nearby lake, REAPER was pissed. How DARE that werewolf make him fall apart like this? He grabbed his arm with the one good arm still attached and shoved it back into the socket. He wagged his body up and down to reach his legs, which had become entangled in a bed of seaweed, along with his pelvic region and buttocks. REAPER’s head, which had fallen in a crevice, looked on in horror as a large, alligator-like creature approached his regenerating body. He knew what he had to do. With a large intake of water, he produced the most horrid belch imaginable, and as the greenish gas bubble reached Ruffes, it popped, releasing the toxic gas. Ruffes passed out from the stench, and the remainder of REAPER’s body slid from his paralyzed throat. |
| Dreamy looks from a stray ghost like Clinton slightly perturbed Anita. Possibly more than blushing ogres and fanged ZBHs, but in the grand scheme of things all three creeped her out entirely. Meanwhile, Rodham grew bored of the "Oooohing" and "Ahhhhing" crowd. It turns out that was just the OOOOHAAAAH music track on the Black Sabbath Special Edition CD. "What a lame party. Only one shooting range and all the chicks are MARRIED!!" Rodham spoke aloud, not caring who heard. Unfortunately, hosts like Harry didn't like their parties dissed. The Werewolf made his way to Rodham, and snarled in his face. "You think I wanted this party!? Who the Hell do you think cleans this mess up!?" "All I'm saying is we could use a few more quality entertainment booths. Like a "Whack-A-Zombie, filled with candy you have to bust open with an old Pirate's peg leg!" |
"And just where are we going to find an old pirate at this time of night?" Harry said, giving Rodham his best eye-rolling sarcastic sneer. "Aye, mate!" called a voice from nearby. "If it be an old pirate ye need then I be he! Arrgh!" Harry looked at the creature who called himself a pirate. "You don't even have an eyepatch. You don't even have a pegleg. You don't even have a parrot!" "Whoa, mate. Going straight to the stereotypes, aren't ye? Why would I bring a parrot to a party where some shotgun-toting lunatic is blasting cocktail glasses out of the air?" "Hey!" Rodham said. "That was professional-style gunplay." "Oh right. And I be a professional pirate then." "What about the eyepatch?" Harry said. "I don't need one. I got me two good eyes." Rodham quickly poked a finger into one of the pirate's eyes. The pirate grabbed his eye. "Ow! Ow! Ow! What the hell!? I be sure you be a lunatic now, you landswabbing scallywagger!" Bethy grabbed the pirate's arm. "Oh, you poor old scruffy man! Come with me. I saw an eyepatch in the medicine cabinet in the guest bathroom." As they walked away Harry called out, "Been going through all my medicine cabinets, Bethy? If you steal my fungus ointment again there will be trouble between you and me!" Bethy held up one finger. |
| A while later, Harry was in his room dialing some numbers he rarely called, his sister in-law' and his Cousin Larry's wife's, using both his cellphone and Anita's. "Hey Atina," he said into his wife's phone. "I have a small Job for you and Elizabeth." He then said saomething similar to Elizibeth, and the two witches used their home phones to complete the triangle. "So what's the problem?" Atina asked. "Yeah Cousin Harry," Elizabeth said. "What's the dilio?" "I need some help in getting rid of some unruly party guests," Harry said, only to hear the two witches start screaming at him about why they weren't invited. They then started threatening to turn him into things, such as a toad, a newt, a salamander, a fish, a worm, and a few other things like that. And this is why I never call you two, he thought. Especially both of you at the same time. But it's also why the two of you would be perfect at getting rid of the more unruly guests and straitening out the rest. |
| "Well, I don't do "small" jobs," said Elizibeth (she hated when they spelled it with an 'a'). "I only do "large" jobs. You got any large objects there at that party?" "As a matter of fact, Lizzy, I do. He's a nine-foot tall half-ogre who's been eyeing my wife," Harry said. "Great Atina and I will be right there." She hung up and in an instant, both witches were right there. "Where's this half-ogre?" she asked. Harry pointed into the house and Elizibeth took off like a witch out of hell. In the meantime, Atina and Harry made their way over to the pirate who was standing next to Bethy, rubbing his eyepatch. Bethy was rubbing something else of his. In the house, Chobee flashed his pearly-whites down at Elizibeth, who floated up to kiss him on the top lip. Her mouth wasn't big enough to cover his entire mouth, but she didn't care. She loved chewing the fat with a large man. When they broke the kiss, Chobee knew instantly that he was in love. L-O-U-V-R-E, love. He placed Lizzy over his left shoulder and left the party. He had to stoop to get out through the small front door. But once they were in the fresh air, Lizzy started nibbling Chobee's right earlobe. Chobee took all of fourteen strides to get to his house at the end of the block. |
| Marcus looked at his empty shot glass. He’d poured the Blowjob into the bushes, right after Chobee left with Elizibeth. Chobee switches love interests quicker than Rainman counts toothpics, he mused. One minute, he was vying for the attention of the werewolf’s wife, the next… Oh never mind, he thought, That leaves me free to date Anita. Marcus glanced over at TSC, who was still holding his Blowjob. He hadn’t drank it yet. “Why the long face, chum?” Marcus asked the spectral entity. Clinton sighed. “Why is it the big, burly guys always get the girls. Where does that leave us intelligent, nice looking, debonair individuals?” “Don’t have an answer for that, mist man, hey, listen, do you have any interest in The werewolf’s wife?” “Anita? Sakes no, and even if I did, I couldn’t do anything about it. You can’t make love with a tool of vapor. “ “You have a point, Clinton, but what do you do for.. Um… Fun?” “Well, I simply ADORE theatre, and I don’t have to pay to get in, because of the whole being able to walk through walls and such, so I spend most of my time in Musicals. I’m seeing Les Miserables in a couple of weeks!” “I’ve always wanted to see that. Hey, maybe You, me and Anita can go, you know, like a double date!” “Well, who am I going to take?” “I heard Atina was available.” Their friendly banter was disturbed by a loud roar near the front of the yard. REAPER was ambling up the driveway, dripping wet and totally enraged. “ME WANT REVENGE!” he growled, and ripped off his left ear, hurling it at the party goers. It hit Atina, and she fell to the floor, presumably dead. |
| Clinton gasped with surprise! Anita shrieked in terror! Harry rowled in anger! Marcus jumped, prepared to strike! A few houses down the block, Chobee moaned in pleasure! Toby the Zombie FINALLY got to the party! Rodham shot REAPER with his gun. The enraged REAPER moaned in pain before trotting away, not really desiring a lunatic with a shotgun to continue to blast him to kingdom come. "Well that was anti-climactic..." Harry stated with begrudging respect for Rodham's quick shooting. "Woulda been cooler if you roughed him up a bit more..." "Oh no Atina!" shouted Anita, who rushed to her Witchsister. Atina was in bad condition. The ear had hit too much of her flesh. If a blood transfusion was not made, Atina would turn into a zombie. "Stand aside!" called Marcus. He elegantly, but bravely made his way over to the Anita Atina twins. "I'm a ZBH. I can handle this." With a flick of his wrist he produced a key, and for that key a lock on a box he kept inside his cloak. Inside the box lay a bag of blood and small notebooks. "Whoa, whoa Vampire!" Harry spat, pushing aside the growing crowd. "You ain't gunna vampirise her or anything, right?" "Hopefully not" has Marcus's grim reply. " My blood bag will save her fr zombierisim, but she could vampirise. But would rather a zombie step-sister?" |
"Good grief!" Harry said. "Now I have to choose between my step-sister ending up as either a vampire or a zombie? What a dilemma from Hell!" Marcus rolled his eyes. "I bet if werewolf was one of the choices you wouldn't be so perplexed." "Well, yeah, that would be an obvious choice. Who wouldn't want to be a werewolf?" Toby started to raise his hand but realized Harry wasn't seriously asking, so Toby just said, "It's probably better to be a zombie than a vampire." "Why's that, Toby," asked a bystander who had been assigned the task of pretending to be interested in what Toby said. "Because Zombies don't have to worry about garlic and crosses and mirrors and sunlight and all that other zany stuff that vampires worry about." "What about shotguns, Toby?" Toby shuddered. "B-b-but just shotguns. Nothing else." Marcus looked at Harry. "So what's your choice? Time's getting short." |
| "Okay, do the transfusion," Harry said. "But whether or not she turns or not, if she latches onto you, that's your problem." "What are you talking about?" Marcus asked. "When it comes to sexual matters, she's a lot more loose than Anita when it comes to her sexual inhabitions," Harry said. "She's never satisfied with just one man, so you'll end up sharing her with several men, and that even includes me from time to time. An she has told me plenty of times that she's always wanted to do it with a vampire." |
| "This party's getting a little too heavy for a 13+ rating, don't you think?" asked Marcus. "Well, that may be, but I've always been partial to little girls," replied Joseph P. Bystander, who'd been assigned the task of pretending to listen to what Toby said, but was now quite interested in what Marcus was saying, for reasons of his own. "And what would you know about little girls?" shot Harry back. "Know? Hell, my middle name is Pedophile!" Joseph answered. Meanwhile, down the street, Chobee and Elizibeth were finding new ways to use a spatula. The brownies were baking in the oven and the two were very grateful for Harry's phone call a few hours before. Without his having the guts to call his sister-in-law Atina and her friend Lizzy, they never would have know that they were indeed quite compatible. And Lizzy would never have realized just how proportionate a half-ogre could be. In related news, REAPER was found knocking over tombstones on the outskirts of town. He was arrested, but not charged. While REAPER was awaiting the arresting officer to appear, he had excused himself to visit the men's room. There, his scythe had inadvertently sliced through the porcelain throne. That left the police with nothing to go on, so REAPER was subsequently released on his own recognizance. (Who couldn't recognize the Grim Reaper?) |
| Anita watched Marcus work on her sister. It was turning her on something fierce. Marcus attached the bag of blood to Atina’s femoral artery and waited for the results. The onlookers grew quiet as first ten, then thirty, then forty-two minutes passed. Atina arched her back and drew in a horrid, ragged breath. As her mouth was opened, Harry noticed she had grown fangs, but the lower half of her was slowly turning gangrenous, zombie-like. Atina’s upper half raised up and she grabbed Marcus by his long hair, drawing him to her waiting kiss. She clamped on his neck and began draining him, while Marcus fought feebly to fend off the writhing Halfling. “Get OFF him!” screeched Anita. She grabbed one of her sister’s arms and attempted to pull her off Marcus. Harry joined in the fray and was pulling at her torso, where it snapped clean off the zombie-like lower half. Atina, in her surprise, loosened her grip on Marcus’s neck and flailed around, digging deep troughs into Harry’s right jaw with her blood-red fingernails. “Thattssss gooing to sssstingggg,” she hissed and lunged for her brother-in-law. While the half vampire and the werewolf struggled on the ground, Anita rushed over to Marcus. “Are you okay?” Marcus lifted one bleary eyelid and whispered, “I’m healing already. Everyone go away, I need some time to myself.” The zombie half of Atina’s body spasmed on the ground and stood upright, heading for the front gate. |
"Oooo!" Toby said. "That's like the perfect female, all legs and nothing else." J. Bystander slapped Toby. "I have to listen to you but I don't have to approve of what you say." They laid the vampire half of Atina on one of the picnic tables in the back yard. "Are we going to eat her?" Toby asked and J. Bystander had to slap him again. "No," Anita said. "I just didn't want to mess up anything in the house. I can hose down the picnic table later and it will be as good as new." Toby whispered to J. Bystander behind his hand: "Remind me to never accept a picnic invitation from Anita and Harry." J. Bystander pushed Toby away. "Quit acting like we're friends or something. I'm being paid to listen to you." "Really? Who would pay for that?" "Some reality TV show. I think it's called Vermin Village. They have hidden cameras planted around Lufchatel." "No! Who else is in on this?" "Marcus is an assistant producer. Why do you think he writes so much in that little notebook?" Just then Anita tugged at Tobey's arm. "Toby, could you be a dear and go find Atina's legs? They walked out the front gate. Since you're a zombie and they are zombie legs I thought you would be able to find them better than anyone else." "OK, I'll find those legs! Don't you worry, Anita! Coming with me, J Bystander?" "No, I'd rather not be alone with you. I'll stay here and drink until I can't smell the zombie stink anymore." |
A couple of hours later Harry was sitting in a chair. "There's a reason I hate these parties," he said, looking at Marcus. "And why's that?" the vampire asked. "Something always goes wrong." |
| "Awww, but if things went right all the time, where would we be?" Marcus asked his host. "Sure wouldn't be here at a party eyeing your wife. You did say you were swingers, right? D'you mind if I have a go at her? Anita, that is." "Like my friend the Flying Hat says, "go on a head". I really need to find some more tomato juice for the Bloody Mary mix anyway. That should give you some time. What do you need - five minutes? Ten?" Harry stood up and walked away, laughing hysterically. Wait 'til Marcus finds out just how insatiable my wife really is, he thought to himself. Then he grabbed a shot glass and downed the blowjob. It was a little after midnight when Toby went out walking, looking for Anita's legs. He found them wrapped around REAPER's midsection. But he never found REAPER's head. Oh well, he thought, may as well separate the two and take her legs back. But first, he thought he'd see if his theory was correct. |
| Marcus walked back to his house. It was nearing morning, and even though he didn’t have to avoid sunlight, thanks to an spf 300 sun eliminator gel, he was able to take daytime walks, providing he had on dark glasses. His regeneration was complete, but it left him tired, drained as a matter of fact. If only he’d gotten to Atina sooner, the zombie ear wouldn’t have caused so much damage. He was amused to see a half-zombie creature, and wondered if Atina would become a public nuisance, like REAPER. He really wanted to spend time with Anita, but first, he needed a daytime snooze in his coffin. He was so tired as he closed the lid, he didn’t notice the hole in his window, nor the fact his journal was missing. As Marcus slept the sleep of the dead, a large heavy object rolled from under his nightstand. REAPER’s head peered up at the coffin, and up righted itself to bounce our of the hallway and through Marcus’s front door, to join the rest of his body. Meanwhile, a few blocks away, Chobee was roaring. It wasn’t a roar of pleasure though; after a post-coital nap, he had awoke to an empty pillow. Elizibeth had vanished, leaving nothing but a hole in his spiral sliced ham-sized heart. |
| Clinton stayed behind long after the party had ended and Rodham had gone home with a few girls in his arms. Parties usually ended this way, and Clinton was well, jealous, of Rodham's, err, ability to charm the knickers off a few gals. "Lucky, Alive bastard...If only I were alive..." "Hey Clint!" came from the house. Harry was there with several black bags over his shoulder. "Thanks again for helping me clean up! I really hate that part of parties." "It was no trouble. The least I could do nieghbore." "No no Clint..." Harry said, putting down the bags. "You have no idea what it means to me. No one ever helps me clean! It's really annoying! I'd hug you if I could man!" |
By the time Toby managed to drag Atina's zombie legs to Harry's house, most of the guests had left. But Anita was glad to get her twin sister's legs back. "Thank you, Toby. Are you good with a needle and thread?" "Zombies have to be, Miss Anita. I can't tell you how many times I've had to sew my toes and fingers back on." "Do you think you could sew my sister's legs to her torso?" "But Miss Anita! Her legs is zombie and her t-t-t ... body is vampire! That's a mismatch, ain't it?" "Is that a problem?" "Well, I guess if you don't think it is then maybe it's not." You could see by Toby's face that he was pretty skeptical about the mismatch, but Anita chose to ignore that. "Just sew my sister back together, Toby. Then we'll have the problem of reanimating her." "Okay, Miss Anita. I'll sew." Under his breath he said, "But I ain't responsible for whatever monstrosity results..." "Did you say something, Toby?" "No, ma'am." "Toby, you let me worry about my sister's personality while you just sew the legs on. Understood?" "Yes, ma'am." |
An hour later, Harry was spending some pleasure time with his wife. "So, did you get Atina fixed up?" he asked, gently nibbling on one of Anita's ears. "Yeah," Anita said, gently running her fingers through her husband's fur. "That Toby was able to sew her back together. By the way, where did Elizibeth run off to?" "Elizibeth left with the ogre Chobee soon after she arived and started talking to him," Harry said. "Of course, I have the feeling that Larry might be a little angry about that. You know how jealous he can get." |
"Well, that's all well and good about Elizibeth. But the last time I checked, Larry was married to Atina, not Elizibeth, silly goose!" Anita said. "Goose?" "Sure I will, sweetie," Anita said, goosing her husband. "Damn, you're right. I guess I got a little drunk at the party. Honey - I'm sorry. I was wrong about having the party. It was a great idea to meet our neighbors. I think Elizibeth and Chobee will make a great couple," Harry mused. "Now that I recall that my cousin married YOUR sister, I'm okay with it. When's the next party, sweetheart?" "Well, maybe I'll make the rounds tonight after sundown and feel everyone up - - - I mean feel everyone out about the party. Definitely don't want to see that REAPER fellow again though. Damn crasher." Anita straddled Harry's torso and purred. |
| The sun sank in the horizon, and Harry was snoring loudly beside Anita. Anita stared at the ceiling, tracking the patterns on the ornate mirror above their bed. She loved Harry, sure, and the sex was wonderful but she wondered; was there something more? Was it true what they said about vampires being insatiable? What if she were with a vampire, and he bit her… Would she become a vampire too, or would said vampire care enough not to kill her, but keep her as a personal blood bank? Her musings made certain parts of her body snap to attention, and she giggled at the change in her reflection. She left the bed, and ran a brush through her long hair. She couldn’t remember what color the story writers said her hair was, so she just decided on a nice shade of auburn. After one hundred loving strokes with the horsehair brush, her auburn tresses shimmered in the early evening light. She picked up a spool of floss, and removed the bits of werewolf hair from her teeth before she flipped on her sonic toothbrush to take care of the rest. After placing it back into the charger, she slipped on a matching purple silk bra and panties, with little light purple hearts adorning the shimmering fabric. Finally, she struggled into a tight-fitting pair of distressed denim jeans, and a black lacy top with a plunging neckline. She glanced down the hallway to make sure Harry wasn’t coming, and pushed aside the bottom of the cabinet drawer, revealing a secret compartment. The small vial of amber liquid made her pulse quicken. She knew the effect this perfume had on the undead; her sister’s friend had brewed it especially for her, if she ever wanted to take a vacation from the hairy one. Not wanting to over do it, she put a small dab on each of her pulse points, corked the vial and placed it back in the drawer, closing the secret compartment. Hopefully, the first undead she encountered would be that yummy vampire Marcus, and not that nasty REAPER or the effeminate Toby. |
| Clinton and Rodham wandered across the street. "Hey, how come nothin' interesting is happening!?" Rodham shouted, waking up everyone within a block or so. "That, dear Rodham, is because the writer of this chapter is tired right now, but doesn't want to miss his turn." "Oh...That makes sence. But hey, ain'tcha breaking that...Wall, thing?" "The fourth Wall? Why yes, I broke it, but I can, because I am a ghost." |
An ominous rumble shook the village. "Uh oh," Clinton said. "I wonder if that fourth wall was holding up anything?" "You mean like the ceiling?" Rodham said. "I was thinking more like... the sky!" Rodham laughed. "Oh right. Then we could run around yelling 'The sky is falling!' and scare the hell out of everybody." "Have you noticed that the people in Lufchatel don't scare easily? I'm a ghost and people walk right by me." "In this village only normality is strange. Hey look, there's Anita. Why's she all dressed up like a streetwalker?" "Maybe because she is out walking on the street?" Rodham called out, "Hey, Anita! Where you going in those tramp clothes?" Anita sniffed. "None of your beeswax, Laurel and Hardy. Go give each other a blowjob." "What ancient references!" Clinton said. "I remember when L&H were all the rage at the cinema. Rodham, do you think we're anything like Laurel and Hardy?" "Certainly not!" |
| Meanwhile, back at Anita and Harry's place, Harry was waking up. He looked over and saw that Anita was not in bed. I guess she went to see Marcus, he thought, turning himself back over. Then he grinned and thought, I hope that he has fun trying to keep up with her, especially when she plays her games on him. |
| Lufchatel, Khasachasistan - CNN reports evidence of a new type of monster roaming the strasse in this non-tourist town of five hundred forty-two "residents". When this reporter put the word Khasachasistan into a Google search engine, he came up with a strang link to a story being written by several up-and-coming fiction writers. Emails to the proprietors of the dot-com went unanswered. In a related story, this reporter's wife has gone missing. A note found by this reporter showed she has gone in search of a nine foot tall half-ogre named Chobee. Meanwhile, back at the Chobee residence... "Alright, alright! I'm coming. Keep your pants on!" Chobee snarled as he pulled his own pants on and went to answer the incessant doorbell. Whoever it is better be gone by the time Elizibeth comes back he thought. And I'm disconnecting the bell as soon as I get rid of whoever this is! "What do you -oo-oo-ooh?" he stopped in mid-snarl. Standing on his welcome mat was the cutest little nayad he'd ever seen. "My name is Reinmachefrau Cherie von Dervumman. May I....come in?" she asked in fantastically fake German accent. Chobee stepped back and looked into her decolletage as she walked past him. All thoughts of Elizibeth immediately trickled out of his brain like the little bits of corn chips out of a hole in the bottom of a potato chip bag. "How did you know I needed a cleaning woman?" Chobee asked as he eyed her frontside back and her backside front. "You left zis rip-off-little-white-tag ad in zee zupermarket, silly boyyy," Cherie purred. "I hear zis town is really HOPPING at night, yah? No?" she queried in her intelligible way. "Here's my number. I'm staying at the Lufchatel Bed and Breakfast. I don't vant to be alone tonight. Vill you call me later, liebchen? You know how to dial, don't you? You just put your finger in the hole and make tiny little circles," she suggested suggestively. "Uhhh, sure," Chobee stammered. Was she leaving already? If not, why was she searching for his big vacuum cleaner? If so, why was she asking about his dialing finger? Either way, Chobee was glad Elizibeth had found some reason to leave. What Chobee didn't realize was that Cherie was the estranged wife of a certain CNN reporter. |
| Anita walked purposefully down the road, her four-and-a-half inch stilettos click clacking a syncopated rhythm. Every man she passed turned and ogled her, and she had a string of stray dogs behind her that stretched halfway around the block. There’s something odd about this love potion, she mused, it’s only supposed to make the undead fall in love with me, not dogs and regular men. Anita didn’t have the brain cells to realize it was the way she dressed that made the men stare. The fact she’d sat in a half eaten Reeses Cup right before she headed out the door was the reason for the dogs following her. Anita stopped, and darted behind a nearby dumpster. REAPER was careening down main street, headless and disoriented, tearing off chunks of his rotten flesh and flinging it ever which way. One nasty glob hit a nearby squirrel, and it plunked out of the tree and onto the sidewalk. It was that moment she realized that without a head, REAPER couldn’t fall in love with her at first sight, so she waited till the menace had passed, then inched from behind the trash bin and continued her rapid fire walk to Marcus’s apartment. Directly behind her, the squirrel’s body shuddered on the sidewalk, and popped upright, grasping the ground with it’s gnarled misshapen claws. The zombie squirrel stared at the retreating form of Anita, and felt a jolt in his heart. He had fallen in love. |
| "Dude, did you see that crazy squirrel!?" Random Resident 46 said out loud, pointing a gnarled finger at the zombie-squirrel. Random Resident 78, however, pointed in the other direction. "No, I'm more interested in that collapsed fourth wall! Any schmoe from any time could wander in through that! I'm sure it'll be a convienent plot device later!" "Oh you talk rubbish!" "Says you and your crazy belief in zombies, vampires, and other assorted supernatural creatures!" |
Cherie von Dervumman returned to her room at the Lufchatel Bed and Breakfast confident that she would be getting a visit from Chobee that evening. Finally she would find out if it was true what she had heard about nine-foot-tall half-ogres and their love-making abilities. Meanwhile Toby had joined a group of random residents who were chasing a newly-converted zombie squirrel. "If you catch him you has to eat him!" called someone followed by general laughter. Catching small animals and eating them was a common source of amusement in Lufchatel. It was the rare child who could keep a kitten or puppy long enough to see it reach adulthood. To give them the longest life possible, people in Lufchatel would keep their pets locked up in steel cages. Of course, there was always the danger the inlaws would come to visit and demand to have Zippy for dinner. Khasachasistan mother-in-laws were notorious for eating their son's pets. If you saw a sad child sitting on his porch rubbing his eyes and you asked him what was the matter then 9 times out of 10 the answer would be: "Grandmaw ate my dog!" However, this particular squirrel being chased by random residents did have the advantage of being a zombie squirrel. Every now and then it would rear up on its hindlegs and advance toward the crowd muttering, "Brains! I want brrrrains!" Inevitably someone would say: "Aw! Ain't that cute?" |
Meanwhile, Harry woke up, feeling the call of nature. "I hate these sorts of interuptions," he mumbled heading towards the bathroom. "And here I was having a good dream of pleasuring myself with over fifty women. Hopefully it will come back." However, when he opened the bathroom door, he saw an aligator-like creature. "Excuse me," it asked. "But is this Joe Shmoe's place? He hired me to take care of his wife." "The house next door," Harry said. "Now get going." "No problem," the creature said. "Sorry to bother you." With that the creature dived into the toilet bowl and went down the drain. "I hate it when those guys get the wrong house," Harry muttered and he pulled down his pants and sat on the toilet. "I wonder what he was hired for, to have sex with the guy's wife or to eat her. Then again, I don't like Jane Shmoe, to strict for my tastes. So either way's fine with me." |
Marcus was in the shower that morning, singing song after bloody song of his favorites. "Red rain is pouring down, all over me. I'm bathing in....Red Rain," he finished with Peter Gabriel's long-misunderstood tune. Everyone had assumed he'd been spouting off about nuclear holocaust, when in reality, he'd been bathing in blood. Bloody shame nobody outside the vampire community had gotten that joke. As he stepped out of the shower stall, he failed to notice Anita standing outside the bathroom window, thumbing through his prized notebook. Marcus toweled himself off to the tune of Cat People by David Bowie. Yet another song nobody realized was about the pleasures of being a vampire. All they ever recalled was the line "putting out fires....with gasoline!" But Marcus sang his favorite refrain: "See these eyes so red, Red like jungle burning bright, Those who feel me near, Pull the blinds and change their minds, It's been so looooooong...." Marcus was bent over drying off his knees when he straightened up and stared straight into the deep limpid pools of Anita's eyes. He blinked. She blinked. Then he spotted her holding his notebook in her left hand, her right hand poised over one particular line he'd written. If he'd been able to read upside-down he'd known where she paused. Anita had been reading about the proportionate sizes of half-ogres in relation to other party members. "Hi!" she said, staring at his unclothed midsection. "I loved your singing. Do you know "Bela Lugosi's Dead - by - Bauhaus, by any chance?" Marcus dropped the towel to the floor and reached through the unscreened window, grabbing Anita's arms. But he missed and caught her hips instead. She came in through the bathroom window protected by a silver spoon. Marcus screamed. "Silver spoon? Throw it away!" he yelled. Anita danced from one foot to the other in that urgent way that people do when they suddenly have to use the toilet. She said she'd always been a dancer; she'd worked at fifteen clubs a day before she'd met Harry. And though she thought Marcus knew the answer, well he knew, but he could not say. Marcus could picture himself in a boat on a river, drifting gently across the current, exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't. |
“Why should I throw my silver spoon away?” she purred, tracing his strong jaw line with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “Silver only affects werewolves. I’m ever so fond of my little talisman; it will keep my hubby away while I concentrate on YOU.” Anita punctuated the last word with a small push on the center of his forehead, throwing Marcus off balance and onto the floor. “Hold it a minute there, lady!” he teased, as Anita straddled his naked form “ I was merely concerned with the sharpness of your eating utensil; you could put somebody’s eye out with that thing!” Anita opened her mouth to speak, but before a word escaped her lips, his nostrils flared and his pupils contracted to pinpoints. A feral snarl rumbled from inside his throat as he grabbed the hair on the back of Anita’s head, pulling her down to his waiting… Nostrils. He inhaled her fragrance in one long, sensual breath. “What IS that perfume?” Marcus growled, taking her wrist in his hands and sniffing that as well. He could feel invisible strands of love working their way into his long dead heart. It beat once, then twice, then thudded to a standstill. “Oh, just a little present from my sister and her friend a while back. You know, I’ve never had a vampire before!” As she watched Marcus’s canines descend a shiver ran through her, and she quietly moaned. But no sound escaped her when he bit into her jugular vein. Outside the window, Aristocrates the Squirrel watched the love scene unfold with beady, watery, milky grey zombie eyes. “How DARE that handsome, long-haired vampire fall for Anita,” he chattered in his death-ravaged voice. “She will be mine… Oh yes, she will!” |
| As it turned out, many of Lufchatel's undead residents had gotten a whiff of Anita's perfume, leaving Aristocrates the Squirrel with a lot of competition. The prevailing Blusteries were blowing to the northeast on this fateful day, sweeping her scent ala' undead through the town and into the nieghboring countryside. Consequentially, within a hour of Anita and Marcus's "playtime", hundreds of undead had gathered around the hotel, looking inside with an ever-boiling jealous rage. It was then, the call was made. *~*~* "AHHHUUUG!! TSC, can you get that stupid phone!?" Rodham called from the shower, the pounding water almost eclipsing his voice. Clinton moaned and shouted back, "Yes sir...AND QUIT CALLING ME TSC!!" with begruding acceptence. Clinton floated over to the cordless phone and snatched it up. "Hello, you've reached the residency of Theodore Stratford Clinton and Rodham McFletcherson, this is Clinton you are speaking to, can I help you?" "HELLO?! Yes, this is the Spectral Mutterer, yes!?" Clinton moaned again, and rubbed his ephemeral temples. "One moment ma'am," Clinton said to the woman on the phone before shouting at the top of his no longer functioning lungs, "RODHAM! PHONE FOR YOU! WE GOT A SITUATION!" |
"Hello," Rodham said. "This is Jane Shmoe. What are you going to do about it?" "Huh? What? Do about you being Jane Shmoe?" "No, you idiot! The undead mob out there on the lawn. I've never seen such a disgusting crowd. And I think their leader is a zombie squirrel! That is so wrong." "OK, calm down Miss Shm-" "It's MRS. Shmoe!" "Yes, Mrs. Shmoe, we'll be there right away. What's that address again?" *** Aristocrates the Zombie Squirrel climbed up on the roof above the room where Marcus was leisurely sucking on Anita's neck. The squirrel found what he was looking for, the vent to the bathroom. After ripping off the cover screen he wiggled his cute little zombified furry body down to the bottom of the vent where he kicked out the fan and entered the bathroom. His face was fixed in an evil scowl as he scampered over to peek into the bedroom. From outside came the feeble sound of the cheap siren Rodham McFletcherson had mounted on his Spectral Mutterer vehicle. Rodham screeched to a halt behind the crowd of undead gathered on the lawn. He climbed onto the roof of his vehicle (a purple Scion van with his Spectral Mutterer logo in gold glitter) and held a bullhorn to his lips. "Attention, undead! Hear me mutter!" |
"Oh great, it's the Mutterer," said a random zombie. "What do we do?" asked another. "We'll chuck rotten fruits and vegetables at him," said the first. "Can't we chuck body parts at him?" the second asked. "No," said the first. "If we did that he'd turn into a zombie and I wouldn't want him as a zombie." "Good point," said the second. With that, the two zombies, along with several others, grabbed some rotten tomatoes and such and started throwing them at Rodham, telling him to go home. **** Meanwhile Harry was having trouble getting back to sleep. "Damned uninvited gator," he muttered. "Now I can't sleep." He then picked up a remote and turned on a TV, so that he could find a nice adult movie, "Monster Girls Gone Wild". However, what he saw was a news channel, and on it was a sceen in which dozens of zombies were surrounding one particular house. A reporter was even interviewing several of the zombies, using a microphone on a 39 1/2 foot pole. "Hot girl," said one of them. "Nice purfume," said another. "Brains," said a third. Then the reporter said, "Accourding to sources, the house belongs to a ZBH named Marcus and apparently he's having a date with an attractive woman named Anita. The woman is said to be wearing a purfume that the undead find intoxicating. A Spectral Mutterer had this to say..." The sceen switched to Rodham. "Jiba, Wida, Hadab, Luba, TSC" he said, trying to speak with most of his teeth knocked out. "As you can see," the reporter said. "He's unable to speak properly. Now let's go to Joe with the weather. Joe." At this, Harry groaned. "I told her not to wear anything that a witch makes," he muttered. "Now I have to go and deal with a bunch of zombies." **** Meanwhile, Jane Shmoe found something shocking in her bathroom, an aligator-like creature, who said that her husband had hired him to take care of her, in one way or another. |
| Jane asked her friend Needra what to do about the alligator. Needra suggested she take it to the zoo. The very next day, Needra saw Jane still had the alligator and asked, "Why didn't you take it to the zoo?" Jane replied, "I did. He loved it. We're going to the movies today!" Meanwhile, out on the lawn: Jiba, Wida, Hadab and Luba Cunningham were having a luau with Clinton. Unfortunately, the squirrel wasn't there to win the limbo contest, so it fell to the random zombie with no backbone. That was none other than Sluggo Dingleshutz, the former slug, now ZBH-hunter. Unfortunately for Sluggo, immediately after he won the limbo contest, someone stepped on him, ending his reign as limbo king. Over at the ogre house, Chobee was busy brushing his teeth after having spent the last hour with Cherie, who had found his vacuum after all. |
| Marcus was so caught up in the moment, he didn’t even hear the angry zombie horde outside. He did notice that Anita had stopped moaning… And moving. He lifted up her head with both hands and released it. It flopped unceremoniously back into Marcus’s chest. “Crap, crap CRAP!” he swore, thinking he had killed her. Aristocrates stood menacingly in the doorway of the bedroom, trying to puff up his fur and look as dangerous as possible. Marcus had just fed off a human for the first time in nearly eighty years and it gave him super strength. So, without even a glance at the screeching zombie rodent, he unknowingly booted it across the living room. Aristocrates bashed against the far wall, splatted, then slid grossly downward, leaving a trail of zombie squirrel grease and gore. Marcus lay Anita gently on the couch and felt her wrist for a pulse. There it was, faint and fluttering, the kind of shuddering a heart does just before it stops. Marcus knew the werewolf would be pissed, but he figured returning Anita as a vampire would be a much better choice than returning her dead. Marcus bit into his wrist and dribbled the blood across Anita’s lips. At first, she merely licked the scarlet droplets from her pale mouth. Then, with a furious snarl, she grasped his forearm and shoved the bleeding wrist to her face, sucking hungrily like a newborn colt. An hour later, Anita lay on the couch, pale and still, and Marcus was at his sewing table, trying to piece together the splatted zombie squirrel. Twice, Aristocrates woke up and tried to tear the ZBH’s forearm to bits, but Marcus knocked him out again, with a simple flick of his forefinger. |
| Rodham stared at his megaphone, then at Clinton and the Cunninghams. "Shoot!" he cried. The pretending to not have any teeth trick only summoned more ghosts. Rodham put his good teeth back in and began his incantations. He mumbled seemingly random and unintelligable words, making strange movements with his hands, before shouting, "WHAAATCHAAA!!!" All of the undead turned and stared at him. Rodham struck a great smile and swept his arms wide, whereupon a great mystic portal opened before them. The Undead Hoard stared at it for a moment, before shreiking in horror! "NOOO!" "TAKE AWAY!!" "BRAAAAAAINS!!!" "Get them!" cried Rodham, pointing at the Hoard. Inside the portal were the Hoard's worst nightmares. Their long-dead Mother in Laws. The MILs ran out, outfitted with rolling pins and hairdryers, shouting profanic undead curses before dragging the entire hoard back to beyond the fifth wall, where all the undead were sent to when they had passed on. Clinton looked at Rodham with a little bit of impressment. "Nice job Sir. I suppose I should congratulate you for finally figuring out how to use that spell, huh?" |
Rodham grinned. "It was the hand movements. All this time I've been thinking it was the words. Was I pronouncing them correctly? Was I too loud? Too soft? Were they even the RIGHT words? But noooo... it wasn't the words at all. It's all in the hands, bro, All in the hands." "I congratulate you, Sir. Those undead looked extremely depressed as they were hauled away." "I'm all jazzed up now. I wish we had another job to go on right away. I feel like I could mutter all night long." "Best not to overdue it, Sir." "You may be right, Clinton. What do you say we head back to the house for a hot chocolate and a peek at Adult Swim on the tube?" "That would be smashing, Sir." *** Toby had been shocked when the Mother-In-Laws dragged him off. He had never even been married! But the pressure was irresistible. He had to go with the old women, not because he was afraid of their rolling pins and hair dryers, but for some deep inner reason that seemed almost magical. "I'll bet it was that damned Spectral Mutterer!" Toby said. "Some kind of spell. I never trusted him from the beginning. What kind of guy is roommates with a ghost? Boy, I'd like to be a fly on that wall." After several minutes of walking, the procession of undeads and mother-in-laws reached a clearing in the forest. A particularly mean-looking old lady climbed up on top of a boulder. "Alright, you miserable dopes. Here's where the fun begins. Take off your clothes!" |
"Oh no!" Toby said, holding onto his pants. "I'm not even married. And I wouldn't want to strip in front of my mother-in-law anyways!" "What are you talking about?" asked a random zombie. "Would you rather strip in front of your father-in-law?" "Well yeah!" At this, a fifty foot radius cleared the area around Toby. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked. ***** Meanwhile, Harry came to Marcus's house and was slightly surprised to find that the zombies were gone. "I hope that they went back home," he said. "Now to get Anita and get her back home. This place gets crazy when it comes to the undead." |
| Marcus picked up Anita and carried her over his shoulder like a firefighter would. But when he got her to her and Harry's house, it was a bit ridiculous to carry her up the fireman's ladder that was still leaning against her bedroom window. "What the hell?" Anita moaned, looking down Marcus's back. She could see his boxer shorts sticking up out of the top of his jeans, just like the kids were wearing them these days. His boxers were adorned with little vampire teeth, red lipstick smacks and the words BITE ME in a random pattern. Then she saw the nametag on the back. It read Fang of the Looms. Marcus deposited Anita on her bed and was about to sneak back out the window when Harry showed up. "What have you done to my wife?" he snarled. |
“I went over to your house to retrieve her," Harry said, "but saw you exit with her over your shoulder. What, isn’t she capable of walking herself?” From the bed, Anita looked at Harry. Her eyes were icy blue and her hair was perfectly coiffed. She smiled with her newly sharpened teeth and hissed. “I’ve never had a werewolf before!” “You lousy son of a-!” Harry’s right hook connected with Marcus’s strong jaw. He could have stopped the werewolf’s punch, but he was resigned to guilt. Marcus went down like a sack of undead potatoes. “Anita, honey, what did he do to you?” Harry simpered as he approached his nicer-looking-than-usual wife. “Nothing, my handsome hairy one… Did you know we’re expecting a little hairy one, Harry?” Harry was mute with shock. From the floor, Marcus groaned. “It’s true," Anita said, "and now that I’m a vampire, our kid should be a super duper strong fighter, just like his Daddy!” Harry rubbed his temples in concentration. “Is there any way this kid could be… the vampire’s?” Anita yawned. “No, silly billy Harry warry, vampires don’t have sex. To them, drinking blood is the same as having sex.” At the mention of the word sex, Marcus uprighted himself. “Well, that’s not what the Twilight series said, nor Sookie Stackhouse, nor Queen Betsy nor the House of Night series!” Harry retorted. He had been guilty of reading vampire chick lit, and wasn't ashamed to let it be known. Anita had almost fallen asleep. “Anne Rice and that Vampire Diaries author had it right, it is the most realisti…..zzzzZZZzzzzzz“ “Damn you, ZBH!” Harry’s eyes glinted with fury as he charged at Marcus, and the ensuing fight was very loud, and very injurious. |
| And so Clinton and Rodham went home and had a delectable cup of hot cocoa. As they sipped their chocolaty beverage and watched Adult Swim, Clinton spoke up. "So Sir, do what do you surmise our neighbors have been up to?" "I dunno," Rodham said bluntly, going back to his cup. "Probobley are fighting to the death or something. It ain't our buisness unless someone calls us up, so whatever, y'know? Now pass the nachos." |
The boss mother-in-law, an old hag named Bertha, stood before Toby with her hands on her hips. "Soooo, even for a zombie you are weird, eh? OK, you will be our donkey for a little game of Pin The Tail On The Donkey." The other mother-in-laws went around making sure everybody was stripped while hollering insults like "How do you bozos expect to have any fun if you're not naked?" and "I've seen better sausages at the delicatessen." Then they handed out 6-inch hatpins to everybody and blindfolded them. Toby was tied belly tight to a tree. "Better be very quiet, Toby, so they don't know where you are." "This will be gruesome," Bertha said, "but that's the way I like it. You will know you've 'pinned the donkey' when you hear him scream. He's got a plump butt, so easy target, folks. Winner gets to go home." The mother-in-laws stood outside the circle and chuckled as the zombies stumbled around pinning each other in the eye, nose, throat, arm, back, leg but finally one of them by random chance pinned Toby. "Stop!" Bertha yelled. "We have a winner! You with the bad teeth! No, not you, the other one. No, the one with the bad teeth and falling out hair. No! No! The one whose nose just fell off. Yes! You! OK, you can go home. Everybody else... are you ready for Round Two?" The undead cheered in a grotesque unhealthy way, kind of like a dying man saying "Yay..." with his last breath. Toby groaned and yelled out, "There's nothing funny about this!" Two nearby zombies immediately homed in and pinned him. "Toby!" Bertha said. "You're spoiling the game. OK, two winners. Go home, guys. Are the rest of you still having fun?" Another weak "yay..." Toby started jabbering "Here I am! Here I am! I don't care! Just get it over with!" Seventeen hatpins found him. Bertha shook her head sadly. "I'm disappointed in you, Toby. All right, the rest of you losers go home and no more clustering around people's houses or my friend, the Spectral Mutterer will call me back and I'll be all over you again. Understand? Now get out of here!" The undead shambled back to their hiding places. The mother-in-laws untied Toby and took him with them to Mother-In-Law Land where he would become their plaything for a while. |
| Meanwhile, back at Harry and Anita's place, Harry and Marcus were sitting on a couch next to each other. "That was the most fun I've had in years," the vampire said, stuffing some napkins up his nose. "You're telling me," the werewolf said, as he grabbed his own and pushed it back into place. "I haven't had a fight like that since I left the ring a few years back." "You used to fight professionally?" "Yeah, I even held the Champion Belt for a few years." "So why'd you quit?" "They changed the rules for those who fought against me," Harry said. "Used to be that I could take the losers as my slaves. Anita really enjoyed those days. But now I'd have to eat the losers, and to me that's a waste of good talent so I left. Got involved in street fighting, but that doesn't have the same thrill. Of course, the professional fighting assosiations have suffered since they started those rules, because when I left, so did a lot of the others, from all of the different groups. We felt that the new rules were very unsporting." "Did they ever try to bring you back?" Marcus asked. "Only every month," Harry said. "After all, I was one of the biggest stars to hit the ring, since my father-in-law." "Must be bothersome," Marcus said. "Yep, that it is," Harry replied. "By the way, would you like a drink? I happen to own a nice selection of some very rare wines in my celler." |
| Cherie von Dervumman stood outside the Clinton / Rodham residence, unsure as to whether she should knock on the front door or just barge in. She was there, looking for an angle on a story she was trying to write. It would've helped a lot if my ex-husband had taught me the five basic rules of fact-finding, she mused. But he wasn't here, was he? He had been here last week. But since then, he had either been eaten by an alligator named Ruffes, or had run off with some floozy named Ramalama Cunningham, she didn't care which, as long as he wasn't coming back. Cherie shrugged her shoulders and decided to ring the doorbell instead. BING, BANG, BONG, BOOOONNNNG, BING, BANG, BONG, BONNNNNGGGG. Boom! Cherie ducked as the shotgun blasted pellets large enough to change a man's gender went flying over her head. Good thing the person inside the house had a bad aim, Cherie thought. "Damn, I hate that doorbell," Rodham muttered as he swung open the door. "What do you want?" he snarled, looking straight at the Rheinmachefrau-turned-reporter. "I was just wondering if you could verify the size of your schlong...it's for a story I'm doing for the Lufchatel Remonstrative. It's a challenge from our rivals at the Examiner?" Cherie posed. "We need to compare notes. "Compare?" Rodham shot back. "Yes. Compare. Analyze, study, examine, canvas, liken, consider, study; collate even..." "Well, have a look and you tell me," he quipped, dropping his pants. "Ooohh," Cherie gasped, whipping out her loupe and plopping it in her right eye. "Well, at least it sparkles. Thanks for the info!" With that, she spun on her heel and headed to the next house. She checked a box on her clipboard and smiled. "Was that a horologist?" Theodore asked his housemate. "Why? You wanted to make time with her?" shot Rodham back, clearly embarrassed to have been subjected to such a sensitive subject such as the size of his schlong. |
| Marcus could drink wine. He couldn’t get drunk off it, and had to expel it from his stomach later, but he could drink wine. Vampires could drink and eat anything, but had to dispose of it later. Marcus once ate an entire turkey leg to impress a girl during the Renaissance, and it rotted so quickly in his stomach his breath smelled for over a month! He figured having a glass of wine with Harry was the least he could do, for turning the werewolves wife. He thought about his new pet at home. Aristocrates had sewn back together nicely, and he really was a cute little thing, when he wasn’t busy trying to gnaw off Marcus’s fingers. He had placed the snarling zombie rodent in a titanium cage, roughly the size of a curio cabinet, with little exercise wheels and water bottles and chew toys… He’d have to go to the downtown meat market to get the brains though. Zombified animals ate nothing but brains. Anita turned over on the couch and sighed contentedly. Marcus smiled at her. He really was in love, in spite of all that happened. He wondered if Harry knew just how deeply imbedded his feelings were. Oh well, it would be interesting to see the first time she bit Harry. Would Harry turn into a zombie/werewolf? Or would he just remain the same hirsute violent creature that everyone knew and loved. Harry came back with a bottle of Port and two wine glasses. There was a knock on the door. “BRAINNNNNNNSSSS” wailed the voice on the other side of the deadbolt. “Freaking zombies!” cursed Harry, as he opened the door to his guest. |
A teenage zombie stood there tottering on the porch. "Hello, sir. I'm selling subscriptions to BRAINS magazine. Wouldn't you like to help pay for my college education?" "No," Harry said and shut the door. "Who was it?" Marcus asked. "Some zombie kid selling magazine subscriptions. Last week it was chocolate bars. The week before it was Christmas cards. I'm sick of it. Why don't they get a real job?" "But they have to go to school." "Pshaw! A zombie in school? Unlikely. Anyway, there are no schools in Lufchatel for anybody. This is an official home schooling area." "I didn't know that," Marcus said. "I don't have any kids so it never crossed my mind about the no schools thing." "Nobody has any kids except for that mutant family down by the nuclear power plant cooling pond and all their kids have gills." "Do you think the power plant has made us all sterile?" "Ha! Next you'll be saying it's turned us into monsters." Marcus's eyes widened. "That IS what I was going to say next! Maybe you're developing psychic powers too?" Harry looked out the window. "Marcus, the sun is coming up. Don't you have to go find a coffin and sleep all day now?" Marcus laughed. "Come on, Harry! This is the 21st century. Haha! You don't hear me making full moon cracks about you, do you?" |
| "Oh I don't know about that," Harry said, with a smile. "I'm quite active on those nights." "How active are you talking about?" Marcus asked. "Let's just say that there's a very good reason that I howl at the moon those nights," Harry said, tilting his head towards the bedroom. "Those are the nights that we have the most fun." "Are there any other places that you have fun at?" "There's this one All-Girls college that I spent some time at," Harry said, with a chuckle. "All of them have nice hourglass shapes, with nice sized breasts, nice hips, and more. Spent plenty of time with them." "How many of them are there?" "More than twenty, less then three hundred." "Perhaps I ought to check them out at some point." "I hope that you enjoy yourself if you do. Just don't go draining and turning them. Got into a bit of trouble when I got a few of them pregnant." |
| "Only a few? You losing your touch, Harry?" Marcus grinned. He loved speaking in colors. "I'll go check them out some other time." He didn't bother to say he was too interested in Anita at this time. But he toasted his buddy nonetheless, hoping Harry wouldn't catch on to his adoration of his wife. Meanwhile, Cherie von Dervumman had made her rounds and was heading back to Chobee's house. She'd neatly avoided REAPER, being able to observe his schlong-size from behind a dumpster. So far, nothing compared to the half-ogre, whose vacuum cleaner was the best in town. Speaking of Hoovers, she thought, I should suck down a few red hot chili peppers before I get back to Chobee.. Aristocrates was spinning around on the wheel in his cage, awaiting the return of his newfound friend, Marcus, when the doorbell rang. "BRAINNNNNSSSSS," came the voice on the other side of the door. Aristocrates, unable to speak English, chittered back, "CH-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia!" Toby awoke to find himself left out of the story completely. He connected his loose body parts and headed for the Lufchatel Remonstrative, intent on telling the editor-in-chief a thing or two about story-editing and such. But he never got there. "Why is it you writers have forsaken me?" Toby asked, breaking through the fourth wall. "I mean, come ON!! Whose appendage do I have to take an interest in, to get noticed around here?" Then he shuffled off-stage, out of line-of-sight, and was heard mumbling something about a mutterer. Chobee was attempting to groom himself. But his body was too large for him to reach the small of his back, or that especially itchy spot between his shoulder blades. He wondered where Cherie had gone off to...but didn't want to end it there, because that would have been a preposition and he'd rather end his thought with a proposition. He proposed to the writers that he might just have a serious encounter with Cherie upon her return and "Chobee? Are you in there?" Cherie's dulcet-toned voice broke his daydreaming (instead of his reverie). She pushed the door open and saw most of him sticking out of the shower stall, which really had been designed to wash cars or trucks, in one of those coin-operated stalls found along some of the less-sophisticated streets of Glen Burnie, but that's another story completely and probably doesn't belong in this story anyway. "You should really break down this fourth wall here (she pointed) and get some air flowing through here. I mean, I love your vanilla-scented soap, but BabyMagic Oil works better on this (OH!) and THIS (OH HO!) area, don't you agree?" Cherie had shown Chobee a thing or two about how to reach those two areas, hadn't she? |
| Atina lay on the picnic table outside Harry’s house, alone and forgotten. It took a while for the vampire half of her to mend the connections between the two halves of her body. Now that the sewing had worked a little magic, the only thing she noticed was a gnarly pink scar around her waist area. She was able to move a little, a twitch here and a jolt there, but she loathed it when it rained. And judging from the dark storm clouds overhead, that would be happening soon. A sudden cloud burst began soaking Atina and her clothing… Well the upper half of her was clothed anyway, and the torrent of rain pelted her skin, digging into all her zombie/vampire flesh. She tried to scream, but her body was paralyzed, along with her tongue and her pharynx. The deluge filled her gaping mouth, and the resulting startle jolted her awake. She sat upright on the picnic table, a series of jumbled thoughts running through her abnormal mind. Foremost on her cerebellum was Blood… no wait, BRAINS, no, darn it, BLOOD… Oh hell. BLOODY BRAINS! The zombie half of her vibrated grotesquely on the slatted wood table, and twisted painfully to try and stand. “Don’t you DARE!” screamed the vampire half Or I’ll drain you like the un needed body part you are!” The zombie half, since it had no BRAINNNNSSS, didn’t listen, and kept on trying to walk away. Angry, Atina bared her long, drippy canines and bit down on her calf muscle, instantly recoiling from the smell and texture of her other half. |
| And so Clinton and Rodham sat on the couch and watched TV for the remainder of the evening. The climax of their night was deciding wheather to watch "Mammoth King VS Cimpanzioid 6: Return of Bhuddah", or "The Life and Times of a Petty Nobleman. And so they would wait, until something really cool happened... |
As they say behind the fourth wall... good luck with that. But at that precise moment when the narrator was trying to be snarky, there was indeed something cool happening in Lufchatel. Chobee and Cherie were falling in love! I can hear you say: Noooooo! But it's true, dear reader. Love was in the air. Or did you mean: Noooo, falling in love isn't cool? Oh well, who doesn't like a good sex scene? Chobee stretched out on his ten-foot-long bed so that Cherie could rub more baby oil on his backside. "That feels good, Cherie. Where did you learn to do that?" "I used to work at the Pig Slides as a rump rubber. They say my hands took the squeal out of many an oinker." Chobee twisted his head around to stare at her. "Pig Slide? Rump rubber? What are these things?" "Why Chobee, darling, have you never been to a State Fair? I'll bet you've never fisted a catfish or been on a hay roll." "No, Cherie. None of those things. I grew up in a city. I know nothing of rural shenanigans. But I thought you were a reinemachefrau. How do you know of such earthy pursuits?" "Ahh, my liebe. I told you all that German stuff was phoney." "Phoney? I thought you were saying funny with an accent. Phoney, eh? So really you're just some carny chick from Indiana?" "Is Indiana such a bad place to be from, my love?" "I guess not. The way you handle that baby oil I don't think I'd care if you came from New Jersey." For awhile neither of them spoke and the only sound in the room was the slap of oily hands against ogre butt. Cherie whispered in Chobee's ear: "Are you ready to turn over now, darling?" "I was, but now I think I'm pinned to the mattress." "How could that be?" "Uh.. well, without going into too much detail, there's a hole in the mattress and I was trying to make myself more comfortable, but now my schlong is trapped in the mattress." "Oh! Would some baby oil help?" "Maybe a bucket of it. Tell you what. Let's just talk about something nonsexual for awhile and maybe I'll be able to get unstuck. I hope this isn't ruining the romantic mood?" "Not at all, darling! It reminds me of the night I was trying to make out with the Alligator Boy in one of the Tilt-A-Whirl cups and he got his tail caught in the safety bar." |
| And speaking about Alligator people, the one who was hired to take care of Jane Shmoe was finally taking care of her. "I thought that my husband hired you to take care of me," Jane said, struggling to try and free herself from the rope she'd been tied up with. "And he did," the creature said. "He hired me to eat you." "But I thought that you liked me," Jane screamed as a gag was placed over her mouth, muffling her screams. "Oh but I do like you," the creature said. "I especially like your taste. It will be quite nice in my stomach." At this, Jane gave out a muffled scream as she found herself going down the gator's throat face first. **** When the gator was done, he gave a belch of satisfaction. "Nothing quite like a nice meal, except being paid for one," he said, patting his stomach. "Of course I might bring her back up at my lair. After all, she sure is fun in bed." |
| As luck would have it, the tale of a tail caught in a Tilt-A-Whirl was all Chobee needed to get his own body flipped over, without much damage to the mattress. Immediately, Cherie's oiled hands went to his proportionate appendage. She oohed and ahhed over it for nearly an hour, loving how the skin glistened. Then she bent over and slipped it into her cleavage (What? The reader is aghast? Okay, I'll tone it down a bit for you) and pulled out a plum and said, "What a good girl I am!" Then Little Jack Horner became Big Jack Hornier and lifted Cherie up to straddle his fifth wheel. "This is how the truckers do it, my love," Chobee explained. "The wires that connect the tractor to the trailer, to make sure the lights work, are called the Glad-Hands. My hands are sure glad to meet your chest. Are your lights turned on?" "OH! YES YES YES, they ARE, ChooooooooooBEEE!" Cherie grunted. Something about hauling a load of steel rods turned her engine over. Chobee went on to explain about all the different types of loads he'd delivered, back when he was just a truck driver in the States. Telephone poles, recycled plastic, batteries, even mulch. "Ooooh, sounds dirty," Cherie squealed. Meanwhile, at Marcus's house, Aristocrates had used his zombie thumbs to open his cage and was foraging for food in the ZBH's fridge. He chittered, "Brains? Brains...brains... where are those brains? I need some brain food. AH!" he spotted something that was brain-like in appearance. But it was merely black-raspberry ice cream. Not only wasn't it brains, it gave the poor squirrel brain-freeze after a few small bites. Atina had righted herself and was glad the writers had rewritten her into the story. She ambled down the avenue and slipped quietly into the back door of Marcus's house. She saw the squirrel lying in a stupor and chittered "Hello" to him. Taken aback, she wondered how she'd been able to do that. Had she known she could speak in tongues, she'd have done it long ago. Aristocrates awoke and chittered back, "Damn, you're sexy! Ever had a four-legged, furry creature between your legs?" Atina had to admit she hadn't. |
| Breaking down the fourth wall into a pile of dust, Ravenwand the author regrets to say she must skip her turn this round. She has neither the emotional nor creative energy to do a qualifying entry. Next time, definitely. |
Aristocrates and Atina's chittering conversation became progressively more obscene until finally Atina wiped the sweat from her forehead and said, "Damn! Enough talk! Let's just do it!" "Do what?" Aristocrates said. "What do you think we've been talking about?" But Marcus chose that moment to return home from his visit with Harry. "Atina? Aristocrates? What are you two up to? Why are you out of your cage, Aristocrates? Did Atina let you out?" "Uh... yes, she did," the squirrel said as he trudged back into his cage and watched Marcus relock the door. Atina's mouth dropped open. "I did not! You little lying rodent!" "Then why are you in my house?" Marcus said. "Why am I in your house?" "Yes, why?" "I just... am. Ever since I got my zombie legs I end up in surprising places." Marcus shook his head sadly. "You can't blame everything on your zombie legs, Atina. You must accept some personal responsibility for your actions." Atina cocked an eyebrow. "So when did you turn into Doctor Phil?" "Don't you know I'm a professional zombie bounty hunter?" "What are you saying?" "I'm saying I could get 200 bucks for your legs at the zombie recycling center. So maybe it's time for you to start using your brain, eh?" Atina pouted. "But I have a vampire brain." "So? Vampires are reputed to be extremely intelligent, even suave, debonair, and sophisticated." "I don't know what those words mean." Marcus shrugged. "OK, so maybe your zombie legs dumbify you a bit. Listen, Atina, I'm sorry to do this, but I need the 200 dollars." "Oh!" Atina screamed when she saw the shotgun Marcus was pointing at her. Aristocrates started rattling the bars of his cage and chittering "No!" but the blast of the shotgun happened anyway. "You really did it," Aristocrates said. "I'm a ZBH. I do things like that. Did any blood get on you?" "Just a few spatters. I... I'd like to leave them there to dry in my fur if you don't mind. It will remind me that for a few moments I had some love in my life." "What the hell are you talking about?" "We were going to do it, Marcus. Me and Atina. You interrupted a romance and killed a lover. Shame on you, Marcus." "You and Atina! Hahahahahahaha! Oh, this town cracks me up. I'm taking these legs to the recycling center. I'll be back in an hour. Hey, I guess you deserve part of the 200 dollars for luring Atina to my house. Anything I can get you?" "I didn't lure her to your house, you cruel, heartless son-of-a-bitch! Um... get me a pack of M&Ms, the kind with peanuts in them. I love those." |
| Meanwhile, Harry decided to break the forth wall and try his bit at being a salesman. "Hello Ladies and Gents," he says with a smile. "The people in this crazy world have a load of crazy things to sell. Let's see here: We have Zombie Legs, very funny to watch when it is running around. We have an ogre's shlong, perfect for the wife on those nights that you can't be there with her, or for your own use. We also have cupons from the Sewer Gator Crew, 'If you have undeserving spouses, We'll take care of them, In any way you need them taken care of'. A very good deal on that as well, especially for the combo package. So be sure to come and visit us. You may never want to leave, or be able to." |
| Chobee awoke with a start. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "What a weird dream!" Cherie was lying beside him stroking his shoulder. "Tell me about it?" "Well, Harry was selling things on L-Bay, Lufchatel's version of e-Bay? My schlong was among the items. Oh, good, it's still attached," he said, reaching down between his legs. "Some big bad wolf had the audacity to tell a cruel joke about my fifth limb. C'mere darlin', time for round sixteen." "Oh, I love rounds that are perfect squares," Cherie said geekily. "Speaking of perfect, do you want me on top this time?" Meanwhile, Harry had just bought Atina's legs from Marcus. He figured two hundred bucks was well worth it. He mounted the legs on a pedestal and began worshipping them almost as soon as he got off his pants. Of course, the phrase worshipping Atina's legs is really a euphemism for using a shotgun named Hillary. Just thinking about Rodham's gun was enough to conjure the Spectral Mutterer, it seemed. For there he was, standing behind Harry, licking his lips. "My turn next, dude," he said to Harry as he looked at the werewolf's hairy backside. "By the way, that's gross. You've got dingleberries." "Huh? Do I?" Harry said, momentarily awakened from his euphemism. He reached back with a hairy paw, stuck in his thumb, pulled out a plum and said, "What a good boy am I!" So Rodham stepped in and used his hands like only a Spectral Mutterer could. "It's all...in the wrists," he said, as his hand movements reminded the audience of a move by John Ritter in the old sitcom Three's Company that straddled the end of the seventies / beginning of the eighties over in the States. In that episode, Jack Tripper had finally convinced his landlord Stan Roper that he was gay by moving his wrist exactly the same way Rodham was now doing. Unfortunately, as Rodham began "speaking" to the supernatural pair of legs before him on the pedestal, the Cunningham Sisters (singing group) of Jiba, Wida, Hadab, Luba magically appeared. So Rodham had to use the shotgun after all. Then he turned to the Sisters and asked, "Do you know the tune "Keep Running On"?" "Know it? We did a video of it!" http://thecunninghamsisters.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=5&I... |
| Marcus was glad he’d purchased the “Rosetta Stone Guide To Basic Conversational English” for his new pet. It saved a lot of time and money for translators. Marcus paused mid-thought. Aristocrates had paused before he agreed Atina had opened his cage… And Atina’s subsequent reaction was verbally violent. What if… SLAM! Marcus bashed right into a solid wall of stench. Putrid flesh bits scattered from the impact. “REAPER?” “UNnnNNNnnngh!” Reaper grunted. I don’t have my gun, shit shit shit! thought Marcus, so he went to plan B, being polite. Being polite always knocked zombies off guard. And, if he could lure REAPER back to his place, he might just have a decent paycheck this month! “Well good day Mr. REAPER, you’re looking especially oozy today!” “Huh?” “I said, old chap, you are looking wonderfully handsome, fancy a drink at my place?” “BRAINNNSSSSSSS!” wailed the zombie menace, and a tooth flew from his mouth and landed on Marcus’s face. Used to dealing with situations like these, he politely wiped the tooth from his face and handed it back to the zombie. “Here you go, you may need this,” he urged, placing the tooth back in REAPER’s hand. “Brains?” he asked, raising a partially missing eyebrow. “No, my friend, it’s a tooth. It came from your mouth. You may want to re-insert it!” REAPER looked at the tooth, shrugged his shoulders, then popped it in his mouth, swallowing it with a grotesquely loud gulp. Marcus retched, and tasted the remnants of wine from his visit to Harry’s. Thinking of Harry made Marcus think of Anita, and he zoned out, staring dreamily ahead into nothing. “WHAP!” Came the blow to the back of the unsuspecting vampire’s head. REAPER'd had enough of the small talk, and it was time for action. He grabbed the unconscious vampire by the forearm and dragged him toward his secret lair. |
| Clinton was worried. Rodham never took this long helping neighbores with legs and Shotguns. The ghost meekly sweept around the house for a dictionary to check and see if he spelt that word correctly. The last thing he wanted Rodham to return home to was a misspelled verb. |
Meanwhile, Toby was in Mother-In-Law Land misspelling words as the evil mother-in-laws hollered, "Misspell another one you dumb zombie!" Toby obediantly said, "M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-I!" and "S-K-O-O-L!" It was really degrading because Toby was an excellent speller and could even spell nauseous correctly, something 9 out of 10 spellers failed to do. Other than that, Toby was enjoying his visit. He had unlimited access to corn chips and salsa, a mother-in-law favorite. But let's get back to REAPER's secret lair where the really grotesque action is happening. REAPER's first thought was to tear Marcus into little pieces. I don't know why. Maybe because as a child REAPER had his hands slapped so many times for pulling all the leaves off the cabbage heads in the fridge. I'm speculating that REAPER was full of resentment about that. I know I would be if I got my hands slapped over and over and an adult kept yelling at me: "Goldangit! How many goldanged times do I have to tell you to leave the cabbage alone?" Anyway, Marcus was a bit of a cabbage head in REAPER's opinion because Marcus carried a notebook and REAPER associated reading and writing with people who guarded cabbages. Also, notebooks had leaves like cabbages did. That gave REAPER an idea. He tore Marcus' notebook into shreds. "Noooo!" Marcus screamed. "That's my whole life in there!" REAPER laughed that fart-breathed laugh of his: "Hurp! Hurp! Hurp! Now I tear your head off, mister cabbage head! Hurp! Hurp! Hurp!" |
| Meanwhile, down in the sewers, the Sewer Gator Crew was playing a game of Poker. "Hey John," one said. "What did that guy on Snagletooth Lane want you to do with his wife to take care of her?" "Just to have sex with her," the one named John said. "She wasn't into him while in bed. She's into ME though! By the way, how was yours Julia?" "A better meal than lover," the first one said, in a surprisingly female voice. "The guy was WAY too unfaithfull. I mean its one thing when the other knows that their spouse is a swinger, but this guy wasn't spending enough time with his wife, or even sharing his lovers with her. So Jack, what was your client's job?" "To eat his wife," said a familiar one, the one who had taken care of Jane. "However I've decided to keep her around. She is quite fun you know." With that, the Crew turned to look at a nuumber tied up men and women, as well as other members of the Crew, who were spending time with their favorites. |
| Of course, to the Sewer Gator Crew, "Poker" wasn't the regular card-game enjoyed by thousands upon thousands of Texas Hold-Em people. It was actually a cruel game where they used fireplace pokers to poke into the pokier of the group of pokeweed idiots they happened to catch just south of town. Meanwhile, back at the ranch known as REAPER's lair, which was no longer a secret, thanks to the fourth-wall being broken, shredded, glued back together and hung on the third wall, just behind the cameraman's head, Marcus was busy using the same glue to piece together his precious...notebook. "Cautious, my precioussss. More haste, less speed. We mussn't rissk our neck, musst we, precioussss? No, precioussss," he hissed, suddenly emulating Smeagal from LOTR. He licked a piece of ripped notebook paper, stuck it back into the notebook and looked over at the dismembered body of the artist formerly known as REAPER. "Unless I miss my guess, REAPER won't be doing any scythe work any more. At least, not in MY lifetime. Perhaps Sauron can use him," he mused, confusing genres again. Then he cackled an evil laugh and left the not-so-secret lair, heading for home. Toby, having been written back into the story, was happily chittering away with Anita and Aristocrates. They each had their finger (or appendage) in a particularly lurid spot in the Rosetta Stone guidebook. After several hours of this game they called Translation Twister, it became obvious that Marcus was missing. "Damn it, we need a fourth person for this game," Anita moaned. "Where the Hey-ell is Marcus?" Suddenly, she had a south-Georgian accent, and it wasn't that Georgia that was a former USSR country either. |
| Toby went over to Marcus’s worn couch and flipped on the television to “Dancing With The Stars.” They were showing re-runs of the season with Donny Osmond. Toby’s already glazed eyes glazed over some more as he watched the handsome singer/dancer twirl around in tight-fitting costumes. He snatched a couch pillow and placed it on his lap, so neither Anita nor Aristocrates could see how exited the show made him. Meanwhile Anita, noticing Aristocrates’ obvious interest in her, crooked her finger, beckoning the zombie rodent. “Stoccy, come her baby,” she growled. “This vampire momma wants to get a little squirrel tail!” Aristocrates stared at her, wondering if he should or shouldn’t. What if she got carried away and bit his head off? What if she went into labor? Anita was looking quite gravid, for a woman who was only three months gestation. “What’re you staring at, stinky, scooch a little closer dear, and I will nibble your ear…” Aristocrates cringed. “That’s what I’m afraid of, Anita, you might not stop at my ear.” Not used to being thwarted, Anita hissed at the terrified undead fuball and lunged for him. Aristocrates feinted left and Anita crashed to the floor. A loud POP and a faint Hissssss immediately followed the faceplant. There was a darkening puddle of moisture under Anita. She raised up on her elbows and looked at Aristocrates in astonishment. “I think my water just broke…” |
| *Is really tired tonight and will not properly be posting. Instead you shall recieve a convienent summary.* Clinton goes out in search of Rodham, finds him in a bar, beats the shnikeeze out of him, takes him home, and they get a call from dissatisfied nieghbors asking them to eliminate the Gator Crew. Rodham accepts, saying it sure is convienent he just bought that "Instant Gator Killin'" Bazooka. Clinton then calls their Life Insurence broker to see if Rodham's policy covers gators, which it convienently does. |
"Water, hell!" Aristocrates yelled. "That's gasoline!" "Why would-" Anita began but Marcus was already yanking her to her feet. "Run!" he yelled. "Get out, Toby! This place is gonna blow!" Toby ran with them. "But whyyyyyy? Nobody is smoking or anything." "The TV has a short in it!" "Oh my God! Poor Donny!" "Yes, all the dancing stars will be incinerated, but at least we'll have new faces to look at for the next show." A tremendous fireball exploded behind them and the sky glowed orange. The WHOMP of the explosion knocked them down. Marcus sat cross-legged looking at the burning remains of the REAPER's lair. "Are you OK, Anita?" "Yes," she said. "That was stupid of me to carry a balloon full of gasoline tucked into my waistband." "I'll say! I can't even imagine any logical reason why you would do that." "I could explain it, but if you don't mind, I think I better get some rest. This has really been too much excitement for me in my condition." "Of course! I'll walk you home." After Marcus and Anita left, Toby and Aristocrates sat watching the house fire dwindle into glowing embers. "I guess there's no fire department," Aristocrates said. "No. No schools. No fire. No police. Say... do you see what I see?" "What is it?" There was an orange figure rising from the embers. It stretched out its arms towards them. "That's the REAPER! Holy smokes! He must be like a phoenix or something!" Aristocrates shuddered. "That guy gives me the creeps." |
| Meanwhile, Harry was on the phone talking to Rodham, trying to talk him out of his deal to eliminate the Gator Crew. "Trust me buddy, you don't want to go after them,"said Harry. "I plan on turning them into leather handbags and boots," Rodham said, the cocking of a gun being heard over the phone. "Hey listen, they just happen to know where the finest women are at," Harry said. "Yeah," said Rodham. "Tropical Hawii." "Actually, those ones are the second finest," Harry said. "Only the Gator Crew knows where the finest ones are at." |
| "Besides," Harry continued, "Leather goods come from cows, not gators. But then, you probably never watched the end of Romancing the Stone with Michael Douglas standing on his boat, wearing alligator-skin boots." As Harry thought of Kathleen Turner and all that that implied, he thought of his wife. "Sayyyy, Stoccy, ever been interested in men?" Toby asked, eyeing the squirrel's obvious excitement. "Only as targets for my nuts," Aristocrates replied, then suddenly regretted the way he'd worded that. Meanwhile, Cherie was once again smiling, satisfied, after round sixteen with Chobee. "Sweetheart? Are you hungry? Suddenly I have a hungering for Chinese," she said. "Food, that is," she quickly added. Then, seeing his mind was occupied elsewhere, she nudged him with her lips. "I was just thinking about knocking down the shower stall wall, like you suggested earlier," Chobee replied. "Maybe add a jacuzzi, you know?" So Cherie let him think about water jets and all that that implied, and got up to find the Lufchatel telephone directory. Marcus and Anita found themselves walking along the main Strasse, after midnight. They'd spent the last few hours just talking; mostly about the future. "So that's how Scotty was able to beam Kirk anywhere he wanted!" Anita exclaimed, once again trying to steer the subject around to sex. She was still horny after her near-encounter with Aristocrates, Marcus's zombie squirrel. She really had intended to only nibble on his ear. But that damned squirrel must've thought otherwise. She'd been planning that gasoline balloon trick for several days. She wondered if Marcus cared that his house had exploded. "Speaking of beaming," Marcus said, catching Anita's drift. He neatly folded her drift and tucked it in a back pocket he didn't realize he had and cupped Anita's chin. "Where the HELL am I going to live? I'd intended to beam you up myself tonight." |
| “Why, Marcus, What possible good would a relationship be between a vampire like yourself, and a hu…” It finally dawned on her what she was, and the man beside her was one of her kind. “My point exactly,” Marcus smiled at her stunned expression. “Here, let me show you something.” He grabbed her hand and walked her to a seedy looking warehouse. The windows were covered in boards and graffiti adorned every available surface. “This, my dear, is paradise!” “Um. Marcus? It looks like a seedy warehouse with boarded up windows and lots of graffiti.” “Yes, my undead beauty, but wait till you see the inside!” Marcus wondered if he should let a ditz like Anita see his secret hideaway. Hell, if all went as planned, he might just make this his new home. With a few fix-ups and some fresh paint, it could be sort of livable. Anita looked incredulous. “If you say so, Marcus.” The pale gas lamp glow illuminated her flawless visage, and he couldn’t help himself. After a long lip-scraping kiss, he carried her over the threshold to a whole new world. Or at least, a whole new place to live… Well, it would be new to him. |
The next morning Toby was wandering around town when he decided to pay a visit to the Sewer Gators. He knocked on a manhole cover. "What the hell?" came a voice from below. "It's like 7am! Are you delivering milk?" "I'm looking for the Gator Crew!" Toby yelled. The manhole cover lifted up and two evil eyes atop a jaw filled with teeth looked Toby over. "You don't look like a milkman." "What's a milkman?" Toby said. "Nevermind. What the hell do you want at 7am?" "I was bored. Thought you might like some company." "Do I know you?" "No. I'm Toby. What's your name?" "My name is Jack, Toby. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to wander around the neighborhood knocking on doors?" "I don't have a mother, just a bunch of mother-in-laws. I'm a zombie." "Oh. A zombie. Isn't that special. Come on in, then. You'll be right at home down here in the sewer with the rest of the rot and mold." At the bottom of the ladder was a second gator. "I'm John. Welcome to our pisspot." Toby looked around. "I have to admit I was curious about that. Since you guys live down here in the sewer, do you just pee and crap anywhere at all?" Jack smiled politely. "We try not to do it on our own feet, Toby, but otherwise, yes, just about anywhere. That strikes you as the big advantage of sewer dwelling, does it?" "Oh yes! Can I pee now? Like right here on the floor?" "Actually, Toby, would you mind aiming it over there in the main sewer channel rather than right here in front of the TV?" "Oh... sure. I can do that." "I'm sorry to be picky about it, Toby." "No, it's all right. It's still cooler than having to find a little room with a toilet in it." |
| Meanwhile, Harry was trying to make sence of what was going on. "Let's see, Marcus has tuned my wife into a vampire and is in love with her. Her sister is half vampire, half Zombie. Marcus sold her legs for money. Jack's an alligator creature who takes care of ungrateful spouses. Chobee's an ogre who has something going on with a reporter's wife and Toby's a zombie who likes males and is in the sewer. As for me, I'm a multi-millonare who runs the city. Am I correct so far?" |
| Lufchatel, Khasachasistan - CNN reports that the Big Bad Wolf is recapping the story so far. In a related note, Little Red Riding Hood is searching for her granny; the one with the really big teeth, whose breath smells like her former blue-haired granny. As for the former wife of this reporter making time with a half-ogre, this reporter couldn't care about it at all. What the recap neglected to mention was the Spectral Mutterer and his faithful mutt companion, who seem to have very little to do unless someone calls them for a job. Also in the background, but always ready to run the wheel to action is the zombie squirrel known as Aristocrates. The one character nobody seems to want to talk about is the REAPER who invited himself into this story and doesn't belong. .... Meanwhile, in another part of town, Bruce Wayne and his faithful companion Dick Grayson don their tights for another night on the town. .... "Cherie, here's where I think the jacuzzi jets should be pointing," Chobee said, aiming them just-so and hearing the related positive squeal from his new lover. Her *S* could be seen through the special spotlight atop the commissioner's office, in the clouds over Lufchatel, as if calling to the dynamic duo in a strange signal only "seen" by bats and robins. Marcus set down Anita on the Dance-Dance-Revolution dance floor and immediately the glitter ball above their heads spun into movement. "Say Hey" by Michael Franti and Spearhead started playing over the loudspeakers. In the farthest corner of the seedy warehouse, zombie mice got up to dance. |
| Harry was walking the streets of Lufchatel, looking as if his world had crumbled. Sure, he offered Anita to Marcus, but he hadn’t expected it to go this far. How would he get her back? How would he keep her? He knew once a vampire found a mate, it was usually for life, or whatever an undead individual called life. He passed a particularly steamy sewer grate and saw it move. Startled, he jumped and tried to hide behind a lamp post. Seeing that the thin lamp post could not hide him, he stood bravely to confront whatever was emerging. |
Toby emerged from the manhole. He reached back and shook hands with a scaly claw that protruded from the manhole and said, "Thanks, Jack! I had a wonderful time! I don't think I've ever pissed so much in one night before." "Good-bye, Toby. Come back anytime. We don't get many visitors." Toby walked away whistling then jumped when Harry was suddenly beside him asking, "So what's it like down there with the sewer crew?" "Awesome!" Toby said. "Say, what are you doing out roaming the streets? I don't think you've ever said a word to me before." "That's because you're a poor zombie that has nothing in his life and I'm a rich werewolf that owns half this town. But I'll tell you something, Toby. Tonight you had something I don't have - good friends." Toby drew back showing his disbelief. "That's crazy talk, Harry. Everybody in town wants to be your friend." "No, Toby, not to be my real friend. They want to be my 'friend' because I'm rich and powerful and they think it will be to their advantage to be friends with me." "Well, I don't think that way, Harry." "I know you don't." Harry clasped Toby's shoulder. "That's why I'm talking to you. That was your question, wasn't it? Why am I talking to you?" "Yeah. But I don't know what to say to you." "No problem. I just want to walk along with you for awhile. Did I ever tell you how I first met Anita?" "You've never told me anything, Harry." |
| "Well I'll tell you anyways. It was just over five years ago and I had just won my first Championship Match. Well into the ring came George Nightwalker, the guy who had held the belt before the guy that I had fought. He congradulated me for my victory and invited me to a party. I went and I'll tell you this, when I saw this young woman, she was drop-dead gorgous.In fact I asked George if the woman was a model yhe'd hired for the party, and he smacked me on the back of my head and said, 'That's my daughter.' At first I was confussed, as George is a dridder, you know one of those creatures that has the lower body of a spider and the upper body of a human." "I've heard of them," Toby said. "I think." "Well anyways the answer cleared up when George's wife stepped out," Harry said. "And let me tell you this, she's the ugliest human I've ever seen. She's got warts on oposite sides of her nose that are so big I thought that they were horns at first. How a beautiful woman like Anita, or even Atina, came from her I'll never know. Anyways, one look at me and she was hooked. In fact she invited me to her room and the next thing I knew she'd stripped both me and herself and she was ontop of me. Now her father had no problems with it, but her mother though, she tried to skin me alive. Of course I'd like to think it was because I slept with her daughter first as opossed to her sleeping with me first. Needless to say, she doesn't like me to much. Thankfully I managed to marry Anita before I left the ring, otherwise she would have never let me marry her daughter." |
| REAPER shambled into the offices of the local CNN office in the stairwell of the train station that used to service Lufchatel, but now houses only a typewriter, a teletype and a ratty office chair. "Youuuu. Deatttttthhhhhhhh," he said to the reporter sitting there. "No. You are Death, I believe. I am Howweird von Dervumman, at your cervix," the reporter joked. One thing he should've learned early on in life, is to never EVER joke with Death. The second thing he should've learned was to never engage in a land war in Asia, but sadly, he'd never get to learn that. "Ddddddeeeeaaaarrrrttttthhhhhhh," repeated the REAPER. "No. Dearth is a lack of something. But then, maybe you ARE right there, Mr. Dearth. You lack something. Verve? No. Teeth? Maybe. A jaw? Perhaps. Backbone?" Howweird reached into the robes of the thing standing before him and came up empty. "Youuuu. Noooo likkkkkkke meeeeee???? BBbbbannnnnisssssshhhhhhhhedddddd. POWNED!" REAPER shouted, pointing his scythe at the spot where the CNN reporter formerly known as Howweird had sat, only moments before. Hell, Banished Section, Lower Quadrillionth - This reporter has found himself a new home. Banished by the REAPER himself, who has proved, in his infinite DEARTH that you reap what you sow. This reporter is happy to report that there IS snow here. But it resides on the top of the toupee of the devil to whom this reporter is currently worshipping. Never to be seen again by mortal eyes, signing off... REAPER shuffled off into the distance, smiling (if you could call it that, since he has no face) at his newfound friend - a ratty office chair, swivel-type. That's the last time some slimeball tries to tell ME what's what, REAPER thought to himself. In fact, when he wasn't trying to make speeches, he was quite intelligible. For some reason, neither Chobee nor Cherie were available for comment during this chapter, having shuffled off to an unknown part of town to do something completely unknown. |
| Cherie snuggled into Chobee’s hairless chest, fresh from the Jacuzzi bath and flushed with excitement. “Wow, that was some bath, Chobee, the tub’s as big as a small swimming pool. And those Jets. Just… Wow.” Chobee grinned and turned over. He was really quite tired, and although Cherie was a rascal in bed, he was one tired Ogre. He closed his eyes and drifted into La La Land, where undead musicians romped and lived interesting lives. “I wonder where her accent flew?” was his last thought before falling to sleep. REAPER came staggering out of the studio door, reeling and limping as he loped down the main thoroughfare. A small shop with a flashing neon sign caught his attention. “Body Parts Sewn On Permanently, Minimum Fee” “Urrrggghhhhh” he grunted unintelligibly and crashed through the front door, leaving his new-found friend office chair outside the entryway. “May I help you?” the pretty woman behind the counter asked him. “HEADDDD. Loose. Also pee pee. Fall off lots. BRAAAIIINNNSSSSS!” “Calm down, mister, let me get my manager, I’ll be back.” The woman went to the rear of the store, she was talking quietly to a man with a deep voice. Meanwhile, REAPER was thumbing through a copy of Cerebellum Today, looking for recipes. |
| Rodham awoke with a start, sweating gallons of liquid. He was unsure what had happened, when all of a sudden Clinton came into perspective. "TSC!? Man...What happened? Why do I feel like I've been away for many chapters?" The ghost looked sullen, a bit more than usual, and that made Rodham go "Uh-Oh" in his head. The ghost took a deep breath. "You attacked, and defeated the Gator Squad. Every member was either killed, or driven away back to the swamps of Florida. But to do so you had to exhaust all your Spectral Muttering powers, and it didn't help that several of the Gators managed to uh...Get their claws on you either..." "Whaaa...What do you mean!?" Rodham mumbled before finally getting a good look at himself, and screamed bloody murder. "OH GOD! I LOOK LIKE DICK CHENEY!!" Clinton winced. "Yes...After the battle, I had to spirit you out of the sewers for you to avoid death by Gator injuries, and these Dick Cheney brand cyborg parts were the only thing WACME Inc. had in stock. Look on the bright side though! Your arm transforms into a shotgun now!" |
Rodham cocked his arm and fired a practice round. "Geez!" Clinton said. "Not in the house!" "Sorry. I didn't actually believe you, but I guess that hole in the wall proves you were telling the truth. Hmmm... shotgun arm. AWESOME!" * * * REAPER had found a nifty looking recipe for a medulla oblongata omelette in Cerebellum Today Magazine when the manager and the pretty woman were suddenly standing beside him. "I'm Sam, the manager, Mr uh..." "Reaper. I'm a zobie." "Yes, I smelled that. The big question here is: Do you have any money?" "You mean, like zombie discount bus tokens?" "No, I mean like Khasachasistan dollars. You know, the big aluminum coins with the pregnant khangaroo on them?" REAPER searched through his pockets. "I've got a dead frog... and a pencil..." The pretty woman said, "What are you? Like nine years old?" REAPER growled. "BRRAINNNS! Eat yours!" She moved back a step. "There's no need to turn aggressive." "Let me handle this, Doris," the manager said. Doris sniffed. "Alright, Sam. Handle it. I'm going on break." "You just got off of a break 30 minutes ago." REAPER grabbed Sam's arm. "You help me? Sign say you help me." Sam shook loose from the REAPER's rotting grip. Several loosened fingers still clung to his sleeve. "The sign doesn't say we help anyone for free. Small fee. And I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave. You're dripping little gobbets of flesh on my floor." "You bad man!" REAPER roared and walk stiff-legged toward the exit. "Me tell everybody you bad man! Nobody come here! You go broke! That what you want? No more business for you!" Sam looked concerned. "Wait! OK. I'll sew one part on you permanently for free. Then when you find some money come back and I'll do the rest." "You guarantee your work?" "Which part do you want sewn on permanently with our patented 'never lose your body part again' process?" |
| "Me head would be nice," REAPER said. "People always knock it off." "In that case, come with me to the back room and I'll let our doctors fix you up," Sam said. "That's nice," REAPER said, following the man. However, when he stepped into the backroom, REAPER was knocked unconcious, with his head flying off. The next thing he heard was a whirring sound. Looking around, REAPER saw his body strapped to a table, one that was heading towards a series of saws. "HEY!" he shouted. "What You Doing?!?" "Cutting your body into small pieces so that they can be sent to the recycaling plant," Sam said, looking down at the dismembered head. "I don't like it when people threaten my business." "This not fair," REAPER said. |
No, in fact, it was NOT fair. Sam realized this fact when, moments after the REAPER's body was dismembered, it began reanimating on the other side of the Saw...Series, (which has just released its 7th film in 2010). REAPER's body parts melted back together smoother than that silver dude in Terminator X. Sam was immediately sent to the lower quadrillionth, to reside next to a former reporter. REAPER, once again completely whole, walked into the front door of the repair shop and Doris fainted dead away. So he grabbed the tattered copy of Cerebellum Today and shuffled on out the door. Meanwhile, at the seedy-looking warehouse, Marcus and Anita were just sitting down to a nice lunch. She eyed his neck seductively. He covered his neck with an ascot. Chobee and Cherie had heard the shot that took out a side wall of Rodham's place. Then they went back to their sweet dreams. Aristocrates got his furry butt out of the hole that used to be Marcus's old place and scurried down to see if he could help TSC with anything. Dick Cheney immediately contacted his agent to see if he could put a positive spin on any of this. |
| “Medulla Oblongata Omelet TASTY!” moaned REAPER as he crammed another handful into his rotting pie hole. His girlfriend, TERRI had fixed it for him, having spent the last few hours braving the wilds of NecroMart to buy all the special ingredients. “Good brains hard to find,” She informed her smelly paramour. REAPER swept the plate off the table with one mighty fling of his putrescent forearm. The plate shattered against the wall, tiny drops of Medulla Omelet trailing down the flowered walpaper. “This omelet need SALLT!” he roared, pounding his fists on the tablecloth. “Here the salt, asshole!” she screamed, slamming a blue cylindrical container of Morton iodized salt on the table. “I no have no more omelet to salt,” He realized, sheepishly. “Well DUHHHHHHH!” TERRI retorted, leaving the room. REAPER picked up the left side of her face that had fallen off right before she made her dramatic exit. Shrugging his shoulders, he took a large bite. |
"Ouch!" Terri hollered from the kitchen. "How you feel that?" REAPER said. "I've got my eye on you, asshole." REAPER slapped the top of his head and squashed Terri's eyeball. "That very tricky. That why I like you so much. You play tricks on me. Hurp! Hurp! Hurp!" |
Meanwhile Harry was at a bar, trying to make sense of what was going on. "I feel like someone's controling my fate," he said, down his third glass of blood-whisky. "I mean, nothing like this has happened before the last week. Now every thing's crazy." (Sorry, I'm not really in a writing mood today.) |
| Chobee awoke with a song in his head. "Have you ever heard of Mark Knopfler, Cherie?" She nodded her head. "He was in Dire Straits, right? I loved his MTV song." "I'm hoping he doesn't mind my singing his song here. But I'm just feeling so lucky these days," Chobee grinned. I'm better with my muscles, than I am with my mouth. I work the fairgrounds in the summer, or go pick fruit down south. And when I feel them chilly winds, where the weather goes I'll follow. Pack up my traveling things, go with the swallows. And I might get lucky now and then. You win some. You might get lucky now and then. You win some... As Chobee's voice gained volume, and Mark's words weaved their magic through Cherie's head, she got to giggling. Seemed everything he was saying was an innuendo of some kind. Pick fruit down south, go with the swallows, get lucky... She was sure glad she'd left old what's-his-name. Meanwhile, across town, Marcus was having fun with Anita. For some reason, he too was singing the Get Lucky song that Chobee was singing to Cherie. Now I'm rambling through this meadow, happy as a man can be. Think I'll just lay me down, under this old tree. On and on we go, through this old world, a-shufflin'. If you've got a truffle-dog, you can go truffling. And you might get lucky now and then. You win some. You might get lucky now and then. You win some. And Anita laughed at some of those lines herself, thinking nearly the same thoughts as Cherie. lay me down, shufflin', go truffling. She sure enjoyed shufflin' and getting laid. She wondered if Marcus would get his nose down and go truffling... Harry paid for his drinks and was about to leave the bar, when a very pretty young thing sauntered in and sat down next to him. She was obviously a werewolf, with moony eyes, two full moons up-top and only-slightly hairy cheeks atop the stool to his right. "I've had the most devilish time tonight," she said, licking her lips, revealing bloody fangs. "There's voodoo here. Do you hear? I was just down by the bay, wofling down my fresh food. I love uncooked brains. How about you, handsome? Would you care for a roll in the hay? You look good enough to eat....me." Harry's mind quickly conjured up many possible scenarios with this young wolfette. "What's your name, babe? And yes, I am good enough." "Harriet Suckovich, and you are?" "Harry." When she raised her luscious eyebrows, expecting his last name, he added. "Cervix. My full name is Harry Atyour Cervix." He put out a paw and grabbed hers. Then they shook paws. Two minutes later, they were strolling down the avenue, heading for Lufchatel Bay. |
| Alas, Harry looked at Harriet, and sighed. Sure, she was one of his kind, sure she liked him. But his mind was on his Wife; darn her pretty, vampire, hairless hide! “Oh well,” Harry mumbled to himself, “A little follicular-challenged romp in the hay never hurt anybody.” “WHAT did you SAY?” Harriet responded. She had heard his mutterings, and was very offended by them. Fu** me, thought Harry, despondently. “Fat chance of that!” Screamed Harriet in a huff, and she left him standing there, aghast. He was SURE he hadn’t spoken that out loud. As she faded to the distance, Harry raised his face to the full moon and ululated. It had been one crappy night. Meanwhile, back at the warehouse, Marcus was having troubles of his own. Anita was bent on getting him in bed, and he continued trying to explain to her vampires couldn’t have sex. He loved this woman, but how the heck could he live with her lack of mental capacity? Ahh, problems and Drama in Lufchatel! |
Toby was lying on his bed on his back staring at the ceiling. If he held his eyeballs perfectly still then the ceiling seemed to wiggle and squirm and fade from vision. "I wonder what it's like to be bored?" Toby muttered. Then he whistled a tune he heard somewhere, the Get Lucky song. When he finished the song he said, "I wonder what it's like to get lucky?" and turned over in the bed. The mattress was old and lumpy and smelled like stale zombie. Toby got up and pulled on some clothes. Might as well wander around Lufchatel because he sure didn't feel sleepy. Maybe he would go visit Jack and John and spend the night peeing in the sewer. But he just did that last night. He exited his house and walked down the sidewalk muttering, "I need something new." "Hey, Toby, what ya muttering about?" came a familiar voice. "Aristocrates! What's up, buddy?" "I'm just out looking for nuts." "Well, you found one!" Toby said and the two friends fell against each other giggling at that little joke. "Let's go peek in some windows," Toby said. "Alright! Maybe we'll see some nookie knocking or some paddy wagging or some hanky panky!" "Huh?" Toby said. "You know... snarfing, percolating, moon walking, buying a sofa..." "I'm not following you..." Aristocrates scampered. "Come on! A picture is worth a thousand words!" |
| "Really?" Toby said. "I thought that a picture was a buck and two ewes in this town." "It's just an expression," Aristocrates said. "Now come on. I here that Chobee's getting it on with some human." |
| Rodham couldn't wait to try out his new gun, but unfortunatly no situation presented itself. So he grunted in disgust and sat on the couch and watched CNN for five hours. Around the fifth hour Clinton floated by. "Rod, dear sir, if you're so bored, why don't you call your friend Harry? He is your friend, right?" "Oh yeah! Harry's cool! Let's see if he wants to go out and shoot stuff! He'll know good things to shoot!" |
| "Huh? Shoot stuff? Okay. Meet me at a seedy-looking warehouse. The windows are covered in boards, and graffiti adorns every available surface....You know the place? Great!" Harry hung up the phone and headed there himself. Rod was glad he'd called Harry, but he wasn't about to let Clinton know that he'd taken his friend's advice. Instead, he moped out of the house saying, "He told me to fuck off. I'm going downtown and see if there are any warehouses I can shoot at." Clinton looked morosely at his friend and went back to perusing the shelves for dust lice. They were a delicacy, if a ghostly figure could catch one. Marcus and Anita were still trying to figure out how they could proceed with their unfortunate futures, while Toby and Aristocrates walked by, unaware anyone was in that warehouse just then. The odd couple turned a corner and turned into a store. Chobee was indeed getting some with a human. When last we'd checked in on them, they were still perfecting ways of making sealing wax. The perspex chandelier began to melt and slip away. One million candle-powered, it kept the night at bay. Speaking of bay, someone was howling at the moon. Whoever it was, stopped and asked someone for a light, but that someone merely pointed at the sun and walked away. "Nice drugs, Chobee," Cherie said, letting her head settle a bit. "What's next in that bag of tricks you got there?" |
Rodham walked downtown to find a seedy warehouse with board-covered windows and when he did he sat down on the curb to wait for Harry. When he saw Toby and Aristocrates approaching he ducked into the shadows. But Aristocrates' keen squirrel eyes detected him. Aristocrates nudged Toby in the side. "Don't look now but someone with a shotgun arm is hiding up ahead in the shadows." "A shotgun!" Toby said. "Shhhh! Don't let him know we see him." Squirrels and zombies have an abnormally huge fear of shotguns, but Aristocrates had been beat up by Life and was toughened and bold and quite willing to face up to his fears. While Toby trembled, Aristocrates cooly plotted his next move... which was to kick Rodham in the face as they passed by him. "Run!" Aristocrates yelled and he and Toby vanished from the scene. Rodham picked himself up off the ground and wiped his bloody nose. "Goddam delinquent punks!" Harry walked up. "What happened to your nose? Did you walk into the wall?" |
"No, a dragon with a bad attitude punched me," Rodham said, lying. He wasn't going to tell a werewolf that a zombie squirrel had jump kicked him. "Count yourself lucky, then," Harry said, placing an arm around the Specteral Mutterer's shoulder. "After my first win in the ring, my opponet, a human-sized dragon, launched a stream of fire at my backside, enveloping me in flames. Took me a year to grow my fur back, and another to make my coat all nice and even." |
"Sheesh, sounds pretty bad, man. I ever tell you the time I was commisioned to hunt down a Bigfoot?" "You brought down a Yeti? A puny human like you?" Harry stated, a bit incredulous. "Yeah, sucker was twelve feet tall with five foot long feet. Almost crushed me to death. Fortunately for me, it was ticklish, and before I knew it the beast was giggling itself to death. I made sure to put in a choke hold to finish the job though. Can't be too careful in my line of work." "That's incredible!" Harry smiled and patted Rodham's back. "I once fought a Yeti for the Title Match in my seventh season! Big bugger tried to snap me in two but he didn't realize who he was messin' with! Ah, those were the days..." Harry looked to the sky with a pleased smile. "If you liked fighting so much, why don't you go back?" Rodham seemed be able to read his friend's thoughts. "I don't support the new rules..." Harry muttered disgustedly, "They changed it so you have to eat your foe instead of enslaving them. Good waste of talent!" "I completely understand!" Rodham shouted. "That's why I try never to kill my targets. I usually banish them to some foreign dimension, with the exception of the really dangerous marks." "Oh really?" Harry asked. "So...Lemme get this straight...You get paid to fight monsters that no one else could take, proving your strength for all to see but without wasting their own talents?" "Sounds about right." "...Would it be possible to enter this field?" Rodham looked at him a bit shocked, but quickly regained his composure. "You wanna be a Spectral Mutterer?" Harry nodded. "It sure beats the lazy life! Do you know how much I've gained since I left the ring?" "Well...I suppose I could teach you..." Rodham smiled. "I've never taken on an apprentice before! This sounds fun!" |
| "...the dog still bites, but now I don't mind so much!" Chobee finished the punchline. "And that was the number one funniest joke among mail carriers in the States?" Cherie asked, her whole body shaking with laughter. "Wow! Is there anything you aren't good at?" Chobee eyed her in the chest and shook his head. Cherie leaned over and rubbed his muscles, suddenly yearning for a walk around the town. Across town, Harriet Suckovich found herself peering in the nearly-blackened windows of a seedy-looking warehouse. She didn't see anything she liked, so she turned to amble down the back alley. When suddenly, she spotted a very attractive zombie squirrel and an equally attractive zombie man. Better than nothin', she thought. At least, better than some werewolf who thinks he's all that. ... "How do you aim that sucker?" Harry asked. Rodham scratched his head with the barrel of the gun and nearly blew his hair off. ... Anita finally understood what Marcus was talking about. She rolled out of bed, hit the floor and rolled out the door. She didn't stop rolling until she landed up against the feet of a very pretty werewolf. "Who're you?" she muttered. (It wasn't quite a Spectral Mutter, but it was close.) "Harriet, and you?" the sexy werewolfette replied. "Anita..." "Hugandkiss?" Harriet joked. But when Anita didn't smile in return, she decided not to explain the joke to the vampiretta. Instead, she turned to the audience and said, "Anita Hugandkiss...I need...A.. Hug and Kiss....Never mind! |
| Anita sighed and sat on the sidewalk. Harriet sat beside her. “Why so glum, chum?” the hirsute honey asked the fanged femme-fatale. “Oh, it’s just so horrible!” Anita began sobbing. “Now now, come on and tell me what’s wrong, I have nice, warm fuzzy shoulders,” the werewolf replied. As Anita soaked Harriet with her tears, the werewolf stroked her beautiful auburn hair and twirled it absentmindedly around her fingers. Anita hiccupped and wiped her nose on Harriet’s fur. Harriet pretended not to notice. “I finally find the man of my dreams, I even put a special perfume on for him, and now… I find out… Oh Harriet, HE CAN’T HAVE SEX!” Anita wept openly as Harriet continued caressing her hair. Werewolves, female werewolves anyway, were often interested in members of the same sex, and this little vampire vixen was getting to her, big time. But, Harriet contemplated, It is clear she likes men only. She could have taken her right there, infected her with her werewolf virus, turning her into the first known werewolf/vampire hybrid, and probably a companion; but she resisted the temptation. Instead, she took Anita’s face in her hands and spoke directly to her tear-streaked countenance. “Hon, I know a perfectly good man who is totally stuck on you, vampire or no. He married you for a reason, you know. Anita perked, “You know Harry?” Hiding her obvious revulsion for the man, she told the saddened vamp, “Yes, I’ve met him once, and his only thought was of you.” “Where is he now?” “Last I saw him he was walking toward the seedy warehouse out of which you just rolled.” “You know what I like about you, Harriet?” “What, Anita?” “You never end sentences with prepositions.” |
"To end with a prep is gauche," Harriet said. "To begin with a prep is sophisticated. My mother taught me that many years ago." "You don't seem that old," Anita said. "By many I did not mean centuries." "I'm going back to the warehouse and look for Harry." When Anita was outside the seedy warehouse, she could hear the sound of Rodham giving Harry a lesson: RODHAM: No, no, no! It's muttering! Not moaning! Don't put so much anguish in it. Keep it crisp and light, like a cucumber sandwich. You've got a heavy undertone that's dragging it down. Remember, you want the spectrals to like you, not pity you. HARRY: I'm a werewolf, dammit! A heavy undertone is part of my persona. RODHAM: You can lose it. It's something we're going to have to really work hard on, Harry. I know you can overcome it. Every night before you go to sleep, I want you to repeat this sentence 10 times. Tip tap willy wap let us eat lettuce, Edward, for the dog hath no fleas tonight. Can you do that? HARRY: And that will help? RODHAM: It's a sentence that has been scientifically designed to be lightweight and completely devoid of any heaviness. HARRY: Well... I'll try. Anita smiled to herself as she listened at the window. Awww, Harry was trying to improve himself. Maybe he wasn't the gross hairy son of a bitch she had been thinking he was lately. After all, she had fallen in love with him once and married him. |
| However, Rodham decided that it was time to see how well Harry could shoot. "Here's the target," he said, pulling out a vase. "No matter how much damage is done to it, it always fixes itself. Watch." He threw it at the wall, causing the the item to shatter into over a hundred pieces. Then, a split second later, it reformed. "See what I mean?" "That I do," Harry said, as he watched the Specteral Mutterer set the vase on a windowsille. "Now let me show you how well I can shoot." |
| Harry reached for Rodham's gun arm and took careful aim. "No, no, no. Not MY gun, silly. Use your own," Rodham admonished his friend. "But I don't have a gun of my own," he said, realizing he'd come to a gunfight without a weapon. "Well, okay," Rodham relented. "But stand behind me and grasp where my elbow used to be." When Harry did this, Rodham added, "Ummm...Harry? If you don't have a gun, what's that poking into my backside?" "Sorry dude, your perfume is...sorry." "Oh shoot! You mean it's spelled with an "e"? All this time, I thought it was pee yew are eff yew emm eee. But I wasn't complaining about the poking, I was just curious why you said you didn't have a gun, when you clearly have a weapon," Rodham grinned. "Clinton would never understand though. Perhaps we should continue with the target practice...for now." Not far away, Toby felt a disturbance in the force. The force that all bisexual beasts felt whenever another creature was exhibiting bisexual preferences. He wondered who it was, and how far away that person was. |
| “It’s called Gaydar.” Harriet said, startling Toby out of his daydream, (not reverie.) “Holy shit!” shouted Toby, and his delicately fingered hand grasped his fetid chest. “You scared the bejesus out of me!” Aristocrates stood nearby, with a sardonic grin on his furry face. He had long suspected, now he knew for sure. “Gaydar?” “Yes,” Harriet began. “when one creature of bisexual persuasion exhibits behavior that is of that nature, another creature of the same persuasion usually detects the wave length, sort of like a radar signal.” “You HAVE to be shitting me!” “No shit slinging here, my bisexual buddy, some people think Gaydar is a myth. Trust me, it is not. This town is a hotbed of differences, and that is one of the reasons I was drawn here.” “But… I’m not bi… I just like Dancing With The Stars!” Aristocrates spoke from the sidelines. “Yeah, yeah, Cleopatra.” “Cleopatra?” Toby looked at the rotting squirrel, obfuscated. “Yeah, Cleopatra, queen of DENIAL!” Aristocrates fell to the ground laughing, rolling over and over in his mirth. Harriet was doubled over with her own fit of giggles. Meanwhile, around the warehouse, Harry backed away from RODham. “Whoa there, buddy, my ‘weapon’ was merely a physical reaction to the fact I have to pee like a racehorse.” Rodham smiled serenely. “Whatever you say, Cleopatra.” |
| "Hey, I'm not the queen of Denial, but you're the King of it," Harry said. "What are you talking about?" Rodham asked. "You're a gay necrophiliac," said Harry. "You litteraly share your house with a ghost, and a male one at that." "Clinton's just an associate of mine." "Yeah, and I own a bunch of swampland in Florida." "Of course you do sir," a lawyer said, running up to the pair. "Your Uncle Ezekial died and left you a hundred acars of the Florida Everglades, right next to DisneyLand. In fact, DisneyLand rented it from your uncle for a thousand dollars a month, as that's where their hotels are at." "See about adding three more zeros to that rent then," Harry said. "After all, Uncle Ezekial was nothing more than a moonshiner and hick from what I've heard. I actually run a town, and I need the money." "Well that's not the only thing that you're getting," the lawyer said. "Your Aunt Tina died and she left her entire oil company to you. It amounts to over Five million dollars a year." That's nice," Harry said. "Now could you go and fix that rent. I want Diseny paying me at least twelve million a year if not more." "Sure thing," the lawyer said, running away. "You know he's going to try and take that out in his fees," Rodham said. "And then there's the income taxes." "Yeah, but that's what my brother in-law's for," Harry said. "He's the Prince of Hell. If that lawyer tries anything crooked with me, my brother in-law will send him to the Plane of Eternal Flames. As for the income taxes, I've got a couple of buddies in Government, who will make sure that it's nice and fair, especially since I've been their bodyguard on numerous occasions, and I know their dirty little secrets." |
| "Wow Harry!" Rodham shouted. "I never knew you were so loaded!" "Really?" Harry answered back. "You couldn't tell by my mansion, hundred acre woods, and shooting ranges?" "No man, I thought you just, like, rented that place! Damn, I thought you were cool before, now that I know you're rich, you're like super awesome!" "Why thank you." |
When Rodham got home he told Clinton, his male live-in ghost buddy (wink wink), the good news. "Harry is richer than God!" "Oh boy!" Clinton said. "Maybe he will buy us a Lexus!" "Are you out of your mind?" Rodham said. "We're not going to ask him to buy us a Lexus. We're going to ask him to buy us a Ferrari!" "Yayyyy!" Clinton said and the two friends (wink wink) danced around the house holding hands and jumping up and down until they were gasping for breath and fell down on their backs on the carpet in the living room. "And we'll replace this foul-smelling carpet," Rodham said. "From now on it's super soft deep pile shag for us!" "Yaayyy!" Clinton yelled, but he was too tired to dance any more. "Whew!" Rodham said. "What a day. And now that I have a rich friend maybe we can afford to get your winking eye fixed (wink wink)." "I don't mind," Clinton said. "All this winking has given me super strong eyelids." "So what? That's not a useful skill." "If I was ever buried in wet cement and managed to get my head out of it then I would have the strength to get my eyes open and see where I was. It could mean the difference between life and death." "You're already dead. You're a ghost." "Right. I guess I've been watching too many Vin Diesel movies." "Van Damme is better than Vin Diesel." "Whatever. Just so they have VD." |
| Chobee and Cherie seemed to have been forgotten in the latest episode of Lufchatel, After Dark. But they didn't seem to mind. They were down by the waterfront, where Chobee was singing to her again. It was an old song by a group called The Swallows. "It ain't the meat, it's the motion. Makes your daddy wanna rock. It ain't the meat, it's the motion. Makes your daddy wanna rock all night. Got a little girl who lives down the street. Ain't much of her, but she's mighty sweet. When she gets a-rockin' she don't wanna stop. Makes a man, wanna blow his top! It ain't the meat it's the motion..." Cherie was clinging to a wrought-iron gate, pushing back against Chobee's midsection as he thrust into her. She had to disagree with the lyrics though. In this particular case, it was the meat. Sure, the motion was nice too. Especially the way her breasts swayed on the far side of the fence. She was glad Chobee was so strong. She only gripped the gate to maintain her balance. "I'm so glad we've had this time together," she crooned to her lover. "When are you going to sing some Marvin Gaye to me?" "The next time you ride me, I will. I promise," he said, then went back to the raunchy songs. Just then, as if conjured by a Spectral Mutterer, several zombies were shuffling up to the front door of Clinton and Rodham's home. One was a famous singer named Vic Damone. Another was a hockey player named Vincent Damphousse. Vince DiMaggio was a basebally player. Viola Dana was a movie actress, whose film career ended in 1920. Vlade Divac, the former L.A. Laker basketball player was also there. Rodham slammed the door on these VD wannabes and turned back to wink/wink at his partner. "Where were we?" he asked. "Oh, I remember. Harry wants to become a Mectral Stutterer. I mean, a Special Strutter. Oh! I'm all discombobulated over him and his weapon. C'mere you..." |
| Meanwhile, Harry and Anita were at home talking about what was going on. "I guess things will be different in bed," Harry said. "After all, you are a vampire now." "It could be worse," Anita said. "I could be like Atina, and be half vampire and half zombie. By the way, where is she?" **** Somewhere out on the streets Atina is using her arms to pull herself along, looking for her legs. **** "I wouldn't know," said Harry. |
| "I say!" Clinton shouted. Rodham covered his ears. "Watch it man! You don't know your own voice capacity!" "Sorry!" Clinton replied in exclamation. "Seriously, your ghastly moans are really powerful!" "Oh most dreadfully sorry.." Clinton whispered. Rodham smiled and uncovered his ears. "That's better. Can yah beleive it? My own apprentice! I never dreamed this day would come!" Clinton nodded. "Indeed sir. Escpecially considering your trouble with the Apprenticship Guild. Can't beleive none of those children wanted you as their master..." "Yeah, yeah...Lousy kids...So hey, you said you had some news?" Clinton smirked devilishly. "Why yes sir. I'm moving out." "Whhhaaaaaaaaat!?" Rodham cried. "Yes sir. I've heard the neighbores talking. They're spreading dreadful rumors about us. So I'm moving out. See yah!" And Clinton phantasmed away. |
| As Clinton materialized in the middle of Main Street, Lufchatel, he began to regret his leaving Rodham. Sure, he had changed from human to cyborg, sure there were the rumors… But hey, he had been with Rodham so long, the thought of being without him made his ghostly heart ache. “Rumors, schroomers,” he muttered to himself. “I’m not bi, I know I’m not, and Rodham is just going to have to deal with it.” He began floating toward his old residence, determined to “Set things straight.” Meanwhile, Cherie and Chobee were disturbed by Atina, scraping herself along the ground, by the waterfront. The half-vampire looked up at them in disgust. Ogres, or half ogres without clothing weren’t the most attractive thing in the village, but she still had an urge to bite. Atina hissed and lunged for Chobee’s right calf muscle. Cherie, trained in Tai Kwon Do, executed a flying kick directly to Atina’s upper arm and sent her cart wheeling down the boulevard. She smacked into a guard railing and lay there, flat and passed-out. “Haha!” Chortled Chobee, “Now we’ll have to call her Matt!” “Matt?” Cherie queried, looking doubtful. “Yeah, she’s flat, flat, let’s call her Matt. Oh never mind, come here, my dear!” Chobee grabbed his lover’s arm and they continued on their journey of togetherness. |
Clinton drifted back into the house he had shared with Rodham. "I'm baaaaaack!" "Already?" Rodham said. "You just left." "I realized the life of a single ghost was not for me. Besides, all these years we've been together. How could I toss that aside?" Rodham looked worried. "Um... I don't know." Clinton grinned. "Well, back to my old room to spruce up for dinner!" "Um... about that. I'm afriad I've converted your room into a rec room. There's a pool table where your bed used to be." "What! I've only been gone like... minutes!" Rodham hung his head. "I know... but I've been thinking about having a pool table for a long time so I bought one and hid it in the shed and then when you said you were leaving I was all like... Wow! Now I can have my own pool table room!" Clinton's face was the picture of disgust. "So after you kicked me out you threw out my bed and then dragged your lousy pool table into my room without so much as one little thought about me ?" "I didn't kick you out. You left." "Details! Always with you it's the picky details, isn't it? Well, you can't throw me out this time because I'm leaving!" and Clinton floated out the door and slammed it behind him. Rodham picked up a pool cue and chalked the tip which made a tiny squeaking noise. |
| "As Minnesota Fats lines up his next shot, he pictures a ghostly visage on the cue ball," Rodham narrated, pretending he was the announcer. "Whoa! Did you see how hard he hit that ball? The purple four-ball has just careened off the table and rolled down the hall." As Rodham scampered after the pool ball, he spotted a note that had been shoved in through the mail-slot at the front door. He picked up the note, unfolded it and stepped into the main room to read it. "You are invited to a costume ball. Tonight at midnight, at the seedy-looking warehouse down by the waterfront. Come dressed as your favorite American, Englishman or Frenchman." "Or Woman!" was added a little further down the page. "Or Ghost." was even farther down. Rodham knew who'd added that last bit. But he didn't care. He went back to his pool table and contemplated who his favorite person was, whose costume he could still fit, that is. The back of the note showed the directions to the warehouse, just in case someone couldn't find it by the expert description on the front of the note. Just what this boring place needs, he thought. Atina, whose new name was Matt, lay looking up at the sky wondering how it had gotten that color. She wondered where her sister had gotten to and what Harry was doing right then. Chobee and Cherie had just gotten home to find a costume-ball invitation tacked to his door. Of course, their invitation didn't mention anything about a ghost. But it gave Cherie a wonderful idea. "You can go as Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and I'll be Mini-Me! What do you think?" she gushed. Chobee stooped down to wipe up the gush and grinned broadly at his pretty girlfriend. He nodded and stood up again to deposit the gush wad in the trash. All over town, similar conversations were being had in similar surroundings. |
Meanwhile, Harry and Anita were looking at there own invitation. "Do you want to go to it?" Harry asked. "No, I had enough fun with the last party," said Anita. "All that I want to do is spend time with you, and one of your sex toys. I want to try them out as a vampire after all." "Alright," Harry said. "Blond or Redhead?" "Brunette," Anita said. "I want to try her out." |
| Atina started crying, not only was the sky a light khaki, but she seemed all alone in the world, a social pariah who just had her name changed against her will. How DARE Chobee make fun of her physical handicap! She longed to bite someone, anyone… anything to get her mind off the miserable malaise that had become her life. Marcus, all alone once more, left the door of the warehouse and tripped over Atina’s flattened half. “Oops, sorry Atina, didn’t see you there,” he offered. “You asshole! You made me that way! YOU recycled my lower half, YOU tried to kill me in the apartment with the shotgun… Hell YOU were the one responsible for me being like this!” Atina pounded on his legs ineffectively, as she sobbed. Marcus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to center himself. He looked down at her. “If you recall, my dear Halfling, It was REAPER’s ear that caused your initial change, it was I who stopped you from becoming completely like him. Did you want to be a rotting, mindless Zombie the rest of your life?” Atina spat on his pants leg and snarled. “Anything is better than this half existence, you bloodsucking bastard!” She paused. A look of realization swept over her face. “Well, I HAVE been thinking more clearly since my lower half was removed. It’s as if my zombie legs were making me stupid.” Marcus smiled at her. “Exactly, my dear. Hey, I just got an invitation to a costume ball, would you care to join me?” “Um… look at me.” she began, “I can’t walk, or even appear normal, what possible costume could I wear?” “Well,” Marcus smiled, lifting her to his eye level, “Theres half a mannequin on wheels in the warehouse. We could put you on that, and we could go as Pygmalion and Galatea.” “Do you thing anyone would actually GET that?” “Who the Hell cares?” “You have a point.” Meanwhile, a little further away, Harriet was staring into Toby’s death-glazed eyes. He IS mighty attractive, and he IS bi, just like me… she thought to herself, as she licked her lips and turned her focus to him. Aristocrates shook his head in disbelief. |
| Rodham had decided he would attend the costume party after all. Against his better judgement, he decided to dress up as Lucy Muir, a character in a movie he'd enjoyed watching in his youth. It was because of that movie, he felt, that his relationship with Clinton had been so easy to grasp. After all, Clinton was his Sea Captain, Daniel Gregg. Despite the gender-bender oddities of Rodham going to a costume ball as a woman, he thought that maybe...just maybe...Clinton would appear as The Ghost from that fanciful film. He even thought he saw a bit of Rex Harrison in Clinton's visage, sometimes, late at night, when he thought his ghost friend wasn't watching. Yes. He'd decided. Mrs. Muir he would be. At least for the party. Although Harriet and Toby had come together on a desolate stretch of blacktop in the backwater town that was known only to locals as Lufchatel Heights, Harriet actually lived in a high-priced flat just outside of town in a hamlet called Ophelia. Tacked to her front door was an invitation to a costume ball. She ripped the parchment away and read it quickly, her heart racing as each word slipped into her soul. She eyed her newfound friend carefully and immediately an idea formed in her mind. "Sweetie?" she asked Toby, as they entered her abode. "How about we attend this ball? I have the silliest idea. You could go as Ozzie Nelson and I'll go as Harriet Hilliard, your bride-to-be. Ozzie had a dance band once, long before that silly television program, in case you didn't know. I know because I've been alive for so very long. But anyway, I could be your Harriet and you could be my Ozzie. What do you say, hmmmm?" She'd rattled that whole thing off so quickly that Toby could only respond with a "Huh?" His eyes were on her hairy chest and he was falling in love with the way she scratched her neck with a long fingernail. Then, as if hearing her dulcet tones inside his head, he said, "Yeah. Sure. Tonight?" He was so enamored with her he didn't even notice the moony look in her eyes. |
Just as Harriet thought Toby was about to keel over (because his eyes had closed and he was swaying from side to side) Toby's eyes popped wide open. "Ricky!" he said. "What?" Toby grabbed Harriet's shoulders. "Ricky Nelson! I want to go as the son Ricky, not as Ozzie." "But darling," Harriet said, "that would make me your mother." "So?" "There is no way in hell that I am going to a costume party as your mother!" Toby snapped his fingers. "I've got it! You go as my brother Dave!" "Toby, Toby, Toby... drink some warm milk, baby. Your mind is functioning and I don't really want it to be. Where's the quiet little Toby who does what I tell him? Hmmm? Hmmm?" She tickled his chin. Toby giggled. "OK, I'll do what you say. Gee, how could I ever think you were anything like a mother to me." Under his breath he said, "More like a perverted Aunt." "What's that, darling?" "Nothing." "If my little snookums doesn't speak clearly and distinctly at all times then he's going to get a fat lip. Understand?" "Yes," Toby enunciated very clearly. "Why does our relationship seem to be evolving into some kind of sadomasochistic incestuous affair?" "There you go thinking too much again, dear. I told you I don't like that. Here. Drink some warm milk for me." |
Meanwhile, back at Harry and Anita's place, Harry and Anita were down in the celler, looking at several young women who were in some cells. "This is so not worth five hundred dollars a week," said one of them, a blond. "Would you prefer the Gator Crew?" asked another, a redhead. "At least these people feed us decently compared to them." "Um guys, they're here," said a third, a brunette. |
Alas, the party arrived, but Clinton did not. After several hours of waiting outside for his Ghostly friend, Rodham angrily stomped home to change. Several kids had laughed, some had thrown tomatos at him, and an elderly man had hit him with his cane. REAPER wandered back into his swamp feeling left out. He sat on his couch and ate ice cream for an hour. |
| Marcus lifted Atina onto the mannequin’s legs with a smile. She really was an attractive woman, and no lower half to worry about having sex with either! His mind was having it’s own masquerade party when he heard three loud knocks on the warehouse’s steel door. He opened the door and saw nothing. Closing the door with a dull thud, he turned to Atina and began spraying her body with gray make-up paint, to lay the foundation of marble. Then he took a feather, dipped it in a slightly darker hue and drew faint striae down her sides, and all over her upper half. The result was stunning. She looked like marble. “Ahh my Galatea, there you are!” he bragged as he pulled the flowing white fabric over her shoulders and secured it on the side like a toga. He made a wreath of ivy and put it in her hair. “KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!” “Damn it, Atina, be back in a second. Who IS it?” he barked angrily as he headed toward the large steel entryway. |
| "What in the HELL?" Marcus asked as he looked down at a fat tabby cat. "No, don't shut the door!" came a familiar voice. "It's me, Aristocrates. I'm dressed as my favorite American - Garfield. Let me in?" Once he'd done that, Marcus turned and walked straight through a ghostly sea captain. Clinton had arrived, after all. But he'd forgotten to turn on his heartlight so that others could see him. Since he'd been the first to arrive, he spent the first three hours of the ball wondering when Rodham would show up. Despite no longer living together, he could still read his long-time companion's thoughts. Besides, he muttered in his sleep, the odd sod. Marcus turned to Atina and said, "Well that's a strange beginning for our party. A ghost captain and an orange cat." "Well, what did you expect, darling?" Atina said, atop her plastic legs. "It had said to come in costume!" KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. Heart racing, Marcus went to open the door again. He began laughing immediately. "Wait, don't tell me..." he said, eyeing the short person wearing a bald-cap wig. "Mini-me? Come on in. And you - I loved you in Airplane!" The odd couple strode in. But before he could close the door, Marcus spotted what could only be God, dressed in shimmering white robes and a full white beard. "Meee crassshhh," came a most un-God-like voice. The REAPER pushed his way past the gaping Marcus and into the warehouse, looking for a fight. |
"Damn it, REAPER!" Marcus said. "You know you never get invited to anything because nobody likes you, so why are you trying to crash my party? Don't you ever get tired of being dissed, crapped on, humiliated, rejected, and scorned?" "That good title for country music song. No. Me never get tired of anything. Life to REAPER like a treadmill. Just keep walking." "But why go where you are not wanted? I heard through the grapevine that a certain young lady has the hots for a certain zombie." "Why you talk like gossip columnist? If you mean TERRI she no like me anymore." "Aw, that's too bad REAPER. She doesn't know what she's missing. Where did you get the white robe and beard? I didn't know Lufchatel had a costume shop." "You know Old Man Greene who run hardware store? Now he have no beard. This his robe too." "You can't just move a beard from one face to another." REAPER held up the bottom of his beard so Marcus could see how it was attached. "You have to take chin skin too. Then use SuperGlue." Marcus made a disgusted face. "You're a menace to the community, REAPER. What made you think you could come to a zombie hunter's costume party and not get a blast from his shotgun in your face?" "If you do that then you ruin Old Man Greene's beard." |
"You know, I should call Harry and tell him that you're here," Marcus said. "Um, he still upset about what happened at his place?" REAPER asked, truly scared for the first time in his undead life. "Oh yeah," Marcus said, with a nervous chuckle of his own. "I turned his wife after I accidently drained her and he went ballistic on me. And I wouldn't bother trying to send him to Hell if I was you. A little witch/vampire/zombie told me that his brother in-law's the Prince of Hell." "Well um, where is he?" REAPER asked, quite nervously. "Is he here?" "I think he's home," Marcus said. "Probably trying to figure out how things would work out between them, especially in bed." ******* (Space deleted, due to being way too erotic for even this campfire, which has more than its fair share of sexual inuendoes and moments. Basically, Harry and Anita figure out how to have sex, without Anita draining their sex toys, or Harry himself, and still have the same amount of pleasure that they had before Anita's transformation.) ****** "Something tells me that I wouldn't want to imagine it," REAPER said. "Likewise," Marcus said. |
| It WAS a costume ball, after all, and Marcus had thought ahead to please all guests, even REAPER, who had a reputation for crashing parties. Sure, he was a ZBH, but tonight, the ball was Switzerland, and he was the king of Switzerland. He even made some Brain Pate and Cerebellum Fondue, in case REAPER got hungry. And he seemed to be. He was cramming handfuls of the stuff into his gaping maw, closing his partial eyelids in rapture. “This stuff good, what in it?” he demanded as he approached Marcus, a dripping wad of Brain Pate squishing through his fingers. Marcus didn’t want to tell him it was tofu, he didn’t want a raging zombie ruining the party. So he just told REAPER, “Brains, of course, and lots of them. Also blood, and guts. Lots of good stuff in there!” Marcus grinned to himself as REAPER loped away, moaning “GOOOOOOOD” and belching ever so often. Clinton handed him a gas mask so he wouldn’t make the guests pass out from the stench. “Thanks, ghost man,” REAPER told the spectral sea captain, “TUMMY HURT! Me sit down.” he groaned and plopped on a blue-green sofa with springs jutting out of the cushions. Marcus continued to grin. “This party may be Switzerland,” he muttered to himself, “But everyone knows zombies are deathly allergic to tofu.” He turned to Atina, who had a forlorn look about her. “Aw, my pretty, why so sad?” “Well,” she began, “I have no legs, and this is a dance, and…” Marcus put his finger to her lips. “Shhh, love, look down!” Atina did, and her smile lit up her faux marble countenance. “My my,” she squealed, “I forgot I had wheels!” “That you do, my marble masterpiece, and they bring you to the perfect height!” Marcus wheeled Atina to the black-and-white tiled dance floor, as the lights dimmed, and the mirrored disco ball started its clockwise rotation. The terribly romantic strains of Edwin McCain’s “I’ll Be” wafted through the worn speakers, as lovers twirled, species mixed, and everyone had a good time. It was indeed, a Switzerland night. Except for the zombie on the couch, who was currently writhing in pain, his stomach bloating grotesquely. |
| With the fourth wall broken and lying crumbled in a dumpster somewhere in Lower Lufchatel, the players in this little zombie game decided to forgo any further obvious sexual encounters for the time-being. Meanwhile, at the party, Aristocrates was hungry and headed for the refreshment table. He went straight for the nuts, of course. Cherie, dressed as Mini-Me found a pickle and sucked it into her gaping maw. Kareem, who of course was played by Chobee, plucked a ripe cherry off the top of the punch bowl and quickly tied a knot in the stem with his tongue. Atina was gleefully eyeing a blood sausage and wondering if it would feel good sliding down her throat. But as she was twirled around the dance floor by Marcus, she found herself craving a Bloody Mary as well. REAPER had found a blood orange and was finding it very a-peeling. The ghost of the sea captain was trying to recall the joke about the submarine and seamen. Rodham had returned to the party finally, dressed as LeBron James. After pushing his way inside, he announced to the world, "I'm gonna play round-ball with the Heat," completely messing up his own one-hour special which was due to air later the following evening. Toby and Harriet had recently arrived as Ozzie and Harriet. Toby's upper lip was coated in a thick milk mustache and he looked like the cat who'd eaten the canary. When the song had ended, Marcus rocked and rolled Atina to the refreshment table. The ZBH pretended to unzip the sausage she'd been eyeing earlier. Her finger and thumb made a perfect round O a few inches in front of her mouth, as if to give Marcus something to aim for; which he did. "ME love Ballin'," REAPER yelled with glee. "Wish Gator crew friends could come too. They love chewing the fat with me." Then, turning to face his host, he added, "GOOOOOOD BRAINNNNNNS, DUUUUUUUUDE." |
Around midnight the uninvited guests began to show up. First the Gator Crew, who had intended to trash the place and dump raw sewage in the punch bowls, but by then everybody at the party was so drunkenly friendly that the Gator Boys felt right at home, so they stretched out in the hallway and snapped playfully at the heels of anyone who tried to walk to the restroom. Next to arrive were the various frog people who lived in and around Lufchatel and never got invited to any parties for a number of reasons. They didn't speak Lufchatese. They had lots of warts. They were slimy to dance with. They only knew one song and they sang it over and over regardless of what was actually playing on the jukebox. The list goes on... But everybody at the party was drunk and saying things like, "Well, Freddy Frog, as I live and breathe! I ain't seen you in ages! How you been, boy?" and the frogs were grinning from ear to ear at being treated like ordinary people. Then the shadows began to arrive and slip in amongst the guests. Nobody noticed the shadows at first because they were just dark places in the room, but their psychogical effects could be devastating. Suddenly a guest would moan: "Why am I here at this stupid party? Why have I wasted my life in the pursuit of meaningless pleasure? I'm such a loser." and then people nearby would notice the shadows all over him and say, "Bob! Get in the light quick!" and Bob would shuffle over and stand under a floor lamp and then his spirits would lift a little, but not by much. Last to arrive were the Unmentionables and The Things That Have No Name. It's forbidden to speak of them, of course, but they were a sure sign that the party wouldn't go on much longer. |
| Suddenly, the door burst open and in came a very angry Harry. "Hey Marcus," he shouted. "Me and my wife are kind of busy, so I'd apreciate it if you quieted things down." "Oh come on Harry," Marcus said. "It's just a party." |
| And indeed, the clandestine party was drawing to a swift conclusion. As Marcus and Atina twirled around the dance floor totally absorbed by one another, REAPER had returned to the poky-spring sofa and was again writhing in pain. He was going into anaphylactic shock from tofu consumption. His stomach was bloating. He said to himself, “REAPER like party, REAPER no want to blow up, REAPER no want to make people zombies by blowing up…” The more he tried to convince himself, the more his midsection swelled. Unable to hold back any longer, he roared, “TAKE COVER, ME GONNA BLOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!” With the last capitalized W, REAPER exploded in a vile combination of undigested tofu, blood and zombie flesh. Chunks of his undead body flew to every corner of the warehouse room, coating the party guests with his odiferous exudates. All around the ballroom, guests were falling to the floor, instantly transforming into zombies. Some frogs were hit, even one gator in the back. Six of the shadows were splatted with REAPER parts, and began changing. The only people not affected were the various vampires, werewolves, ghosts and those who were already zombies. Rodham wasn’t affected either, because of his cyborg parts. He glanced Marcus and Harry and gave an infinitesimal nod. The three men grabbed hidden weapons, cocked and loaded and ready for action. Nothing is nastier than a shadow zombie, and as the ferocious creatures attempted to end the lives of our weapon-toting heroes, the other newly created zombie creatures slunk out the warehouse doors, avoiding capture and death. Meanwhile, by a darkened wall, what remained of REAPER began re-assembling itself on the poky-spring couch. |
| Marcus took Harry aside as they began aiming at various zombies. "How'd you hear our party way down here? I thought you lived uptown!" Harry said, "I have better ears than a Vulcan. Didn't you know? Anyway, I was in the neighborhood, as they say, and couldn't stand someone having a party near some of my property." Just then, REAPER's left foot reanimated and started walking toward its right foot, emulating the second terminator in the Terminator 2 movie, but that was liquid metal and this was merely REAPER gristle. Meanwhile, inside the ballroom / warehouse, Cherie and Chobee were talking with Atina. Aristocrates overheard snippets of their conversation. "Can you pop a wheelie with that thing?" "Do those blood sausages go down smoothly?" "What's the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?" "Speaking of swallows, do you like Charlie Parker, aka Bird?" "Rats, I thought you were going in another direction with that swallow mention..." That last thought had been voiced by the one who'd come to the party dressed as Garfield. There was some confusion among the remaining guests as to what he was referring. Out in the lot in front of the warehouse, Rodham was just aiming his gun at an unsuspecting zombie frog. The frog in question was just about halfway through crooning his favorite tune. The last thing to go through his brain, just before the bullet, was: You know I love the ladies Love to have my fun I'm a high life flyer and a rainbow rider A straight shootin' son-of-a-gun I said a straight shootin' son-of-a-gun |
Despite using up every case of ammunition they had lugged to the party, Marcus and Rodham and Harry were unable to kill every single zombie. As the sun rose over the eastern hills Marcus wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and said, "Whooeee! Good party! And it looks like I'll have something to occupy my mind the next few days. Rodham, buddy, what say you and I make a run to the ammo shop and stock up on some supplies? We've got some zombies to kill." They hopped into the old Chevy pickup that Marcus used for errands, while Harry climbed into his BMW and drove back uptown to his estate. Dinah, his cook, was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. "Lawsie, Mr Harry! I thoughts you was still in bed!" "No. I'm up, Dinah. I'll take my breakfast on the patio." The early morning sunshine bounced off the swimming pool and its shiny tiles and illuminated the underside of the palm tree leaves with flickering patterns of light. Harry stretched out on a chaise lounge and unrolled a copy of the New York Times. He checked the want ads for professional zombie hunters. Marcus was good but he was only one man. This time the town was infested with zombies. One lonely zombie hunter wasn't going to do the job. He circled the ad for Undead Removals Unlimited. "No job too big" was their motto. Harry liked that. |
| Picking up his cellphone, Harry started dialing.the number for Undead Removals Unlimited. Three rings later he got a woman's voice saying, "This is Alice. How many undead do you want removed?" "Oh, about a thousand zombies." "Was there an outbreak of some virus?" "No, another zombie had an alergy to some toffu and blew up. We could use a little bit of help in cleaning up the mess." "I'll assemble a team." |
| REAPER’s body had reassembled, and he walked over to the remaining party guests. Chobee, Cherie, Atina, Aristocrates and Clinton all glared at him. REAPER hung his head in shame. “Me go now,” he deadpanned. “Yeah, good idea, Rot-face!” spat Aristocrates. REAPER’s partially intact lower lip began to tremble, and pus-like tears welled in the corners of his eyes. He turned and slowly shuffled out the door. He had blown yet another chance to be socially accepted, and the others would rue the day. Oh yes, they would rue it… Rue it real good. Shortly thereafter, Marcus and Rodham arrived back at the warehouse. Rodham looked slightly ruffled. “Hey, we’re gonna need some help unloading the ammo. The hybrid zombies are pissed, and they’re heading this way!” Off in the distance, a wonky car siren could be heard, along with screeching tires and numerous gun shots. A puke-green utility van screamed to a halt in front of the warehouse door, and a demure woman with round red glasses and rainbow-colored asymmetrical hair leaped out the passenger side. She offered her hand to Marcus, who reluctantly shook it. “Alice Wormbiter, Undead Removal Specialist” |
| Chobee volunteered to get the ammunition, as he was not only the strongest of the guests, he was also able to carry more in his huge hands. Cherie stood to one side, admiring her man. She wondered when they'd have some time to be alone together again. She yearned to shoot his gun. Atina was rolling this way and that, helping the URU crew. Alice eyed Marcus and asked, "Are you the one who called?" But as soon as he answered, she realized he wasn't. No, the man who'd called had a local accent. She knew her accents well, thank you. "No, ma'am," Marcus answered respectfully. "But I admire your alacrity. I'm the local ZBH in Lufchatel." Alice smiled. She could get to liking this man. She hadn't met too many ZBH's who even knew words like "alacrity", let alone have such a wonderful command of the art of using seductive language. She decided to play the coquette. "Oh, this?" she said, pointing to her loose decolletage. "I just threw it on. I hope you admire my alacrity from behind as well!" Then she turned and barked orders to her URU crew. Within twenty minutes of their arrival, the group was already fanning out to blanket the city. Marcus noticed Alice hadn't gone with her group. When he asked, she told him that somebody had to monitor their progress from a centralized location. Just then, a communications device crackled on her hip. "Spotted zombies Dripping Limbs Road," a voice said. "Activating flame-throwers." "Zombie frogs hopping down Broad Weigh Lane," a second voice said. "Anybody want frog's legs for dinner?" he chuckled. A third voice cried out in alarm. His voice cut off halfway through his transmission. "There's too many of them. They're so beautiful. I can't imagine ki--" "Where was that one, Alice? Sounds like he needs our help." Rodham asked the URS. He grabbed Marcus's arm and started dragging him out of the warehouse. "Down on Strait Strasse," she called out to them as they opened the huge front door. "Good luck you two!" |
Strait Strasse was a river of zombies. The fish market was there and perhaps the smell had attracted them. They stumbled around shoulder to shoulder, telling each other dumb jokes or just mumbling irrelevant facts. Marcus heard one zombie say, "Although most mammals give birth to live young, the platypus lays eggs." Then the word "platypus" began to ripple through the crowd with some of the zombies interpreting it as a joke and some of them interpreting it as a fact so that half the zombies looked serious and the other half were chuckling that awful zombie chuckle that makes your blood freeze. Marcus shook off a chill and cocked his shotgun. That made several of the nearby zombies perk up their ears. Marcus blew their heads off. "There's too many of them to just stand here and shoot," Rodham said. "Let's get up on a roof where we can fire down at them." They climbed up on the corrugated iron roof of the fish market. It was difficult to keep their footing but at least the zombies milling around below made easy targets. "Like fish in a barrel!" Marcus said, as he fired shell after shell until the barrel of his shotgun was smoking hot. "Whooeee!" Marcus yelled. He lived for moments like this. Rodham was a bit more grim in his zombie-killing. For one thing, since it was his cybernetic shotgun arm doing the killing, it affected him at a deeper personal level. As each zombie head exploded into a shower of gore, Rodham would think I did that and feel a little guilty about it. But he eventually became disgusted with himself for feeling guilty. G*d*mm*t! They're just f*ck*ng zombies! And soon he was as exuberant as Marcus and yelling "Whooeee!" All too soon the carnage was over. Strait Strasse was littered with zombie parts and empty shotgun shells. The stench of gunpowder lingered in the air. Marcus and Rodham looked at each other, then hugged. "I feel like we're brothers, man," Marcus said. |
| Meanwhile, Harry was dealing with his own zombies. "I think I hate undead recruiters more than I do living recruiters," he muttered, kickind the head off of another zombie that had a fighting assosiation badge in the outfit. The head landed on a large pile of other heads, just as Harry picked up the body and tossed it into a row of other zombies, all wearing similar outfits. "I told you guys that I wouldn't come back," he shouted, shaking his fist. |
| Marcus took a large bottle of charcoal starter and squeezed it on top of the pile of zombies. Some of the limbs were beginning to twitch and attempt to fuse back to their original bodies. “Rodham?” he inquired, glancing at the Cyborg. Rodham readied his flame thrower and grinned. “It would be my pleasure, dear Marcus!” With a loud WHOOSH! A searing blue flame burst forth from Rodham’s right arm, and thanks to the aid of the charcoal starter, the zombies were ablaze with color. Showers of multi-colored sparks and charred remnants of zombie skin wafted up into the early evening sky, like fireflies on acid. “Good work, Gentleman!” came a sultry voice. Marcus turned to see Alice, with her low-cut blouse, round red glasses and rainbow hair. Alice put a well-manicured hand on Marcus’s shoulder. He barely noticed. All that remained in his mind was getting back to his creation, his Atina… |
| Alice's hair was really in Marcus's face. But he turned the other way and spotted a new target on which he and Rodham could turn their attention. Yes, it was the zombie frogs who'd hopped down from Broad Weigh Lane. "There's too many of them!" exclaimed Alice. "Run away!" Marcus and Rodham merely looked at her fleeing buttocks and smirked. "Amateur," remarked Marcus. "Who does she think she is emulating? King Arthur from The Holy Grail movie?" prodded Rod. Meanwhile, in Chobee's house, he and Cherie were just tuning in to watch the 81st midsummer classic: the Baseball All-Star game. |
| Rodham held out his arm and smirked at Marcus. "Heh! Watch this Vampy!" And with that, Rodham shot several grenades from his cyborg weapon, bombarding the zombie frogs with impressive might. When the dust settled, all that was left was the dust that settled. "Impressive" Noted Marcus. "I didn't know you had a grenade launcher too." "Heck," Rodham replied, grinning madly and rubbing his arm, "This baby's everything you could want all wrapped up in one easy to carry package. It's all there. Shotgun, flame thrower, grenade launcher, net caster, Spectral Beam, Tractor Beam, and Hamburger ray." "Hamburger Ray?" Marcus querried quizically with a queen sized eyebrow raise. "Turns dead flesh directly into hamburgers. Useful when on the run." "Ah." |
"Of course, I would never eat zombie meat," Rodham said. "I would hope not," Marcus replied after he had forced his eyebrow back down. "That stuff gives you salmonella." "And VD." Rodham pointed his arm at the next street over. "What say we continue this party? I'm wide awake now. I'll be up all night. I might as well be killing something." "You're talking my language, son. But I need more ammo." So they jumped into Marcus' yellow Chevy pick-up and just as Marcus was about to gun it Alice came running back, her multi-hued hair flying behind her. She was breathing hard. "If I'd known you'd make such short work of them frogs I would have stayed!" "Never underestimate us, Sister Alice!" Rodham said. "We are killing machines! Whoooeee!" Alice sat between the boys and the truck roared off to the ammo shop. Marcus had his arm around Alice and all three of them were singing and laughing. |
| However, the truck got caught in a shockwave and tipped over. "What in the Hell was that?" Alice asked. "Rocket launcher," Marcus. "Tail end of it I think." "Yeah, deffinatlly a shockwave from one," Rodham said. "Question is, who has one that powerful?" "I think that pile of blown up zombies might know," Alice said, pointing over at a pile near Harry and Anita's place. **** "Damn that Harry," moaned a head that was missing its body. "I had offered him a nice deal to, and he still blew me up. Can someone help me find my arms?" "I think I see one of them lodged in my chest," said another decapitated head. "What did you offer him?" "Twenty thousand dollars a fight, plus all the women he could want," answered the first. "Hey Fred! How much did you offer him?" "Five hundred, thousand, and my sister's hand in marrage." "No wonder he blew you up. No one's going to marry your sister. She's ugly beyond ugly." **** Marcus and Rodham then turned and saw Harry on his pourch, holding a high powered rocket launcher. "How'd you get that beauty?" Rodham asked, with envy in his voice. "Oh, it's just a little something that I found in my Christmas stocking," Harry said, with a grin on his face. "My father in-law likes to take me hunting, for really big game." |
| Rodham, the Spectral Mutterer, muttered, "I wonder how big that Christmas stocking is!" "Hey! It's not the size, but what's in it that matters!" Marcus replied. Beneath the pile of zombie bodies was something that nobody wanted to see. It was the REAPER. Thanks to his special touch, all the zombie parts were reanimating. Just like the toys in Toy Story, the zombie parts started creeping towards the pickup truck where Alice, Rodham and Marcus were sitting. A severed arm pulled itself along by its fingertips. Heads rolled. What remained of one body was the torso and arms. Talk about a gruesome sight! It was pulling itself along like a legless wheelchair rider without a wheelchair. "Guys?" Alice began. "There's something odd about that group. It's as if they can't die. This is something that we in the URU like to call "Pay the Piper". I need to get something out of the bag I left at the warehouse - and fast!" So they drove back to the warehouse to find it all but deserted. Only Aristocrates had remained, and that, because he didn't want to be shot. Sure, he was a zombie squirrel, but he wasn't like all the others. He'd grown attached to these silly characters. As Alice threw open the warehouse door, he was just nibbling on a leftover walnut. |
| Alice threw open the warehouse door, and Aristocrates was nibbling on a leftover walnut. Just beyond the zombie squirrel, there was a closed door. A brilliant light shone underneath, and a steady profusion of steam seeped out from the gap. From inside, Alice heard water running, and an effeminate tenor sang: I’m your biggest fan I’ll follow you until you love me Papa-paparazzi Baby there’s no other superstar You know that I’ll be Your papa-paparazzi Promise I’ll be kind But I won’t stop until that boy is mine. Baby you’ll be famous Chase you down until you love me Papa-paparazzi! Alice was overcome with curiosity, and the U Z C U (Unkillable Zombie Confinement Unit) she planned on retrieving was all but forgotten. She opened the door and a sickening scented cloud of steam enveloped her. Alice fought back a gag. “What IS that horrible smell, and who the Hell do you think you are, singing Lady Gaga at a time like this?” The shower curtain pulled back, and the surprisingly intact face of Toby peered out. The flowered shower cap on his head tilted to one side, and tendrils of his once lively hair snaked out and fused to his face. Toby was pissed. “Who the Hell are YOU? Ma’am? And what are you doing in my shower?” “Your shower? Last time I checked, this warehouse was inhabited by Marcus Zinnia, ZBH.” “For your information, lady, Marcus gave me permission to shower, since I had all those gross REAPER parts all over me. And they were beginning to move too. It was just too creepy, I had to get them off of me!” “Well that doesn’t explain the smell, Mr…” “Toby. The writers of this campfire didn’t give me a last name, so I’m just Toby. And the smell is formaldehyde. Haven’t you noticed I look considerably less decayed than your average zombie?” Alice looked him up and down in admiration. “Yes, I’ve noticed that. Is that a banana you’re carrying, or are you just happy to see me?” she grinned. Toby covered himself with a washcloth. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled. |
| "Gosh darn it! That thing's UNKILLABLE!" Marcus shouted as he peppered more and shots into the Unkillable Zombies, it just reanimating and regurgitating and regenerating and regretting and a whole bucnh of other "re" words. "Rod, you don't have anything bigger in that gun!?" "I'm givin' her all she's got capn'!" Rodham shouted in a clearly fake scottish accent. Harry reloaded another rocket into his launcher and tried again to blow up the Unkillable Zombies, and only succeded in taking out a small chunk of it, and a large chunk of Marcus's car. But nothing worked. The mass of strange zombie parts just kept coming, and coming, until the smell of rotting dead was practically beneath their noses. "Fall back! Fall back!" Rodham shouted, turning and moving away from the Unkillable Zombies, which Marcus followed. "It's going to take a miracle to get rid of that thing..." Marcus said, solemly taking steps back. It was just then, as if a God from the Machine had answered they're prayers, a small device fell from the sky! It was the "Unkillable Zombie Containment Unit!" As if by magic, it opened and expanded to a lot bigger than it's current size, and sucked in the unkillable zombies. In the end, only REAPER remained. "I'll get you crazy kids!" He shouted before shambling away back into the swamps. Marcus, Rodham, and Harry steped forward towards the Container. Who could have gotten it here so fast? Alice wasn't back yet either! It was then, the figure responcible steped from the shadows. "Clinton!" Everyone shouted. Their friendly ghost had saved them! "Yes, yes, good sirs. I saw you were in a rather tight spot, and that Alice damsel was being held hostage by Master Toby's dredful singing, so I figured I should step in and grab your Unkillable Zombie Container Unit." "You're the best buddy! I'll never get mad at you again!" Rodham shouted, giving his friend a pat on the back. Clinton adjusted his ghostly monocle and tophat. "Quite." |
To celebrate their good fortune they ransacked the pantry and brought out bottles of champagne, V-8 vegetable juice, apple cider, rum, coke, and red wine. "Let's mix it all together and make punch!" Rodham shouted, but cooler heads prevailed. Alice and Toby and Aristocrates arrived and soon everyone was toasting everyone else with the beverage of their choice. "This has been a wonderful day for Lufchatel!" Harry said. He harbored secret hopes of running for mayor in the next election. "You know," Marcus began - he was a little tipsy and slurring his words - "I guess this whole thing was kind of my fault for serving tofu at the party. If REAPER hadn't eaten all that tofu..." Alice rushed to reassure him. "No, it ain't your fault. You didn't even invite that zombie, did you? He crashed the party. You can't be blamed for that." "Here! Here!" Clinton said and took another long swig of carrot juice spiked with vodka. Harry stumbled and caught himself before he could fall. He raised his glass. "This has been a great day for Lufchatel, friends and neighbors!" |
| "However, I do have one question," he said. "Who's going to pay for the damages? Between cleaning up the mess and replacing damaged property and such, the cost would amount to over two hundred million dollars, and I'm not going to pay for all of it. So who has the money?" |
| Out in the parking lot, the UZCU was bulging from zombie overload. While the people inside the warehouse were celebrating their good fortune, a small rivet popped on the unit, and foul green steam rushed outward with a loud “SSSHHHHHHHHHH!” Another rivet popped, then another. Pretty soon, a three inch wide, gaping hole appeared in the top right corner, spilling forth chartreuse light and smoke. A gnarled, rotted hand trust through the split. Emanating from inside the UZCU were moans of “BRAAAIIINNNSSSS” and other unintelligent things. Finally, a complete forearm could be seen, followed by a bony shoulder and finally, a rotting, scarred zombie head. “BRAAAAAAIiiiiIIIINNNSSS… uh and flesh…” screamed the zombie as he wriggled out of the UZCU. His comrades soon joined him and presently, the cube lay empty; wrinkled and flaccid on the sidewalk, like the shell of over- inflated balloon that is released, and flies about the room making funny farting noises. |
| Harry grabbed Alice's shoulders and shook her vigorously. "They're loose again! The zombies are loose again! I thought you guaranteed your work!" Alice pushed him off. "Undead Removals Unlimited does guarantee its work, sir." They both were drunk. "I'll call headquarters. There is always the Nuclear Option." "The Nuclear Option?" "Yes, the Final Solution. It always kills 99.9 per cent of whatever is infesting an area." "Well, G*d*mm*t! Why didn't we get the Nuclear Option first, then?" "Sir! The Nuclear Option is a Last Resort! You never LEAD with it!" "Whatever.. just do it." Alice mumbled something into the phone, then addressed the crowd: "Everybody go to Harry's place... and don't forget to wear your sunglasses!" An hour later Alice and Harry and guests stood on the second floor balcony of Harry's mansion looking down on the sleepy village of Lufchatel. Suddenly there was a blinding burst of light and seconds later everyone was knocked off their feet by the shockwave. "Holy Mother of God!" Harry said. "What was that?" "The Nuclear Option," Alice said. A big smile lit up her face. "Ain't that the prettiest thing you ever saw. I guarantee not even a cockroach survived that." "B-b-but my town... my beautiful town of Lufchatel... *sob* ... It's a smoking crater. How can I ever become mayor now?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ This is the end of the campfire. In your last addition you can give your version of what happened after the Nuclear Option, if you like, or you can write a gratuitous sex scene, or you can introduce three new characters that will have no story to live in and so will die gasping for breath. It's been fun! I have enjoyed writing with you! Please send me your idea for another campfire or start one up in your port and invite me to it. Thanks! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
| "Well I do have some good news honey," said Anita. "Yeah, and what's that?" Harry asked. "There's Bud Lite in the fridge, " Anita said. "More than fifty cases." "Are you sure about that?" Harry asked. Anita smiled and nodded. At this, Harry threw his head back and howled. "It's Party Time!" he shouted. |
| Rodham looked over the edge of the balcony at the nuked town. Shards of buildings rained from the sky, frogs fell one by one into ponds. It was over. Rodham sighed and sipped his beer, still gazing at the charred remains of the town he grew to love. "...Oh Well..." he said, and saluted at nothing. It was a good run while it lasted. Marcus came by and asked what was up. "What's up Rodham?" "Particles of radiation." "Excuse me?" Rodham motioned to the sky. "You asked what was up. Well, we just blew up Lufchatel with a nuke. So, radiation." Marcus sighed and leaned next to Rodham. "So...Where are you going to go now?" "Dunno. Me and Clinton'll proboley travel around Khasachasistan for a while. Heard there was some weird contest going on. What about you?" Marcus had a glint in his eye. |
| "What's in Bullabulling, Australia, Chobee?" Cherie asked her half-ogre lover. "My brother lives there, why?" he asked. Then he realized he'd been writing the town name over and over for the past two hours. He and his fiancee' were sitting in the train station just outside what was left of Lufchatel. It seems he'd made up his mind. "You've got a brother?" Cherie became interested quite suddenly. "What's he like?" "Nothing like me. As the half-ogre, I got lucky. I got the brains AND the good looks. He got...well, he got screwed. Dumber than Jim Carrey in that movie Dumb and Dumber; taller than a four-story mud-and-brick adobe and too dependent on others to even survive in the Outback for more than twelve hours at a time. His name is Gerg. What do you say we go live in Western Australia, m'love?" Chobee asked the petite woman beside him. She brightened and nodded quickly, hoping Chobee wouldn't change his mind. She'd never heard of Khasachasistan before her wuzband had moved here for his CNN job. She certainly hadn't heard of Bullabulling either. But that wouldn't stop her from having a dream home down under. Within a few hours, they were winging their way around the globe in a south-easterly direction. The plane landed in Perth and they hitched a series of rides to Bullabulling from there. "Will your brother be hard to find?" Cherie asked. Then she felt the ground shudder, answering her own question. Something covered the late-evening sun. It was Gerg's shadow. Cherie smiled up at the behemoth and he smiled down with one black-stained lower tooth and a shit-eating grin, proving that he'd been doing exactly that for the past two hours: eating shit. He and his brother slammed their chests together and it was just like old times. |
| Marcus opened the door one last time to his burned-out warehouse. Atina was by his side, still on her mannequin legs, looking forlorn. “What now, Marcus?” Marcus was silent. Running a hand through his thick, dark hair, then shuddering, realizing the hand wasn’t his, he tossed it to the side and looked at Atina, the woman he had created, in more ways than one. “I have a yacht.” “A yacht?” Atina’s mood instantly lifted. Marcus rolled his eyes, since they had become dislodged in the blast. He shoved them in again and spoke. It’s a Marquis 720. Large by some standards, but much smaller than my richer ZBH counterparts. “Zombie Bounty Hunters are rich?” “Yeah, especially if they live in a town so infested with zombies. But now, since the Nuclear Option, there are no zombies to speak of. I don’t even think REAPER survived the blast…” “Enough about your income sweetheart, let’s hear more about the Yacht!” Atina urged him. “Well, it roughly measures 72 x18, about the size of a large single-wide mobile home. Some yachts of that length are slow and clumsy, but not this baby, she’d pull the shoes off of Imelda Marcos!” Atina’s blank stare was more than enough to encourage him to stop talking in obscure references. Marcus continued, “It has a fully equipped galley, and a large master suite with an enormous flat-screen TV. I have an interesting collection of videos too. The lounge/bar area is huge, but since it’s just going to be me and you on the journey, we’ll have the place all to ourselves. “ Atina was practically salivating at the description. “Let’s go then, right now, right here, I wanna go!” Her eyes were bulging, and her fangs had protruded. “Whoah woman, let me grab a few supplies, and we’ll get the heck outta Dodge!” “Dodge? I thought we were in Lufchatel.” Marcus looked at her to see if there was a glimmer of teasing behind her eyes, but he saw none. Resigned to the fact she might not be the brightest brick in the butter, he loaded a medium-sized freezer on a moving dolly and began hauling it out the door. He stopped by the entryway and saw his notebook, all but forgotten in the storyline. He picked it up and discreetly pushed it into his coat pocket. “What’s in the freezer, Marcus?” “Enough blood to get us through several months journey by sea” “Several months?” “Yeah, we’ll need it to get to where we’re going.” “Where’s that?” “A little island that was gifted to me from my Brother, called Lahtrednaen.” Atina looked puzzled, she pronounced the name slowly. “Lah-TRED-nay-enn?” “Yeah, weird name, eh? I have no idea what’s on the Island, but he assured me, it was a beautiful place.” The sun was setting as the man with the freezer on a dolly and his companion on mannequin legs made their way to the Marina. |
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