Zombie tickler

I hate going into the Ladies room and finding a zombie in there shitting out her guts. Not only is it dangerous; the stench is thick enough to gag a blowfly.

Not to mention that vampires and zombies are natural enemies.

It’s not enough to say that we don’t get along. Zombies don’t think, and they have little in the way of emotions: rage, anger and pissed off pretty much sum up how much a zombie thinks. All they care about is food – who is it, and where is she coming from.

Vampires don’t count as food. We’re already dead. Zombies like their meals alive and kicking. And while I can kick the shit out of most things, I’m not alive. No sauce in the meat. No juice for the bite.

Waiting for you

I was never the shy, pretty-pretty girl who stood along the wall at high school dances, waiting for the equally shy boys to cross the floor and ask for a dance. Neither was I the popular chick, twirled like a tropy in the center of the basketball court.

I didn’t stay at home, and I wasn’t even the girl outside of it all, smoking and drinking and pretending to give fuck-all about what people thought.

No.

I was the girl in the bushes waiting for the unwary.