The wedding went relatively well – it didn’t rain, two people had gotten married, and only two corpses were found the following morning, their mouths stuffed full of rice and flowers. Luckily, the best man was a detective- J. B. Wright. That’s me, and I’m hardly ever wrong. (Maybe a mystery novel?)
April showers bring May flowers, and in the year 2011, the beginning of the Zombie Flu (it’s just like it sounds) – I’d settle for a few more rainy days if I didn’t have to decapitate the re-animated bodies of my friends, neighbors, and co-workers almost every day.
Pete always found it odd that once the existence of Bigfoot was confirmed, the incidents of drunken rednecks in monkey suits being shot actually increased – and even odder that Peter himself became one of them shortly after his 32nd birthday. (likely historical fiction)
My name is Madison Towne, and these are my chunnels, or so the bumper sticker reads.
I was too drunk to decide between queso & chips or oatmeal cream pies – the occasion probably called for both – and so I began the long walk. (probably an autobiography)
He thought he saw the laundry pile in the middle of his room move (indeed, as if there was something alive underneath it, but that seemed highly unlikely), so when he kicked at the dirty clothes and heard a the cry of a baby, it was quite a shock. No clean underwear and a mysterious baby?! This was going to be quite a Monday!
He’d slept with almost all of his classmates, including all of the phonies and all of the muggles… at 12 he was already the most well renowned boy-wizard in Georgia, and if you asked the dudes in his P.E. class, the gayest as well.
Call me Ishtar.
Even as little Tom Swanson was getting trampled to death on the dance floor, glo-stick juice seeping up his nostrils with each tortured breath, he still thought to himself, “I am at a Rave, and this is the best I’ve ever felt!”