Fifty Shades Of Sparkling Vampires With Dragon Tattoos That Play Starvation Games (10 page)

More bad news awaited the duo (damn,
why does the apocalypse have to be so bleak?) when Schlub and
Toogoodto arrived at Schlub's house to find his parents had been
turned into zombie mulch. And like that, the undead had gone and
serious pissed off Schlub.

Schlub and Toogoodto headed to the
nearest military fallout refuge, where they could wax
metaphorically.

"Do you think this is all one big
parallel about how humanity doesn't deserve to live so the universe
sent a plague of zombies to exterminate us?" Toogoodto
asked.

But Schlub didn't have time to get
existential. How could he ever be more than a criminally
underemployed louse working at a 98 cent store when every HR
department in the world had been devoured by brain hungry
creatures? How could he prove to Toogoodto's parents he was not
just some deadbeat ill equipped to be porking their daughter when
they were dead in the backyard next to uneaten cake?

"And here I was worried what we were
going to do when our cell phone batteries run out," Schlub
joked.

"Look, it's going to be ok," Toogoodto
insisted.

"Honey, there's a horde of undead
creatures outside that won't stop until they eat all of our brains.
How is it possibly going to be ok?" Schlub asked.

"Are you kidding? Military relief
efforts never fail," Toogoodto said.

Just then, pandemonium ensued at the
front gate. Soldiers started running for their lives like they were
running with the bulls.

"Head for the hills," one of the
Soldiers said. "We're totally screwed."

Schlub turned to Toogoodto. "It looks
like your parables are trying to kill us again."

"Wow," Toogoodto admitted. "Today
really does suck balls."

The End.

How To Be More Attractive To
Men

By John Doe

Have big knockers.

How To Be More Attractive To
Women

By Jane Doe

Be rich, confident, sexy, hunky,
compassionate, caring, attentive, kind, charitable, intelligent,
interesting, honest, dashing, chivalrous...oh, and do the dishes
for God's sake.

Profound Poetry

Damn it's hard being this
deep

But think of all the prizes my thoughts
will reap

Sometimes I give myself a headache from
pondering all the time

But how many people can get existential
on a dime?

I'm starting to think humanity has no
hope

Society is so filthy I'm constantly
reaching for the soap

But although I may complain
today

Maybe optimism will come to
play

Being too intelligent is one hell of
cross to bare

Though with my profundity a lot of
chicks I can snare

Recipe By A Seven Year Old

Ingredients:

1 serving of cookie dough

1 cup of cake batter

1 cup of brownie mix

3 handfuls of chocolate
chips

5 marshmallows

1 handful of potato chips

8oz of highly caffeinated
soda

Stir

Wait five minutes, then run to the
toilet and puke

Bon appetit!

The Revolutionary New Diet You'll Next
Stick To

Eat Right + Workout = Lose Weight
(Willpower not included)

A Short History Of Republican
Politics

(points finger of blame at the
Democrats while lining pockets with lobbyist money)

A Short History Of Democratic
Politics

(points finger of blame at the
Republicans while lining pockets with lobbyist money)

A Short History Of Third Party
Politics

We exist...really...hello, is anyone
there?...

A Short History Of Bipartisan
Politics

A Short History Of Politicians Telling
The Truth

A Short History Of Politics Sending
Cell Phone Pictures Of Their Dong To Interns

It seemed like a good idea at the
time.

Let's Get Victorian With It (This
Parody Powered By Steam)

"I feel completely lost without my
pocket watch," Alastair Frumpenbotham explained, quizzically. "What
other way is there to tell time in an alternate Victorian
reality?"

"Here, take this one," Clarissandra
Dibblesly replied, looking out at the utopian wonderland of
whimsical wonder. "I find you can never have too many spare pocket
watches."

"You are truly a revelation in copper.
I would truly enjoying taking your ample bottom into the bedroom at
a later date."

"How tasteful of you to say. Your
manners are impeccable indeed good sir. My hovering home will be
awaiting your erotic delight."

Alastair looked at the pocket watch.
"Oh dear, we simply must make haste if we wish to catch the steam
powered aircraft to Paradise Alley. Who knew you could run an
entire society exclusively on farts?"

"Now is not the time to get existential
about flatulence as an energy source, dear Alastair. But I do
believe the steam that powers our society is a metaphor for the hot
love making a dapper man and a woman of astute manners have behind
closed doors."

Whilst on the commuter airship, the
well coiffed duo made moony eyes relentlessly while taking in the
grandeur of their technologically advanced 1890's
society.

"You know, it still betwixes me how
futuristic our society looks, yet I wear a three piece suit
everyday and own ten monocles," Alastair bloviated.

"Your top hat makes me swoon,"
Clarissandra cooed.

"As I was putting on my vest this
morning though, I did wonder why I feel the need to carry around a
cane all the time though I'm not the least bit hobbly."

"Don't be silly. Everyone knows canes
are for secretly hiding daggers."

"You're right. I forgot to have my tea
and crumpets this morning, so I'm at a complete loss for
logic."

***

Playful flirtation had to be shelved
under "to be revisited later" though as duty called though at the
steam plant. Workers were abuzz with a sense of smug superiority
only an advanced civilization could afford. Steam powered computers
and phones were technological wonders, but they didn't help when
you were under siege.

With no regard for social graces, a
band of armed and very dangerous men with dreadful manners had the
nerve to take Steam headquarters under gunpoint. The leader, one
Heinous McVillain, was as mad as his mustache was curly. Still, for
the streak of villainy residing in his heart, he sure was dapper as
a dandy. And like that, the fates were tempted.

Alastair, Clarissandra, and the other
steam plant faithful were forced to listen to Heinous' most
sinister plan. He was going to shut down the plant and all steam
related power, bringing the city to its knees. And in its stead,
Heinous was going to harness the currents of the Thames River to
build an hydro electric plant.

"Electricity, are you absurd?" Alastair
scoffed. "How do you expect to run our computers and phones on such
a backwards technology?"

"Electricity will no longer be the
bastard child of energy fulfillment. If you want power from now on,
you'll have to get it all from me." Heinous then laughed maniacally
like a drunken hyena.

"Oh dear God. This is sheer lunacy. How
dare you disrupt our antiquarian nostalgia with bonafide scientific
progress? I say I put at end to it right now," Alastair insisted.
"Clarissandra, will you be a dear and hand me my steam powered stun
gun?"

"Absotively," Clarissandra said,
pulling the gun out of an unnecessarily steam powered
drawer.

Alastair then proceeded to zap all the
foul minions and dispense of Heinous in hasty fashion. Workers
rejoiced as the intruders were fetched by law enforcement, allowing
Alastair a well deserved pop over for lunch. With their steam
society saved from the misguided mess that was electrical power,
Alastair and Clarissandra absconsced to her hovering home and
introduced a tip top love making session to their loins, cooing all
the way.

The End.

Zombies Eat Wall Street

It was a bloodbath on Wall Street even
before the Zombies starting tearing stock brokers limb from limb.
The Grim Reaper himself might as well have rang the opening bell
that Tuesday instead of a reality star hawking her latest fashion
line. It only took five minutes of trading to realize it would be a
day Wall Street would never forget. But for the brokers and
tycoons, it was all about the money. And damn were they losing it
in a heartbeat. The Dow tumbled almost instantly after the opening
bell. Millions were lost in minutes. Screw Black Tuesday. It was
going to be a red dead massacre.

The suits didn't know the half of it.
The real mind blowing action was going on outside the stock
exchange. But the one percent had managed to ignore the ninety-nine
percent in life, so why not in death too? Protestors had been
trying to Occupy Wall Street for months, camping out in makeshift
tents. They wanted to give Wall Street the finger, but the suits
were too busy counting their money to care.

The Zombies were happy to pay attention
to the protestors middle fingers. Of course the undead liked brains
better. And the protestors made for easy prey. Sure nice guys
finished last, but they were eaten first. It was the easiest meal
the Zombies had ever scored. A bunch of tired, clustered, peaceful
protestors turned into a breakfast scramble.

It was quick, but painful. Some lost
limbs, others their digestive tracks. The blood was unbearable. The
screeches unmistakable. And the victims were just like you.
Overeducated, underemployed, just looking to make ends meet. They
built houses for others, but lost their own homes to foreclosure.
They cooked meals for the rich, but lived on ramen. They
contributed to their 401k's, then saw Wall Street fritter their
savings away. And they were tired of working their asses off to
make their bosses rich.

The Protestors chants and placards were
ignored, but their brain-hungry appetite wouldn't be. The Occupy
Movements message was about to be bitingly clear. And as the Zombie
infection coursed through the dead protestors bodies, they emerged
from their tents and port-o-potties with a taste for brains, and
wouldn't be denied.

Stock Exchange

Jonah Jennings was about to pull his
hair out. If the Dow kept plunging, he didn't know how he was going
to pay for his new hundred thousand dollar convertible. Especially
after buying that new vacation villa in the Bahamas. But mostly,
Jonah wanted to go back to his mansion and spank the day away to
porn on his eighty inch flat screen. Instead, the Dow seemed poised
to give Jonah a heart attack.

It seemed investors had all gotten up
on the wrong side of the bed that morning and decided to liquidate
their assets. But Jonah should have been concerned with Zombies
liquidating his liver. Only a place as spastic as the stock floor
could be overrun with Zombies without the stock jockeys even
noticing.

The traders jostled back and forth,
ping ponging the Zombies as they frantically tried to salvage the
day before financial apocalypse nuked their portfolios for good.
But as the body count started to pile up, the blue coated bait
realized more menacing forces were at work than just a bad day at
the market.

The brokers started tumbling like
demented domino's, and utter havoc ensued. But while the protestors
had at least tried to band together to fight off the infected
horde, the financial fucknuts proved what snakes they truly were.
It was every dipshit for themselves. Brokers were shoved aside,
thrown under the bus, and even used as human shields. Anything to
live to screw another day. Within minutes, the floor was soaked
with blood and loose livers. The stock jockeys started tripping
over their own cohorts on their way to an untimely end.

Jonah suddenly wished he'd taken a
survival course instead of joining that competitive croquet league
a few months back. He dropped his phone mid trade, slack-jawed at
the sight of so many Zombies after his one pea brain. There was no
escape. Jonah would never get to see porn on his eighty inch
screen. He'd never get to put the top down on his convertible and
flaunt his latest toupee. And he'd just paid a gardener a thousand
dollars a week to trim his hedges into castle turrets he'd never
get to see.

Yup. Jonah was going to be Zombie
mulch. And as his greedy life flashed before his eyes, he could
only think of one thing. At least he wouldn't get convicted of
insider trading.