Fifty Shades Of Sparkling Vampires With Dragon Tattoos That Play Starvation Games (12 page)

Marge opened her mouth wide, her
chompers ready to take a bite out of the bigwig. But Carlton didn't
get to be the CEO of a company without leaving a trail of blood in
his wake. The CEO fought back, pushing Marge off of him and into
the hotel room dresser. He then got up and moved to the phone,
looking to do what he did best--outsource his own
rescue.

There would be no 911 call though. No
reprieve. No escape. Marge was too frisky of a Zombie for that. And
she hadn't had a bite since tearing open a corporate lawyer down
the hall.

Marge lunged at Carlton, but the
slippery son of a bitch stayed out of her grasp. Carlton backed
himself into the corner, seemingly signing his own death warrant.
But while Marge saw lunch, Carlton saw his chance at freedom. Marge
took another lunge at Carlton, but this time he grabbed the lamp
from the night stand and cracked Marge on the head with it. The
Zombie Maid dropped to the ground, defeated.

And as Carlton saw Marge twitching
before finally succumbing to her head wound, he got cocky. "Don't
you know who I am?" he boasted. "Never mess with a CEO,
bitch."

Carlton was completely full of himself.
Like he'd just completed a hostile takeover. Like he was more than
just a shark in a suit. But with all his gusto, Carlton forgot that
he left the door to his room open.

Looking up at a room full of Zombified
Hotel Employees that had let themselves in from the hallway,
Carlton realized the time for bluster was over. It was time to
pray. But the undead didn't believe in mercy. They only cared about
their next meal. The only question was, how would they split
Carlton's body twenty ways?

The Zombies cornered the CEO. He could
smell the latest kill on their breath. And for once, the tycoon
started to sweat through his suit. But it was no matter. One Zombie
after another lunged at Carlton, knocking him over, making him easy
prey. The undead then had themselves a buffet, grabbing fresh meat
off the bone. The pain was excruciating. There was nothing worse
than watching yourself being eaten alive. Plus, the Zombies were in
no hurry. After all, there were a lot of mouths to feed. And they
were going to savor every bite.

*********

It was the biggest bloodbath Wall
Street had ever seen. An absolute massacre. And after months of
being ignored by the filthy rich tycoons, the ninety-nine percent
were finally heard. It was a rabid revenge. A tasty triumph. A
headhunters Heaven. It was a day that wouldn't be soon forgotten. A
day the apocalypse toppled tycoons. A day when the Zombie
Protestors didn't just Occupy Wall St, they ate it
alive.

The End.

Zombies Eat Hollywood

"Don't you know who I am?" Brent
Williams barked, issuing the douche bag call to arms.

Everyone in Hollywood knew who Brent
was. The guy was box office royalty. The man with the million
dollar abs. The only guy in the world that could star in a movie
about 14th Century French Unicycling and have it rake in the dough.
And he had a fan base more rabid than a pack of methed out
werewolves.

But while the adoring public couldn't
get enough of their favorite hunk, Hollywood got to see the dark
side of their dashing dickwad. His million dollar demands, his
unquenchable addiction to blow, an ego that couldn't fit into his
double decker trailer.

Jim Baker got the brunt of the abuse.
He was the coffee bitch. The gofer. The intern. Only a sadistic
hell hole like Hollywood worked someone like a goat with dick for
pay to show for it. And it only took five minutes on the job for
Jim to realize if Hollywood was a Cleveland Steamer, he was the
chest being pooped on.

But things were different that day on
the set of "Vampire Amish Versus Aliens." The apocalypse had come
to Hollywood for real. But for Jim, it seemed just like any other
day. Waking up at four a.m. to the sound of the neighborhood
tweaker teething for his next fix just outside his window. Rushing
out of his hipster infested apartment complex on the way to soul
crushing traffic. Arriving on the studio lot to an avalanche of
problems with a belly only half full of ramen noodles and 98 cent
store energy drinks.

But unlike the nerve rattling onslaught
of obscenities that usually greeted Jim in the production office,
he was instead met by Samantha Burns, his onset crush and fellow
put upon grunt. Maybe it was the Universe's way of finally throwing
Jim a romantic bone. Giving Jim the chance to tell her how he felt
about her. Expressing his long simmering feelings. So as Samantha
sat at the production desk with her back turned to him, Jim tried
to take precedence over her paperwork.

"Samantha, I've been meaning to tell
you this for a while now," Jim stammered, his hands sweating as his
stomach turned. "But I just can't stop thinking about you lately.
You're the only thing in this wacked out town that makes me happy.
I find myself constantly looking forward to the next time I get to
see you. And I was just wondering if you felt the same
way."

There, Jim had finally done it. He'd
put his feelings on the line. And Samantha took immediate notice.
But as the dirty blonde beauty turned around in her chair, Jim did
not get the reaction he had hoped for.

Instead of the sweet and smart woman
he'd worked alongside, a brain-thirsty Zombie stared Jim down.
Zombie Samantha was rabid and ravaged, a bloody mess with cold dead
eyes.

Jim was slack-jawed and paralyzed with
fear. When Jim dreamed about Samantha craving him, that wasn't what
he had in mind. Jim slowly back tracked like he had stumbled upon
an angry wolf in the wild. But Zombie Samantha wasn't about to back
down. She had fresh meat in her sights and lunged at Jim to get
it.

Jim narrowly avoided the advances of
his undead would be girlfriend, but tripped over a box of props in
the process. Jim fell to the ground with a thud and couldn't get up
fast enough to avoid Samantha's second toothy attack.

Round two wasn't as kind to Jim. Zombie
Samantha's teeth tore into Jim's thigh while he tried to get up,
leaving him wincing. But even with the excruciating pain, Jim
managed to shove Samantha off him and get to his feet.

But the damage had been done and Zombie
Samantha wanted to finish the job. She bared her teeth again, then
made a third attempt, lunging straight at Jim's head. Jim was
prepared though, grabbing the flat panel computer monitor from the
desk and slamming her in the head with it.

The blow sent Zombie Samantha to the
ground, but Jim could tell he'd only stunned her. Jim hobbled to
the door with his leg on fire with pain, and ducked out of the
production office.

The problem with being a lowly
production bitch was that you were the first person on the studio
lot. Which meant Jim was alone with his bite wound trying to hobble
to safety. But it only took a few excruciating feet to realize Jim
was in a hurry to get nowhere.

He was in too much pain to even make it
to the adjacent sound stage. Instead he just collapsed to the
ground, bitten and beaten, rejected in the most rabid way possible.
So much for a love connection. The woman of Jim's dreams was
instead the dagger in the heart of Jim's forgettable
life.

And as the Zombie virus hijacked Jim's
body, he spent the final moments of his life thinking what an
ironic little bitch Hollywood was. After all, Jim had come to
Tinsel town to become a big star, and he was going to die a coffee
bitch.

Jim finally bled out on the pavement in
front of Soundstage 42. But while Jim was a nobody in life, death
brought all new horrifying possibilities. Zombie Jim wasn't the
same guy that came to Hollywood from Vermont with a heart on his
sleeve short film about “the value of love and doing the right
thing” only to be roundly ignored by boob and box office obsessed
producers. Zombie Jim was a mindless, hollow, check your soul at
the door killer. Finally, someone Hollywood could relate
to.

With fresh meat on his mind, Jim
spotted just the right putz. A hundred thousand dollar eyesore
zoomed onto the lot and sped into a custom parking space. It was a
gaudy bright yellow abomination. The kind of sports car dickless
wonders bought to make up for the sawed off stubs between their
legs.

Terry Shuckster was the classic pecker
head. A nebbish nerd that reeked of exploitation and absentee
parenting. The kind of blow hard that had forgone oxygen for an air
of superiority. But divorce settlements and latent bimbo chasing
aside, the self proclaimed mogul had his ass kissed all over the
studio lot by peons and starlets alike. Success had come to Terry
in the form of boobs and bombs. His motto was "If it doesn't
feature half naked women and the Statue Of Liberty exploding in the
background, it isn't a movie worth making."

He'd dismissed Jim's short film sight
unseen. There was no room for genuine emotions in Hollywood movies,
he said. Who wanted their heart tugged, their soul touched, and
their life enriched when there were boobs to flap and buildings to
blow up? But the rejection of Jim's talents was one thing. The
rejection of Jim worth as a human being was another.

Even though geek-friendly movies made
Terry millions, he'd forgotten his roots. Terry was a guy that
spent his childhood being bullied, then used the same tactics to
crush the souls interns and production assistants
everywhere.

Some said it was because Terry's
lingerie model wife was raking him across the coals in divorce
court. Others said he was just born a douche. Either way, whenever
Jim saw Terry, he knew an F bomb was never far away.

Except that morning. Zombie Jim didn't
have asses to kiss. He didn't have a promotion to worry about.
There was no showbiz career that could evaporate at any misstep.
All that mattered was feeding his insatiable appetite for
brains.

Producing mindless popcorn flicks kept
Terry's mind pristinely unused. And Jim couldn't wait to get his
teeth on that mushy cranium. Terry was easy prey too. He hadn't
even gotten out of his sports car and already he was barking at
someone.

Zombie Jim lurched over from the
production office to the sitting duck where an eager Agent was
phone pitching the mogul a game show called "Brain Surgery With The
Stars." But with no boobs and no bombs, it was a no go. "Tell you
what. Make it 'Bikini Mud Wrestling With The Stars' and you got a
deal," Terry said into his phone.

Zombie Jim had another deal for Terry
as he rapt on the drivers side window. Terry meanwhile thought Jim
was just a lost extra in search of a clue.

"Hey hey. Hands off the ride. This car
is worth more than your soul," Terry said dismissively before
returning to his deal making. "I got it," Terry said into his
phone. "Bikini Mud Wrestlers Versus Zombies."

Jim's hunger would not be denied
though. While Terry dreamed about another ten million dollar
payday, Jim broke though the glass and grabbed Terry by his tie.
Suddenly Mogul Versus Zombie seemed more appropriate.

And as Jim lunged into the car and ate
Terry's face off, it was clear who would win the battle. Terry
forgot he was just a producer for a moment and tried to play an
action star. In a last ditch effort to save his plastic surgery
tweaked face, Terry turned on the car, and put the petal to the
metal in reverse to try and shake Jim.

Instead, Zombie Jim just dug his teeth
in deeper while Terry lost his sense of direction and plowed his
car into the brick wall of the production office. The cars airbags
may have saved Terry's life from the crash, but nothing was going
to save him from a hungry Zombie.

And with Terry knocked out from the
crash, Jim was free to chow down on mogul munchies. Jim savored
every bite, leaving Terry looking like a victim from one of his big
budget action flicks. But there would be no hero's rescue. No
explosive ending. Just a Zombie eating until he reached bone, then
moving on to the next douche.

Luckily, there was no shortage of
pricks in Hollywood. And they started trickling into Stage 27 for
their cattle call.

Zombie Jim lurched over to the Stage
and clawed at the door, catching the attention of the local crew. A
Security Prick opened the door, acting like God's gift to glorified
bouncers.

"Hells no. ‘Zombies Eat Wall Street’ is
Stage 28 dawg," the Security Guard said, menacingly.

Jim wasn't just a brain-eater from some
schlocky Zombie book to movie retread though. He was the real deal.
And some rent-a-cop wasn't going to come between him and pay
dirt.

Jim didn't even have time to waste on
devouring the Security douche whole. He instead just made quick
work of the Guard, clamoring for a more delicious bite to
eat.

And Jim wasn't disappointed. Undead Jim
stammered backstage on the set of the latest legal cop medical
drama "Stiff Justice." The show was about a cop that uses his spare
law degree to arrest and prosecute punks everywhere while his
medical examiner wife is haunted by the ghosts of the autopsies
she's performed.

It was overwrought, derivative, and
completely unoriginal. It was also the most popular show in
television spawning spin-offs like "Stiff Justice: Boise" and
"Stiff Justice: Tuscaloosa."