Uschi! (30 page)

“I don’t honestly care where they come from, best thing,” said Uschi. “I’m just thrilled they could join us. You don’t have any ideas of trying to make friends and ride them, do you?”

“Fuck no!” He said that with a tone as serious as a heart attack while behind the wheel driving along on the highway.

“I was hoping to hear that. I figure I’ll take myself on over there and eat on both for a spell.”

“Is there any chance I could convince you to think it would be better if we were to just leave them alone?”

“Oh, you big worrier, it’ll be alright. How often does a girl in this part of the world get to brag she lunched on vampire roadkill?”

The voluptuous like a racy Bill Ward pinup girl homemade zombie girlfriend began to sashay toward the pair. Her hands were resting on her swinging hips and the peanut butter and anti-freeze soup residing inside her wobbling oversized breasts was sloshing about like a half gallon’s worth of milk inside a gallon jug.

She whistled and cleared her throat a number of times in hopes of attracting their attention, but neither one seemed interested in abandoning the dead horse. It wasn’t until she rapped her knuckles hard against the StarKist can in her head and that unique metal on decayed flesh sound was successful in pulling Newbomb off the throat and turning eyes toward her.

His upper lip was curled back and the slick, gooey blood on him appeared in the pale moonlight the reddish-black color of a pickup truck’s brake fluid. He growled at her and it sounded the exact same as a chainsaw’s motor revving.

Uschi suggested with her ’60’s sex kitten bubbly purr, “Yo, Pampers, be a dear and come over here to me so that I can fuck up your sorry ass in naughty ways like it has never been fucked up before.”

Like the way an old timey burlesque dancer would wear a feathered boa wrapped around her neck, Newbomb carried a pair of automotive battery jumper cables, running down the shoulders and dangling past his knees. These were twenty-foot long four-gauge cables with color-coded insulation and vinyl-coated clamps. Lively and smoothly, as if it were as simple an act for him as peeling off the condom after concluding a rewarding fuck, Newbomb took the jumper cables in hand and lifted them off of him. He was like a Gaucho working a bola when he began to whirl them around and around over his head. They made a helicopter’s rotating tail rotary blade whooshing roar as they spun.

Uschi arched an eyebrow. “I got to admit, this I did not anticipate.”

Newbomb hurled one end of the jumper cables at her. They were propelled forward at an incredible speed and force. The red positive and black negative clamps whipped twice around Uschi’s neck and then cinched in tight. She was yanked forward and sent stumbling off balance on the toes of her cha-cha shoes. Her eyes she rolled at the embarrassment of getting caught in a predicament like this as her superstructure teetered and wavered on the verge of a complete collapse.

The other end of the cables Newbomb swung out low to the ground. These negative and positive clamps snaked about her left ankle and caught the leg before there was any chance of Uschi regaining some semblance of equilibrium. One fierce tug took her foot out from under her and there was no way now she was going to keep upright. “Oh fuckity-fuck!” she exclaimed and toppled backwards. Her tailbone landed with a mean determination on the unyielding street surface.

Newbomb stepped forward and stood over her, looked down on her with his head turned at a diagonal angle. He was unaware at the time, but this was his first ever zombie encounter. He believed he recognized Uschi.

“I know you, don’t I?” he said and shook a finger at her. “You use to be kinda halfway famous. You’re that bosomy kissing bandit bitch that back in the eighties would run out onto the baseball fields and smooch the players. Yeah, I saw you plant one on Nolan Ryan this one time. Damnation, girl, you done went and let yourself get fearsomely ugly. Ugh. I’ve seen assholes on livestock that were prettier than what you and your face have got to offer. We’re talking a skank ugly that makes sure to pay all its gross taxes fully and promptly every April fifteenth. Here I am now trying to make up my mind whether it’s worth the mild effort to get your autograph or not.”

Talk of a high caliber class of ugliness prompted Van Valkenburgh to cease licking the rich slather of plasma off of horse organs and rise up from his hands and knees and join the down on her ass Uschi and his fellow creature of the night in the center of Nyman Road.

Uschi stared up at the both of them, her hands cupping her tremendous breasts, and said in a sunshine, lollipops and comic books illustrated by Joe Kubert cheery tone, “Stop smoking in time and you’ll have lungs as healthy as mine.”

The reference was incredibly obscure, and not surprisingly the vampires didn’t catch it. But Denny Gleeth, who owned a copy of the June 1983 issue of
Playboy
, did. Even in the face of such horrible conditions, he still was able to giggle about it.

A giggling that drew a vampire’s notice. Van Valkenburgh turned his head in Denny’s direction. He studied intensely on a squirming where he stood Denny for a heartbeat or two. Then the grin he gave told he approved of what he saw and he started to pregnant momma waddle toward him, his abundant belly leading the way and the soft, flabby man boobs meat spilling out over the sides of his wifebeater T-shirt rippling with his every step. He was scat singing the theme music to
The Rockford Files
to himself and his chunky white thighs rubbed together as he was in motion and he had to work at it to ignore the uncomfortable sweaty friction feeling so he wouldn’t loose his jolly mood.

“You find something funny in all of this? Okay. I can appreciate a sense humor in my food. Know what I find humorous?” And out of the ass pocket of his slacks that didn’t contain the first mystery novel penned by the Academy Award winning co-star of
Cool Hand Luke
he produced the mowing blade from a Sears Craftsman riding lawn mower. One end of it was wrapped heavily in black electrical tape to fashion a crude handle for gripping. “I always find good for a chuckle the opportunity to present to some bug-eyed and bad teeth dicklicker a proper and up close and personal wet and sloppy slaughtering. Yeah, buddy, here we go.”

Vampire versus a fired over the phone Blockbuster Video store employee. Hot damn, this was truly to be a confrontation for the ages.

Van Valkenburgh swung the mower blade at the face—a cold-blooded downward vertical swipe—and, miracles of miracles, Denny did something to protect himself. Faster than he had ever moved before, he managed to sidestep and evade having his head slashed open. Van Valkenburgh, his hair tentacles fanning out around his pumpkin round head like a gorgon on a bad hair day, was lax to bring his arm back in close to him quickly, and this gave Denny the opportunity to go on the offensive. He went after the obese vampire’s wrist, snatching at it and leaning over and biting down and sinking his big, crooked teeth deep in it.

“What the what?” This pained and inconvenienced Van Valkenburgh about as much as would an itch on the end of his dick. He looked down at his chomped on arm and couldn’t decide whether this spectacle should drive him to shit his pants or go blind. “Boy, you are tragically confused. I am supposed to be the one here that do the biting—not you. Behave yourself. You’re making a scene.”

Denny was not a fighter. He didn’t know the first thing about how to throw a punch or put a chokehold on an opponent or any other manly self-defense shit. He just went with what seemed comfortable and came easiest to him. So the biting. And kicking. He started to raise a leg and repeatedly kicked at Van Valkenburgh’s shins while his jaws remained clamped down on the wrist. His Converse sneakers didn’t manage much damage, but they kept trying.

Now Van Valkenburgh was outright laughing at him. He looked to his fellow bloodsucker, Newbomb, and said, “Do you believe this tomfoolery? I swear, this boy has got more goofy in him than the Saturday morning cartoons.”

Distracted as he was, the tight grip on the mower blade was something he became forgetful of. It grew slack and loose. From the corner of his eye, Denny spotted the fingers relax and the blade droop. Van Valkenburgh was barely bothering to keep clasping the thing. There it all of a sudden was—just shit eating grin perfect for the picking. Denny had to go for it.

Please let me do something right for just once in my life.

Denny whipped his own hand out and plucked the blade out of Van Valkenburgh’s hold while simultaneously giving up on the kicking and removing his teeth from the wrist.

Van Valkenburgh’s head came swinging back around to face Denny the split-second he registered the theft. There was surprise and agitation on his puffy face. “Hey!” he snarled between bloody fangs.

“Hay is for horses, douchebag.”

Denny swung that razor-sharp solid steel motherfucker like he was Prince Valiant going to town with a broadsword.

So fast. So accurate. So effective against the portly vampire.

The lawn mower blade came in on a horizontal slice perfectly parallel with Van Valkenburgh’s bunched shoulders. It traveled effortlessly into the neck an inch or less under the jawline, cutting through sinew and fatty flesh like a hot knife doing what it does best on butter. There was only a momentary spot of resistance when blade connected with neck bone—a contact harsh enough to make Van Valkenburgh’s skull vibrate like a just rung bell and the fangs in his mouth to rattle and the bloody saliva pooled under his tongue to fizz—then it was past and exiting the body on the opposite side.

Beautiful, flawless decapitation.

“I did it!”

The jumper cables coiled tight around Uschi’s throat couldn’t stop her from praising her man. “That’s my best thing. Cutting heads off and giving nothing but misery to the folks we don’t like.”

Van Valkenburgh’s untethered noggin, with picture perfect “Oh calamity!” expression to the face, tipped backwards and fell clear of the body it only until just recently was a major part of. There was a dull smack and very little of a bounce when it struck the street pavement.

Dissolution immediately followed. The meat of Van Valkenburgh had no hesitancy to assume the density of warm nasal mucus and trickled off the skull and skeletal frame. All bone matter timely followed the same path and joined the watery flesh in a bubbling hot pool that cooked away in seconds. Clothing and the George Kennedy mystery novel crumbled to ashes. The dark coloring in the blacktop’s tar where the remains once lay was permanently leached out, leaving behind a nauseating pale splotch.

Denny the fearless vampire killer was actually driven to get a touch boastful. With his newly acquired mower blade weapon cradled in the crook of an arm, his chest puffed out and chin raised, he smirked and remarked, “Sweet Claudia Jennings, I think that went pretty goddamn admirable.”

“You are so going to get the fucking of a lifetime as soon as I’m done tangling with Pampers.”

And that was Uschi’s cue to go on the attack against Newbomb. He happened to be standing in easy range for her to kick. The foot that wasn’t entangled with battery jumper cables Uschi raised and launched in a piston motion at Newbomb’s closest available leg.

Those cha-cha shoes she wore were damn well-made footwear. Uschi had already worn them through hell and back and treated them with all sorts of abuse, but still they kept holding it strong and remaining stylish and doing for her what she needed them to do. Satan given brute force drove the heel to lance the kneecap and shatter it as if it were no more than a cheap sheet of old, brittle fiberglass.

The whole knee ruptured like spoiled fruit in the grip of a squeezing hand, spraying scarlet fluids. The leg buckled. Newbomb, never in enough pain to bother with screaming but still a deal distressed, struggled on one leg to remain upright.

The jumper cables were unwrapped from around Uschi’s ankle and neck. She rose to her feet and came after the diaper boy with malevolent intentions on her specially designed brain. She had a squeezed open cable clamp clutched in each of her rotted green hands.

The red positive clamp she closed shut on his right man-titty and the black negative pinched down on the left one. The tiny triangular teeth fashioned into the clamps bit down on him like a pair of starved weasels desperate for meat. They chewed through the mesh of his Mavericks jersey and instantly drew a steady trickle of blood. They forlornly dangled and swayed on Newbomb’s breasts like the tasseled pasties attached to a depressed stripper whose heart wasn’t into her performance. Then an evil laughing Uschi gave the clamps a sudden and hard twist, one nipple taken for a ride clockwise and the other going counter.

“The purple nurples from hell, shitstain,” she taunted him.

This maybe wasn’t anything that could harm a vampire, but it was definitely something that could put him in a screaming freak panic. No dude, be he alive or Anne Rice material, cares to see his male bosoms so criminally mistreated.

When done twisting, she then repositioned her hold on the cables and tugged on them powerfully enough to uproot his man-titties. Thus was born a backyard double mastectomy. They tore off his chest with a juicy ripping sound and left in their wake a ruined basketball jersey and two gushing craters on his upper torso.

A roundhouse pimp slab Uschi happily put upon Newbomb’s head was the follow through, a potent enough strike to cause an alive and in his prime Andre the Giant to stutter step and drool like a moron. It took any desire for mischief or hostility right out of every last cell in Newbomb’s creature of the night carcass. Sorry to break your heart, Bela Lugosi, but the homemade zombie girlfriend totally outclassed this bloodsucking asshole in every category of monster mayhem. The lowly vampire didn’t have any last remaining hope of turning things around and surviving this confrontation.

Adding humiliation to Newbomb’s tittiless shame, the adhesive snaps holding up his adult diaper picked that moment to surrender the last of their stickiness and came undone. Diaper fell to the wayside and nosferatu genitalia became exposed. It was an unwholesome unveiling. Newbomb was revealed to be a small-dick-equipped unfortunate. The thing in question was an uncircumcised and malformed sea cucumber no longer than a Vienna sausage.