Countdown to the release of Nessie Strange’s new book: Living Dead Girl
Countdown to Release Day, Part 1: Characters Behaving Badly
I’m taking over this blog.
Yeah, that’s right. You heard me. Jack Norris here, looking to tear down the walls of this Living Dead…wait, what? Man, that’s lame. Living Dead World? It’s like a Rob Zombie rip-off. This is the deal, internet people. The author claims that she’s busy and doesn’t have time to blog. Well, you know what? I call bullshit. Anyone with a couple of brain cells to rub together can type some words in Blogger. I think she’s just fuckin’ lazy. I think–
“Jack, that’s really rude. You’re not actually going to publish that, are you?” My girl Jen is leaning over my shoulder, reading what I just wrote. And looking like she’s gonna smack me right now. I slouch back in my chair and grin at her.
She rolls her eyes. “I thought you were going to take this seriously.”
“Babe, I am taking this so fucking seriously you would not even believe it.”
“I,” she kisses me, “call bullshit.”
I grab her hand and pull her onto my lap. “Don’t you find it just a little creepy this writer chick seems to know everything about us?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s just what they do.”
>“I guess.” I try to distract Jen with a whole lot of other kisses, but she breaks away from me, laughs and stands up.
“Come on, get to work. We can do that later.”
“Man, I don’t even remember what she wanted me to write about. I kinda tuned her out after a while.”
“The book,” she says.
“What book?” I love giving her a hard time.
“Living Dead Girl.” Jen is trying not to laugh. I know she thinks she’s hiding it, but she always gets this little smirk on her face. Totally gives it away.
“Dude, that’s a pretty cool fuckin’ tune.”
“Jack.” She’s giving me the look again. You know, the one that means I’m pushing my luck?
“Fine,” I say with an exaggerated sigh. “The book.” I crack my knuckles.
This book is real fucking good. It’s the best book I ever—
“Ow!” I rub the back of my head where Jen just whacked me.
“Be serious,” she says.
“I am.” Well, sort of. I stare at the screen for a while. Crack my knuckles. Where do I begin?