The Vampire’s Wife’s Rant

So you think it’s cool to be a vampire? You’d like this living forever thing? Let me tell you, vampire is not so hot. I mean it’s cold if you want to know the truth. Always cold. Think about it. The man sucked my blood out. All of it. Blood is what keeps you warm. I’m cold. Even in summer I’m freezing my tush. I’d go out in the hot sun, but what would happen? I'd disintegrate, that’s what. And tan lines? Forget tan lines and nice complexion. A ghost has more color than a vampire.

And don’t even get me started on hair. You ever have a bad hair day? We’re talking Night of the Living Dead Hair day here. I’m dead, you know what I mean? The vampire sucked my blood out 723 years ago this coming July. Couldn’t even wait for school to start. No, he has to kill me in the middle of summer break. At the shore. In my medieval bikini. Yeah, we had bikinis back then. The kind with the special locks so you know you couldn’t mess around so much. But hey, we made out okay until that vampire hit town. Geez, I’m telling you.

Speaking of hair and complexion, think about checking yourself in the mirror. I mean, give me a freaking break. A girl’s gotta look, but what does she see? Nothing. Nada. No image. Not even your old dead face or a skeleton nor nothing.

So why does he make a girl a vampire? He wants a wife, he says. Someone he can love forever. You want to live forever? Join a church. Look, he sucks my blood out and then expects me to look good. You ever see a blonde with no blood? Not a pretty site, let me tell you. Dead looks gray and ashen. Your eyes don’t look so good rolled back in your head. Your boobies don’t have any lift. They just kinda lay there.

Dead. I’m dead. Every day I’m dead. I haven’t seen the sun for 723 years I’m so dead. So at night I come to life. Life? Give me a break. We’re talking undead here. Live forever? Walk around maybe, but alive? Alive means you can feel. You ever try to feel with dead fingers? You know what it’s like to have a long dead cold probe stuck in your you-know-where from an undead guy who thinks he’s hot but all he is is long dead? Cold dead. Dead, dead, dead. The only way he fills the thing up with blood is to go suck it out of somebody else. Now he’s doing me with someone else’s blood holding him up. You call that manhood? Give me a break. By the time he gets it going, it’s long cold and dead. Like screwing a bolt. Okay, a big bolt, but still a cold steel bolt.

Okay, I got off track there for a minute, but give me a break. How do you love a guy who sucked your blood out so he could get it on with somebody else? Anyway, I’m dead. He’s dead. And we’re stuck here. You think he murdered me for my looks? He says he did, but my looks aren’t so hot, you may have noticed. A little makeup maybe I’m not so so bad. I go from the look of a morgue babe to OD’d hooker with a little makeup but that’s as good as it gets. But he likes it. Okay, a lot of makeup. And it would be nice to check the old makeup job once in a while with a mirror. But no. Mirrors don’t work. I mentioned that, right?

He only took me because he wanted my body. Now, I’m his love slave. Hate slave is more like it. I mean, really. He never tries to carry on an intelligent conversation. It’s all about blood and sucking. It’s all he ever is interested in. Like I’m dead. Doesn’t he get it? I’m not exactly interested in messing around with him. Rigor mortis, despite everything you read about it, doesn’t make you horny.

To him, I’m just a love object. He just wants my body. Why he wanted it so cold is beyond me. But what do I  know? To him, I’m just another brainless zombie vampire wife. But I’m not a zombie. I’m a vampire who wishes someone would stake out her heart. I mean a little rest would be nice at night, you know what I mean? Every night it’s making with the bouncing springs and then the blood lust. Geez, if I never suck another person dry again, I’d be a happy camper. I mean, look at me. Do I appear like the kind of girl you’d ask out on a date? I mean, maybe like 700 years ago, but today? Take a gander at my teeth for crying out loud. Check out these ugly fangs. Can’t hardly talk straight with these things hanging out.

And no mirrors. Did I mentions the mirrors? And when you’re dead 700 years, don’t try to run a brush through your hair. I mean come on. If I find one more fly larvae in my hair, I’m going to scream. But let me tell you about mirrors…

…Will you shut up down there already.

Sorry, dear. Didn’t know you could hear. I was just talking to my supper.

You are staying for dinner, aren’t you?

For your reading consideration

My novels 
Have you ever run into evil incarnate in your local coffee shop? Or combine latte with lust? It happens to Micah Probert in Hags.

Did you ever wonder what Satan was up to while God was going about the business of sending Jesus to save the world? Find out in Fulfillment.

My Short Stories
Love may be just a  kiss away, but what if the kiss is packed with... well, Little Miss Forgotten is a short story so I better let you find out for yourself. Sorry Rick and Ilsa, but the fundamental rules don't always apply as time goes by.

You've known people who just fly off at the smallest things, right? Find out what set Egbert loose in this short story. What lurks in the darkness of Lower Wacker Drive?

Angel Thorns is a short story about a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
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A Cheerleader Miscalculation

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.

The pipe bombs and bullets fired in the direction of the factory workers started having an effect as they changed their tune from “Zom… zom… zom…” to “Moz… moz… moz” and retreated back into the helmet factory.

The cheerleaders made short work of the football players, using their hammers to cause the football players' batteries to malfunction.

“That was close,” said Mrs. Brombach.

“What is going on here?” asked Chief Martin.

“It’s the Zombot Approximation,” said Albert Bringlebaum. "They’re not exactly zombies and it’s not the apocalypse, but it’s not good either.”

Harry Wagfoot, the high school quarterback, removed his dysfunctional dystopian football helmet. “What happened?”

“You put on the wrong helmet,” I said. “Now we have to shut down the helmet factory.”

“Any ideas on how to do that?” asked Marylou.

Albert Bringlebaum waved a pipe bomb. “I’d crash the factory with the pickup filled with pipe bombs. I’ll time one to blow at about the time the pickup makes its way through that open truck entrance next to the main office. When the pipe bomb blows, it’ll make the rest of the bombs explode with it. Bye-bye factory.”

“And it’ll kill all the zombots inside?” Mrs. Brombach asked.

“Most of them. The rest we can either shut off with a hard smack to the helmet battery or simply shoot them. I’ve got enough guns and ammo in the pickup.” Albert Bringlebaum distributed the weapons while Chief Martin called for backup.

The explosion flattened the building. Turned out there were some highly inflammable chemical compounds used in the manufacture of helmets.

Later that evening, Mrs. Brombach cooked dinner while Marylou and I made out in the parlor. Albert Bringlbaum and Betsey Olson necked along side of us. We heard a loud truck noise outside on the street. Since Marylou and her mom lived on a quiet sidestreet, the four of us took a gander out the window.

We saw one of those eighteen wheelers rolling by. The side of the trailer was emblazoned with the helmet factory logo and a giant football player wearing a helmet. The driver looked a lot like Uncle Rantly.

"Daddy!" Betsey cried while hinting at another story best left unspoken considering Uncle Rantly's bachelor ways and Mrs. Olson's second husband Oliver who worked night shift at what used to be the helmet factory and my own tendency to write long sentences like this one.

The End… for now.

Zom… zom… zom

You have completed Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It was the product of my morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you enjoyed reading this series, try my full-length novel Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl standing alone at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
Enjoy this blog post? Please share it with your friends by clicking the social media buttons below.

The Square Root of Slow

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.

“Cake?” I answered when Chief Martin asked Albert Bringlebaum and me what was in the back of Mrs. Brambach’s pickup.

“And some pipe bombs,” said Albert whose human relations skills wouldn’t register on a Cool Meter let alone a Nerdometer.

“What kind of cake?” asked Chief Martin who owned shares in the local donut shop.

“Not my truck,” I said.

“And we have about half of my dad’s gun collection which should come in handy right about now.”

“Why now?” Chief Martin asked.

“The Zombot Football team for one and those cheerleaders headed this way with a crowd of helmet-manufacturing zombots in hot pursuit,” said Albert.

Chief Martin pointed his glock at the cheerleaders which could have had serious repercussions in a different kind of story. As the cheerleaders approached, we spotted Mrs. Brambach huffing behind them.

“Start the engine,” she yelled.

“What did she say?” asked Chief Martin.

“Something about stuttering penguins,” said Albert.

I jumped into the cab of the pickup, but the keys weren’t in it. “No keys,” I yelled.

“Use the pipe bombs, the cheerleaders miscalculated, called Mrs. Brambach.

“Hurry, the square root of slow is equal to the mass of digital helmet minus our brains,” yelled Betsey Olson.

As the cheerleaders reached the truck, Chief Martin opened fire while Albert Bringlebaum tossed pipe bombs at the helmet factory workers.

Meanwhile, the high school football team reached the back of the pickup truck while continuing the battle hymn of the zombots, “Zom… zom… zom.”

Click here to continue...

You are reading Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It's the product of my  morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you're enjoying this series, try Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl standing alone at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
Enjoy this blog post? Please share it with your friends by clicking the social media buttons below.

Betsey Olson Seeks Daddy

Do you want to start at the beginning of this series? Click here.

We piled into the pickup with the girls up front. Albert Bringlebaum and I rode in the truck bed with the pipe bombs and Albert’s stash of weapons.

We arrived at the helmet factory in about ten minutes. Someone had left it in an industrial park in Naperville.

Albert jumped off the truck with his rifle at the ready. “Stay behind me. I’ll do the shooting. Jude, you bring the pipe bombs.

I placed a hand on Albert’s shoulder from behind. He jumped about three feet off the ground.

“Dude, don’t do that!” Albert said.

“Sorry, but before you open fire, maybe we should ask Betsey to check things out. Her dad works here.”

Mrs. Brambach, Marylou and Betsey caught up with us.  They each carried a hammer.

“This is woman’s work,” Betsey Olson said. “You boys wait here while we calculate the best way to shut down the factory.”

Betsey placed a finger to her temple while scrunching up her pretty face. This lasted about ten seconds. “Piece of cake,” she said. “Follow me.”

“Wait, I’ve got cake in one of the bomb boxes,” said Albert.

“Won’t be necessary,” I said. “Let’s hang out here and let the ladies do their thing. We can always blow the factory up later.”

We waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Albert is not the kind of person you can hold a conversation with. I asked him how he thought the Cubs would do this year and he replied, “Yeah.”

While that may have been an accurate portrayal of the Cubs chances at winning a division title, it didn’t do anything to extend the conversation in the way a comment about the team’s first basemen may have.

I heard a car on the street. When I checked it out, I spotted Chief Martin in his patrol car. He pulled up to the pickup truck and climbed out.

A commotion down the street caught our attention. The high school football team marched towards us singing their new fight song, “Zom… zom… zom….”

Chief Martin said, “Weird way to practice football.” The chief poked about the boxes in the back of Mrs. Brambach’s pickup truck. “So what do you boys have here?”

Click here to continue...

You are reading Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It's the product of my  morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you're enjoying this series, try Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
Snippets sometimes grow up to become 99-cent short stories on Amazon. Enjoy.

Little Miss Forgotten Have you ever spotted a pretty girl standing alone at a dance? Any young man would be pleased with an opportunity to kiss her, but what if that proved to be a deadly idea? Humor and horror set in the 1960s.

In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

Angel Thorns tells the tale of a little girl caught up in an evil takeover of an isolated small town. Will that handsome young man who just rode in on a hog be able to help her? Keep the lights on for this horror with overtones of spiritual warfare.

Visit my Amazon author page by clicking here.

Here’s another novel idea…
Enjoy this blog post? Please share it with your friends by clicking the social media buttons below.