Attack of the Blogland Zombies: Chapter One
Before I left for Chicago, this site was abuzz with a discussion of Nick Olsen's very shiny apartment that had recently graced the pages of Lonny. The whole post was prompted by someone referring to me as a Blogland Zombie for hating on Nick's apartment. I love the moniker and apparently a bunch of other people did too. Julie Warner, the First Lady of appliances in Minneapolis , wondered what an attack of the Blogland Zombies might look like. The last comment posted to that original post painted just that picture.
Bravewolf, a commenter's commenter, penned a story so fantastic it deserves a post of its very own. Without further ado, I bring you Bravewolf's Attack of the Blogland Zombies.
The middle-elderly woman swirled as much as the man in a flurry of black lace and garters.
"And what could Sir be inquisitive about tonight? I suppose that Sir is new to our establishment?"
"Yes, uh, what I imply is that I've never... Mother, you realize, would no longer have accredited, however the men at work, properly they have all been right here and that they said that I ought to, well, that it turned into a very high-quality, uh, status quo right here and I, uh..."
"I see, Sir," said the lady briskly. "I know simply who would be the high-quality choice for Sir, if Sir might be top sufficient to indicate which gender he's usually interested in this night."
"Oh, uh, girls."
"Very desirable; I will send Penelope down."
"Uh, thank you very a whole lot."
The man sat gingerly in opposition to the leopard print pillows and tried to ignore the faceless silhouette paintings on the partitions. It became very obviously the form of establishment that Mother might in no way have authorised of. He ought to nevertheless listen her voice.
"Glossy purple paint is the sign of the satan, Matthew, and do not you forget about it! Remember that Susan Mae? Her mother advised me that no longer three months after she painted her room a glossy red with white accents, she ran off with that Baker boy, got herself pregnant and he had to marry her! You live faraway from that type of interior decorator, you listen me?"
He stood up abruptly, nearly catching the rough rope of the silver tray on the coffee desk and sending the whole tea provider on the floor. The round reflect mocked his efforts at calm, displaying him a sweaty red face in a rumpled blouse.
"Mister Smith?"
"Yes!" he blurted, whirling round and beholding a stunning girl clad simplest in a silk negligee. As she walked toward him, he noticed an unpleasant smell and looked nearer. Her pores and skin became gray. Her eyes have been lifeless. She was a zombie. Behind her came Madam's nice inquiry, "Is Sir thrilled with Penelope?"
"No! I mean yes! I imply, I think Mother desires me to pick out up milk!" he babbled as he tripped over a white urn-like pottery jar in his blind quest to locate the door and maintain tune of Penelope's increase, the attractive wiggle becoming a clumsy dazzling shamble as her mouth opened and a low moan escaped her.
The front door wouldn't open. He had opened it himself, now not twenty mins ago. The red walls now seemed like they have been melting, strolling into patches of blue and white and surrounding him with their low-VOC stickiness.
All pretense laid aside, Penelope bared her tooth as her stagger have become extra violent and she leaped closer to his throat. He screamed in desperation and melancholy as her onslaught burst past his terrified fingers and her enamel snapped close on his-
"Mr. Smith! Mr. Smith! Wake up!"
"No! Mother, I didn't mean to-" he flailed for a moment, still seeing the blackened teeth en route to his jugular.
"Calm down, Mr. Smith. Evidently the new anxiety remedy failed to work for you. We're going to position you to your former medication until we can sort this out."