A Famished Adventure with Glinda the Good Bitch & @TheAnnieWalls #FourthWallFriday
How to Kill Famished with a Stiletto by Glinda, The Good Bitch
She is killing me slowly with the wait for book three (see below for synopsis). This is a zombie series which when I read the first book (Taking the Undead) I would constantly check on Amazon to see if Book 2 was out yet. When I went to Annie’s website I saw a call for the cover reveal of book two and JUMPED all over that like zombies in a summer camp. I have since been lucky enough to be a member of her minions and she has been an amazing Facebook fiend too! Now… let’s find out how Glinda, one of my favorite characters, takes out the famished who get in her way of some Urban Decay lipstick!
I got this. Ain’t nothin’ but a chicken wang. The only thing standin’ between my favorite Urban Decay lipstick and me is a funky fuck glidin’ its stanky face all over the slidin’ glass doors of Sephora. Of course, it’s been a long time since these doors opened automatically. My nose scrunches as some of its skin sticks and pulls away from the skull, leavin’ the cheekbone exposed. I shudder. Ugh, why do them dead ‘ems have to be so nasty?
I glance to the woman with the pen and paper, hopin’ she’ll answer my unspoken question. She only smiles. Slowly, I raise my middle finger. The bitch. Fuck her and her long, shiny hair of shit brown. This only makes her laugh harder.
Kan lets out a puff of air like she’s all frustrated, bringing me back to our task. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she says, stretching her neck from side to side. I can’t believe I’m doin’ this either. My eyes cut back to Annie. She watches me, makin’ me feel in control—like she ain’t the one behind the wheel.
I point my shiny nude-colored fingernail at Kan. “Look here, Suga. I don’t need your attitude. Maybe we can make this party worthwhile and find some limited edition shit. We’re in Hollywood after all.”
Kan just stands there, starin’ at me like I’ve lost my last marble. I know she’s gonna say somethin’ smartass as soon as her little eyebrow pops up in that natural arch she’s got goin’ on. Lucky bitch. I gotta pluck my shit everyday for that arch.
“I just blew up half a block of THE Walk of Fame so you can loot lipstick.”
See? She just can’t help herself. Annie tilts her head as if she agrees with Kan, and much in the same manner as Kan, she lifts her brow and points to the dead ‘em. Just fuckin’ darin’ me.
We look around the carnage that seems to follow us wherever we go. Even before the explosion, Hollywood wasn’t Hollywood anymore. Even the big ass white letters are gone. The ones in all the movies. I think the boys argued for a good hour on what could have happened to them.
As we watch debris from Kan’s bomb float down toward the ground, it’s eerily the only sound except for the wet squeakin’ of Rotten Face givin’ the door a cuddle. Now that I think about it, the sound dominates all others. The dead ‘ems gunk is smeared in a jagged trail on the glass—kind of like a snail that drank too much tequila. Nasty.
Nasty. Looking at Annie, I ask, “Why do they gotta be so nasty?”
Annie laughs while scribblin’ in her little notebook. Kan now looks at me like I’ve not only lost my marbles, but the little net sack to hold them in. “Because they’re dead?” she asks, clearly confused about my inner turmoil.
I sigh and put my fist on my hip. Kan mocks my stance, throws her dreadlocks back, and flutters her eyelashes. Drama queen. Her hip is stuck so far out, her body looks cock-eyed.
“Careful with that hip, you’ll break it. And anyway, no worries, I’ll get you something, too. I know a great palette. It’s called, ‘Too Faced,’ and it’s perfect to bring out those hazel peepers of yours.” I giggle as her face goes a shade paler and she stands straighter. For some reason, she don’t mind lookin’ all like a soup kitchen dweller. I don’t. If I’m gonna get eaten alive, I’m gonna have the best red lips while screamin’ bloody murder for Kan to kill my ass and make it quick.
I ignore Annie’s laughter. She thinks she’s such a fuckin’ Einstein. Kan jerks her chin toward the doors. “You’re in luck. Enough time has passed to know there’s only the one.”
THANK GOD, but I don’t say that out loud. “I do it, and you carry whatever I want? And Reece never finds out about our little impromptu trip?”
Kan raises her hands, the crossbow she holds a mere extension of her body, like that dude with the chainsaw arm in that one movie. I don’t remember the name of it—shit was too scary and bloody for me. I narrow my eyes at Annie. I know she knows her shit, so why she need to make me so fuckin’ ditzy at times?
Kan’s voice pulls me to attention, “Yes, but you better hurry. Our distraction won’t last forever. And you have to say it.”
They both wait with patient expressions to see what I’ll do.
I roll my eyes, gather my blond hair into a ponytail, and step out of my six point five inch stilettos. Anything shorter ain’t worth the time. I don’t want my shoes to say, ‘Fuck me.’ I want them to say, ‘Fuck me and fuck me hard. While you’re at it, slap my ass and pull my hair.’ Annie sends me a wry smile as if she approves of my last thoughts. Kinky bitch.
Kan drops her bag in front of me and I dig in. Finding what I need, I slip on my rock ‘em, sock ‘em, let’s kill some dead ‘em shoes and tie the strings into pretty bows.
Kan groans, “You’re stalling.” Annie chuckles.
“Fine, fine. Don’t get your panties in a wad.” I catch Kan fightin’ a smile as I stand and help the girls perk up some in my bra.
Kan holds up a finger for me to wait a second as she does the grunt work by pryin’ the doors open.
The smell hits me first. It’s thick—decay and death. The only way to describe it. Tastes like shit, too. I gag, but choke it back as Kan follows the dead ‘em with her crossbow. I shake my head at her, grippin’ my stiletto. A groan escapes the dead ‘em as its arms reach out for me as if it wants to hug and be buddies. I smack one arm away, but the other lands on my own. I jump back and scream at the clammy feel. “Oh, that’s nasty!” Panic starts to rise as Kan says somethin’, but I squeeze my eyes closed and blindly strike out over and over. Cold wetness splatters across my bare skin and the smell gets worse. Eventually the stiletto sticks, and the body slumps to the ground.
I peek one eye open to see my ‘fuck me and fuck me hard’ shoe stickin’ out at an awkward angle from its temple. Kan stares down at it with her mouth wide open. Annie’s disappeared, much to my relief. Gross stuff leaks out all over my shoe. “There ain’t no way in hell I’m pullin’ that thang out.”
After a few seconds, Kan smiles at me. For some reason, killing dead ‘ems seems to make her panties wet. Well, I guess it does relieve stress. “I can’t believe you actually did it,” she says.
I shake out my hands, feelin’ like a hundred bucks. Although, I still don’t think gettin’ all gross is worth the effort for stress relief. There are better ways—like sex. Works every time. “Me either, now let’s shop.”
We move into the store together, kicking trash out of our way. “Wait. You didn’t say it,” she reminds me.
“Fine. That’s how you kill famished with a stiletto.” I even make little quotations with my fingers.
She laughs and tosses me a questioning glance. “What color are you looking for anyway?”
I purse my lips, eying the color before pickin’ it up and turnin’ it around in my fingers. It’s like the heavens done opened and shined a light down. And fuck me, Angels might even be singin’. “It’s called F-Bomb.” My lips are doin’ a happy dance just knowin’ they’re gettin’ ready to get F-Bombed. Hell, I’m doing a happy dance gettin’ a upgrade from feelin’ like a hundred bucks to a million. I smooth some on and smack my lips in the mirror on the dusty glass counter. Bright red. Shiny. Sexy.
Kan smiles, and it’s contagious. “It’s my way of saying fuck the apocalypse.”
I say before winkin’ and air kissin’ my reflection, but it’s not my reflection. It’s Annie’s, and I’ll be damned if F-Bomb looks better on her than me. Yeah, fuck the apocalypse and the horrible shit she puts us through.
Living with the Dead
by Annie Walls
on Summer 2014
For three years, life is strenuous for Kansas Moore as she travels with her team and saves more people from the clutches of the revolutionists. On the downtime, they bide time by constructing and enlisting for their own cause.
When the general assigns her to search for a missing loved one, she turns to the team and what they find overturns everything they’ve learned so far.
In this dramatic conclusion of the Famished Trilogy, things are not what they seem and comfortable living is far from reach.
This book contains graphic violence, intense language, sexual situations, drug use, and is intended for a mature audience.