Night of the Living Renal Failure: Part 6October 31, 2008
We run out of gas a few blocks away from Strippers Row, but luckily the zombie hordes are somewhere else. So Tina the Lesbian and I hoof it to Swashbucklers, where we notice a fine powdery substance running across the sidewalk and the street.
“Hey! Don’t break the circle!”
We look up at the roof of Swashbuckler’s where there’s a hooker with a rifle. “That’s sea-salt and it makes up the circle of protection that keeps the zombies out of this neighborhood
“We’re friends of Avonia the Wiccan Pimp,” I say. “Is she around?”
The hooker is nice enough to lead us to Avonia the Wiccan Pimp, who is busy casting fire balls into oil drums for her flock of hookers, strippers, and Wiccans from her coven to warm themselves by.
“Welcome to AvoniaVille, my friends,” Avonia the Wiccan Pimp says. “It is good to see you.”
Apparently after the zombies ate her husband Arawn, Avonia summoned the ultimate power of the Earth Protector Goddess to guide her actions. Those actions included chucking fire spells at zombies, casting a circle of protection around her neighborhood, and building an army of prostitutes like in Sin City. Except this time, a hooker army might actually be plausible.
This is also when Tina and I notice that there is a 20-to-1 female-to-male ratio in this last outpost of humanity… and suddenly we start liking this zombie holocaust a lot more than we once did.
And then that night it rains, washing away the salt circle and dissolving our circle of protection. The zombies figure this out rather quickly and soon the whores and Wiccans are locked in mortal combat against an army of the undead. And the whores and wiccans are losing, because they suck at aiming rifles.
There will be no Trent Lott rolling in to save the day in his Escalade, because I can see his zombified body out on the field of battle ripping out a whore’s brains and putting them in his pimp cup. Still, even undead, his hair is flawless.
“Well… this looks like the end,” Avonia says, spiritually exhausted from casting fireball after fireball at the unending waves of zombies. “You two escape while you can. The Crone calls to me, and I feel Hecate’s hand on my shoulder. My fate is with my coven, and my stable of whores.”
“See ya,” I say. “Come on, Tina.”
“I’m staying too,” says Tina the Lesbian.
“Is this because you don’t want to repopulate the rest of the human race with me?” I say.
“Sort of,” says Tina the Lesbian. “But really I’m staying because I love Avonia. Samurai Cathy’s story touched me, and I will not forgo my last chance to show someone how I feel about them.”
“You do know Avonia’s not a lesbian, right?” I say.
“But in these last moments I’m willing to experiment,” Avonia says. “Come stand at my side, my sapphic Valkyrie, and together these zombies will taste our wrath.”
I stay long enough to see them taste each others tongues, and then I run like fuck until I find a Rent-a-Car place and steal myself a hybrid car, because here in the zombie apocalyptic future, gas mileage is everything. I drive west, hoping to eventually reach Australia.
A couple days later I hear that my town was blown up by a hydrogen bomb. No, the US government didn’t drop it on the town to contain the outbreak. Years ago, our City Council Leader Suitcase of Scorpions (R) had used his government connections to have a hydrogen bomb based under City Hall. This was because Suitcase of Scorpions had seen the movie Red Dawn and swore that no foreign power would ever take our town. And thus was started “Operation Fuck You We’re Taking All of You With Us.” No one knows who set the bomb off, but I have my suspicions. Psycho Dave never met an object he couldn’t make explode, and Tag Larkin would probably set the bomb off just to keep warm.
I just keep on driving, wondering why I’m still alive. Then a little voice tells me it’s because I’m the one telling the story.
Well if it’s my story, can’t I change it? Yeah, I suppose I can.
All righty then, forget the zombies. Forget everyone dying. None of this happened. Just chalk up this week’s worth of posts as a non-canon Halloween adventure, because it sure as hell beats reading about this damn American election for one more week, don’t it.