Like any self-respecting author from my generation, I have written a trashy Zombie apocalypse novel that should probably stay hidden in the most remote folder on my computer, but because I love you guys so much (or hate or whatever), I have decided to share an excerpt of that novel with you. Enjoy.
My ass hurts. I suspect I’ve been bitten, though I pray that isn't the case, assuming I would have noticed if I had been, but in my wilder days, long before the infection turned us all wild, I had felt the sensation before. Of course, in those wild days, I would have enjoyed the bite; indeed, I might have even begged for more, but now, it makes me nervous—cautious whenever I sit down so as not to alert the suspicion of my peers. I wish I could have seen the frisky monkey who decided my ass would taste better than the brains further upstairs. If I had seen him, I’d have popped him right between his banana-loving eyes with the butt of my gun, and I would hit him and hit him again and again until his furry skull was spread across the African wilderness. For now, however, I will hold out as long as I can.
