Amazombia

Description

I’m no good with blurbs, but I got a million stories. No, I’m not telling you about Zombie Elvis. Everyone is always pestering me about that story. Sure, it’s a good story, but it ain’t the one I had in mind.

How I became a slave? What is this, amateur night? Am I asking you how you got that bite mark on your arm? I should, you know . . . don’t worry. You got time before you turn. Besides, it matches the chunk that zombie took out of your neck. He had teeth like Gary Busey, didn’t he? Boy, I’m glad he got you and not me.

Don’t worry, you’ll make a great zombie. How do I know? I’m an expert, the gurgling of air through that neck wound sounds legit. How can I apply pressure to your wounds AND tell my story? Sheesh. Were this Vegas, you would be . . . well, you’d be dead. They don’t care for zombies up there, that’s why I live in the jungle. Only run into the occasional zombie down here, and . . . well, you found him. Good job. No, there is nothing I can do for you. Look on the bright side, you’ll be immortal! And I can’t kill you on account that this is Amazon turf, and them gorgeous girls got a thing for zombies. They’ll slap a dog cone collar on you and you’ll end up in a petting zoo living it up, or uh . . . decaying slowly. See what you did here? Pestering me about Elvis and your stupid bite marks, and now the blurb is done and I didn’t even get a chance to tell my story.