The votes have been counted, my friends. The Zombie Idol has been named.
Before I reveal your Zombie Idol, however, I just want to say a few things.
Tomorrow, this blog will return to all the normal topics . . . I'll be telling you the exciting news about Suite Scarlett, I'll be reporting on the comings and goings of various writers, I will be dispensing writerly wisdom. And it is not far-fetched to assume that I may even be paid a visit by Our Favorite Writer of Wizard Fiction. It's been too long and too quiet--she is almost certainly biding her time.
But now . . . now the zombies are still with us. It is a golden hour.
Though I started Zombie Idol, I certainly didn't do it alone. First, I have to thank Your Celebrity Judges: Meg Cabot, John Green, Justine Larbalestier, and E. Lockhart. They joined me in looking over the hundreds of amazing zombies that came our way.
Your Celebrity Judges spent many hours reading your entries.
But it wasn't Your Celebrity Judges who made Zombie Idol happen, either.
It was YOU.
You knew that the humble zombie is too often shoved to the side, smacked over the head with a shovel, or blasted with a shotgun. You know that many people only see zombies as the homicidal, shambling undead . . . and okay, they are the homicidal, shambling undead . . . but there's so much more to them.
YOU were the ones who set aside whatever it was you were doing . . . homework, mindless web surfing, looking at LOLcats, practicing magic tricks, juggling, doing important research on communicable diseases . . . all to put a zombie in a book.
YOU inserted a zombie into Gone with the Wind.
YOU had a zombie eat Draco Malfoy's brain.
YOU made Bella Swan into an undead girlfriend.
YOU converted the works of Dickens, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Dickinson, Melville, Proust, Byron, Joyce, Plath, Kipling, Lewis, Conrad, Elliot, Kafka, Shakespeare, Wells, Poe, Tolkien, Salinger, Atwood, Sendak, Frost, Twain, Carroll, Jackson, Nietzsche, Dumas, Woolf . . .
YOU were the reason I have now read a zombified version of Love Story by Eric Segal.
YOU forever changed Faulkner for me by writing the line, "My mother is a zombie."
YOU big-upped the wisdom of Austen with the line, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single zombie in possession of a good appetite, must be in want of some brains."
Oh, some called you mad . . . but did you care? Hell, no! You wrote on, long into the night, knowing that somewhere out there . . . in some dark street or graveyard . . . a little zombie was getting his chance to shine.
They tried to stop you, didn't they? They tried to drag you away! They didn't want zombies to have a chance in Fine Literature. But you fought!
Sometimes, it came to violence, but you never backed down.
I don't mean to get sentimental here but . . .
*sniffs*
. . . it's all been down to you, every step of the way.
And now . . . now we will crown our zombie. The zombie chosen by you to lead all zombies in our revolution.
The winner of this very, very, very close race is . . .
How to Be a Zombie, by Adrienne.
I am now proud to present Adrienne's acceptance speech:
"It is a great honor to be held in such high zombie esteem. I am proud to have been chosen amidst so many brilliant competitors, especially Danielle's retelling of Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout. I will always make sure to take my corpses out from now on, and I think Danielle would do well to write a new "Cautionary Tales for Children." It would be the must read for wise parents and children alike.
This marks a new course for me, as I think I will pursue zombie research and writing full-time. Look my illustrated line of inspirational undead posters and greeting cards to hit a graveyard near you in the coming apocalypse. And finally, for all my fellow necromancers, may the living never have their shotguns at the ready, any may your stares be ever steely and blank. Our time draws nigh, friends."
- Adrienne
There are few things I want more than a line of inspirational undead posters and greeting cards.
Tomorrow, news and updates . . . tonight . . . let us toast our ZOMBIE IDOL!
VOTING IS NOW CLOSED. PLEASE RETURN AT 9 PM EST FOR THE ZOMBIE IDOL AWARD ANNOUNCEMENT.
They shambled in.
They showed their stuff.
Brains have been eaten.
We have bitten nails in nervous anticipation.
And now . . . now it is here. The ZOMBIE IDOL FINAL . . . the biggest awards for the undead in ALL OF HISTORY.
Many have come and many have tried, but there can only be one. And in the next 24 hours, that decision will be made. Zombie lovers everywhere are planting themselves in front of their computers, ready to vote. No one seemed to watch the Oscars last night, and is it any surprise? Everyone was getting in their snacks and settling down for their ZOMBIE IDOL PARTIES!
Now is the time to choose. Now . . . now the real battle begins.
Sit yourself down! Get a snack! It’s time!
First, we must crown the winner of Round Two, which was (as I suspected) a total knock-down, drag-‘em-out until the very end. It was a shockingly close contest, which kept twisting and spinning as I tracked the results. But a winner did emerge.
The winner of Round Two was “Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take The Garbage Out” by Shel Silverstein, by Danielle. Danielle! Send in your address! You are the winner of the FIRST SUITE SCARLETT OUT OF THE BOX!
And now . . . now our two zombies face off.
The final two, face to face.
Here it is again, for your consideration.
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would not take the corpses out! She'd chase the humans and groan out loud, Be evil and kill all the bodies in a crowd, And though her daddy would scream and shout, She simply would not take the corpses out. And so they piled up to the ceilings: Leaking kidneys, no more feelings, The ghostly sounds of human screams And chunks of spleen. They filled the can, they covered the floor, They cracked the windows and blocked the doors With skin rinds and broken bones, Drippy ends of pancreas all alone, Noses, stomachs, livers, Enough to make humans fearfully shiver, Ribs and hips, Soggy eyes and cracked wrists, Crusts of larynx , Grisly bits of pharynx. . . The corpses rolled on down the hall, They raised the roof, they broke the walls. Greasy skin, teeth crumbs, Globs of bloody gums, Nerves from spines, Rubbery blubbery intestines, Hands, caked and dry, Crusts of eyes, Old colons, dried up guts, Yellow lumps of brains and butt. Zombie mouths eating human meat, Cold and rancid feet. At last the corpses reached so high That they finally touched the sky. And all the zombies moved away, And none of her friends would come to play. And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said, "OK, I'll take the corpses out!" But then, of course, it was too late. . . The corpses reached across the state, From New York to the Golden Gate. And there, in the corpses she did hate, Poor Sarah met an awful fate, That I cannot now relate Because the hour is much too late. But zombies, remember Sarah Stout And always take the corpses out!
Where the sidewalk ends . . . zombies thrive!
And in the other corner . . . returning after one week . . . the extremely popular HOW TO BE A ZOMBIE by Adrienne K.
Never stay dead. Learn to watch from shadows. Spread incurable viruses. Invite slow runners to tea. Collect occipital lobes and put them all over your house. Make friends with fear and trepidation. Look forward to nightmares. Make men cry in movies. Eat brains naked. In moonlight. Cultivate apocalypse. Refuse to “be entombed.” Do it for evil. Take lots of innocents. Give undeath away. Do it now. The living will follow. Believe in the cursed. Groan a lot. Celebrate every gorgeous medulla oblongata. Take bloodbaths. Steal others’ wild imaginings through transformative cerebrum-sucks. Revel in perfect chaos. Draw on the walls. With gnawed-off knuckles. Imagine yourself victorious. Giggle at shot guns. Listen to old people wail. Open them up. Dive in. Be free. Damn yourself. Drive in the fear. Play with entrails. You are unholy. Build a fort with corpses. Get revenge. Hug graves. Roam aimlessly. Massacre.
Can HOW TO BE A ZOMBIE take out this new challenger?
The time now is 7:00 PM, Eastern Standard time in the United States. The ZOMBIE IDOL FINAL will go on for 24 hours, starting NOW.
The rules are simple . . . one vote per person in the comments. Don’t cheat or we’ll have you eaten.
The most important part of the ZOMBIE IDOL FINAL is YOU! YOU make the show!
This is an interactive experience, so throughout the next 24 hours, I’ll be updating this post. You’ll hear color commentary from Your Celebrity Judges. I’ll be answering questions and comments. If you have footage of any of your Zombie Idol celebrations, send it in! This is the time! This is the day! MAKE THE CASE FOR YOUR ZOMBIE! Sing the ZOMBIE IDOL theme song! Express your INNER ZOMBIE!
1 PM: It's a tight one, folks. It's simply too early to call any kind of lead. If it's any help, I had a dream last night that I was in Shaun of the Dead 2, except it wasn't a movie--it was real life. How great is that? I was running from zombies all night!
Just to get you pumped . . . why not rock out with our hero Shaun for five minutes?
[Warning: there is a tiny, tiny bit of saucy language in the video, as this is the English way. They are a saucy people. I know most of you won't mind. Also, PREPARE TO DANCE!]
5:30 PM: Just an hour and a half to go . . .
It's an emotional time in Zombie Idol HQ.
We judges are on tenderhooks. So much has brought us to this moment . . . so many zombies have crossed our paths. We are sitting here, exchanging memories of some of our favorites. We find that it is hard to know what to say, because all the zombies were important to us. As we go into the final stretch, we just want to thank everyone who gave their all, who gave their zombies . . .
If you have not voted, don't wait! This is it!
6:45 PM: I'm really starting to feel for those people on CNN who give commentary on elections. I have votes flying in from every direction . . . comments, e-mails, even over IM . . . but I CAN'T CALL THIS RACE! NOT YET!
UPDATE: VOTING HAS NOW CLOSED. PLEASE STAY TUNED FOR THE ZOMBIE IDOL FINAL, COMING TODAY!
The day has come, friends. The second round of Zombie Idol!
Your Celebrity Judges (one more time: Meg Cabot, John Green, Justine Larbalestier, E. Lockhart, and I) had a very, very hard time with this one. We read all night, debating the merits of this zombie and that zombie. We had to choose, but it was extremely difficult. THE ZOMBIES ARE GETTING BETTER.
In the end, each judge got a stack of zombies and had to choose one . . . so for every entry on this page, there is one Celebrity Judge standing behind it. I won’t say who picked what, but feel free to guess.
I predict some fierce voting.
But not another word! Let’s get right to it! It is time for YOU to vote.
Remember the roolz:
1. One vote per person, in the comments. 2. The voting closes in 24 hours. [CHANGE! The voting will be extended! You have today and Sunday as well. Continue voting!] 3. On Monday, the two finalist zombies will battle it out to be ZOMBIE IDOL!
The prize this round? The first OFFICIAL copy of Suite Scarlett. (Note: I don’t have this yet, but will soon. The winner of Round Two gets the first copy out of the box.)
The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle C.C.
In the light on the sun, a little zombie curled up beneath its hyperbaric slumber chamber he bought in a garage sale from another zombie.
One Sunday night, the moon came out and POP! Out of the chamber came a little and very hungry zombie.
He decided to look for some food.
On Monday he ate my older brother's brain. But he was still hungry. On Tuesday he ate two annoying English teachers' brains. But he was still hungry. On Wednesday he ate three extras from Shaun of the Dead brains. But he was still hungry. On Thursday he ate four jellyfish- they don't have brains. But he was still hungry. On Friday he ate five book banning parents' brains. But he was still hungry. On Saturday he ate one piece of brainalicious cake, a left kidney, a sliver of liver, one eyeball, one small intestine, one appendix, one glutinous maximus, a mega sized brain flavoured chupa chup and a glass of stomach bile.
Then he got a stomachache. So he ate another book banning parents' brain. He felt much better.
He then made a membranous cocoon and was inside for a couple of weeks. Then he made a hole and emerged as a very large, very hungry zombie with a strong preference for book banning brains.
The end.
A much better story for bedtime.
Eat, Pray, Love H. Ryan
I wish Giovanni would eat me.
Oh, but there are so many reasons why this would be a terrible idea. To begin with, Giovanni is dead, and — like most Italian zombies in their twenties — he still lives with his mother. These facts alone make him an unlikely devourer of me, given that I am a living American woman in my mid-thirties, who has just come through a failed marriage and a devastating, interminable divorce, followed immediately by a passionate love affair that ended in having my heart ripped out, much like that scene in Indiana Jones. This loss upon loss has left me feeling sad and brittle and about seven thousand years old - nearly as old as Giovanni's mother. Purely as a matter of principle I wouldn't feed my sorry, busted-up old self to the rotted, undead Giovanni. Not to mention that I have finally arrived at that age where a woman starts to question whether the wisest way to get over the loss of one beautiful brown-eyed young corpse is indeed to promptly be eaten by another.
A Zombie Oprah pick!
“Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take The Garbage Out” by Shel Silverstein Danielle
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would not take the corpses out! She'd chase the humans and groan out loud, Be evil and kill all the bodies in a crowd, And though her daddy would scream and shout, She simply would not take the corpses out. And so they piled up to the ceilings: Leaking kidneys, no more feelings, The ghostly sounds of human screams And chunks of spleen. They filled the can, they covered the floor, They cracked the windows and blocked the doors With skin rinds and broken bones, Drippy ends of pancreas all alone, Noses, stomachs, livers, Enough to make humans fearfully shiver, Ribs and hips, Soggy eyes and cracked wrists, Crusts of larynx , Grisly bits of pharynx. . . The corpses rolled on down the hall, They raised the roof, they broke the walls. Greasy skin, teeth crumbs, Globs of bloody gums, Nerves from spines, Rubbery blubbery intestines, Hands, caked and dry, Crusts of eyes, Old colons, dried up guts, Yellow lumps of brains and butt. Zombie mouths eating human meat, Cold and rancid feet. At last the corpses reached so high That they finally touched the sky. And all the zombies moved away, And none of her friends would come to play. And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said, "OK, I'll take the corpses out!" But then, of course, it was too late. . . The corpses reached across the state, From New York to the Golden Gate. And there, in the corpses she did hate, Poor Sarah met an awful fate, That I cannot now relate Because the hour is much too late. But zombies, remember Sarah Stout And always take the corpses out!
Always take your corpses out!
One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish by Dr. Seuss H. Garry
One Zombie Two Zombie Gray Zombie Blue Zombie.
Black Zombie Headless Zombie Decrepit Zombie Fresh Zombie.
This one likes to cut and mar. This one can lift up a car. Say! What a lot of Zombies there are.
Yes some are gray. And some are blue Some are Decrepit. And Some are fresh.
Some are sad. But most are glad. And they’re all so very very bad.
Why are they sad and glad and bad? I don’t know, go moan to your zombie dad.
Some are withering. Some like to cuss. The cussing one likes to lick yellow puss.
From there to here, from here to there, they massacre people everywhere.
Here are some that like to munch they munch for fun on humans that crunch
Oh me! Oh my! Oh me! Oh my! What a lot of crunchy humans go by.
Some have two eyes a lot have four. Some have six fingers and a few have more.
Where do they come from? I can’t say. Coffins and graveyards from along the way.
We see them come. We don’t live to see them go. They march in menacing lines and they’re very very slow. Being a zombie can make you kind of low.
None of them is like another. Don’t ask them why. They’ll eat your mother.
Say! Look at those bodies! One, two, three... Three bodies hanging from that tree.
One two, three, four, five, six, seven, all of these zombies in zombie heaven!
Zombie heaven! This is something new. I wish I could go to that oxymoronic place too!
Zombies can't count, but that's really for the best.
Alice's Adventure in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll P. Sims
Alice was beginning to get very tired of eating her sister's brains on the bank, and of having no-one else to eat: once or twice she had tried to eat the book her sister had been reading, but it had no meat or gristle in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice 'without Brains?'
So she was considering eating her own mind (as well as she could, for being a zombie made her feel very hungry and stupid), and considering whether the pleasure of eating daisy-brains would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.
There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! A Zombie!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually took a shotgun out of its holster, and cocked it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never gnawed the head off of a rabbit, and burning with hunger for brains, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.
This drawing feels different now, doesn't it?
That's it! Put YOUR votes below! The clock is ticking! Gather the troops in support of YOUR FAVORITE ZOMBIE!
Okay, everyone. It’s the final countdown. This is it. Tonight, all entries for Zombie Idol will be collected. Your Celebrity Judges (Meg Cabot, John Green, Justine Larbalestier, E. Lockhart and I) are all here, sitting down, ready to make the final selections.
You have until the clock strikes midnight here in New York City.
Tomorrow, Your Celebrity Judges will present the five undead contestants. YOU will choose one winner of Round Two.
On Monday, our two finalists will battle it out. Because only one can be the ZOMBIE IDOL.
I know. It’s all VERY EXCITING.
What’s even more exciting is that I have VERY SERIOUSLY BIG NEWS to tell you about the release of Suite Scarlett . . . but I can’t tell you the details until Zombie Idol is over. Just know . . . if you’re waiting for the release of Suite Scarlett, YOU WILL NOT HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL MAY. And Scholastic is having a contest . . . with a Prize . . . capital P, Prize . . . serious, ding-ding, worth actual money super-cool Prize. Even I want this Prize . . . except, I am part of the Prize . . . and there will be books, and goodies, and . . .
I can’t say any more. Next week. Next week I can.
Hold on. Just . . . just let me sit down for a minute. This . . . it’s all so much . . .
All right.
Today, I bring you another room from our wonderful gallery. I feel that it is fitting to close the Zombay des Refuses with this room . . . the YA room. I could keep going . . . I have so many more zombies to share. But one of you guys would have to come over here and help me deal with my laundry, and frankly, I don’t expect that of you.
But please . . . enjoy tonight’s selection. And if you haven’t gotten in your zombie . . . HURRY! Hurry like a 28 Days Later Zombie is after you!
You, in the middle of the deadline.
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer Reese
"Isabella." He pronounced my full name carefully, then playfully ruffled my hair with his free hand. A rather matted clump of hair and congealed scalp fell to the dewey ground. "I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. To never see your inert eyes stare off into the distance... It would be unendurable."
At this point I was gazing deep into his eyes. Past those astonishingly beautiful golden orbs. Brane back ther. I thought. Frozen brane. mmmmm Oh. How I longed to eat him.
He gently stroked my face from hairline to chin. A layer of skin peeled off into his icy hand. He tucked it into his back pocket. "Simply enchanting."
He smiled my favorite crooked smile.
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott R. Riley
Zombifina the zombie watched the couple rowing on the lake with longing. Her eye twitched; her undead mouth began to fill with drool. Brains.
“How well we pull together, don’t we?” said Amy, who objected to silence just then. Zombifina pulled on her water wings, stampeding into the water.
“So well that I wish we might always pull in the same boat. Will you Amy?” very tenderly. Tender, thought Zombifina. Tender, tender brains.
“Yes, Laurie,” very low.
Then they both stopped rowing, and unconsciously added a pretty little tableau of human love and happiness to the dissolving views reflected in the lake. Which was generally a bad idea. They allowed Zombifina to gain valuable ground—er, water—in the pursuit of their brains!
It was a lucky thing for the future Mr. and Mrs. Laurence that there was a multitude of jellyfish in the lake that day.
Zombies love boats, and are eager to join any sailing trips you may be planning.
"So what is that?" I asked him, forcing the words out, then immediately realized I was looking at him, not the creature at the side of his arm, so this question could concern just about anything. And I added--- face flushing, God help me--- "Your friends, I mean. I've never been able to see what it is."
This full sentence, an inquiry to boot, seemed to me on par with Helen Keller finally signing W-A-T-E-R. I mean, really.
"Oh," he said, pushing the side of the creature. "It's just my zombie. You saw it the first day you came out to Delia's right?"
I felt myself nodding, but truthfully I was just staring at the black, think lines, of the zombie's mouth, now fully revealed: a heart was also in his hands. This one, of course, smaller, and contained a circle bordered by tribal pattern, almost like it was gnawed on, but otherwise it was the same. The flat palm, fingers extended, the red heart in its center.
"Right," I said. Like the first time I'd seen it, I couldn't help think that it was familiar, something pricking my subconscious, as weird as that sounded. "Is it mean, or something?"
"Sort of." He looked down as he said it. "It ate my mom when I was just a kid."
"Really."
"Yeah. She had this whole thing about how they were connected, that's her heart in his hands." He ran his fingers of the bright red heart, then looked at me. "You know, feeling and zombie are always linked, one can't exist without the other. It's sort of a hippie thing. She was into that stuff."
"I like it," I said. "I mean, the idea of it. It makes sense."
Uglies by Scott Westerfeld kheidianne
A zombie was at the peak of the hill, staring right at her. Then the horizon seemed to slip away in front of her, and Tally crouched, ready for impact. David was oblivious looking at the artificial tree that was to his right.
The ground disappeared. The zombie was clinging to the front of the boards, his fingers scrabbling over the knobby edge trying to get a grip.
Tally pushed off with all her strength, forcing her hoverboards down the steep side of the hill, where they would bring themselves to a halt. The zombie fell with the boards, crashing into the hill with an echoing thud. She and David had switched off their crash bracelets –they didn’t want the boards following them over the wire. Not yet. Not with a zombie on them.
Tally soared into midair, still climbing for a few more seconds. The outer city lay below her, a vast patchwork of light and dark. She spread her arms and legs. Gaining distance from the zombie.
Looking for Alaska by John Green S. Mckee
And as the zombies chased us, we went.
Three seconds later, a huge zombie unexpectedly burst out of the pops. It sounded, to me, like the automatic gunfire in Decapitation, except louder. We were twenty steps away from the droning piece of walking flesh already, and I thought my eardrums would burst.
I thought: Well, he should certainly hear it; of course the zombie would hear himself moaning. Why on earth do they incessantly moan?
To escape their droning, we ran past the soccer field and into the woods, running uphill and with only the vaguest sense of direction. We got lucky though; the zombies weren't agile enough to follow. They were stupidly stumbling over tiny twigs. They sure know how to moan, but they couldn't figure out how to walk. In the dark, fallen branches and moss-covered rocks appeared at the last possible second, and I slipped and fell repeatedly and worried that the Eagle – the leader of this flesh thirsty pack - would catch up, but I just kept getting up and running beside Takumi, away from the classrooms and the dorm circle – hotspots for zombies (of course). We ran like we had golden shoes. I ran like a cheetah – well, like a cheetah that smoked too much. And then, after precisely one minute of running, Takumi stopped, and ripped open his backpack; he took out his collection of vinyl records, perfect for throwing at zombies' heads.
13 Little Blue Envelopes by Maureen Johnson A. Enders
"I nicked a little toy," he said, pinching the Godzilla between his fingers. "It’s nothing."
"It’s not nothing."
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Ginny noticed a zombie lumbering down the platform. He was headed straight toward a homeless man who had his fist closed tightly.
Keith, noticing Ginny’s attention was elsewhere, looked over to the right where he saw the zombie and homeless man begin to grapple. Keith’s eyebrows rose in a mixture of surprise and amusement.
The zombie and homeless man continued to struggle, nearly knocking into Ginny. Keith pulled Ginny to the side, still transfixed by what appeared to be a fight to the death right before them.
"Oh my gosh!" a shocked woman exclaimed. Just as she screamed, the zombie and homeless man free fell to the tracks below. The crowd surged forward to watch the excitement.
As quickly as the fight began, it was over with the snap of the homeless man’s neck. A shocked gasp arose from the crowd and was shortly followed with a relieved sigh when the zombie decided against devouring the homeless man’s entrails.
The zombie pulled himself back onto the platform and shuffled over to a bright, shiny coin lying near a bench. A businessman said disinterestedly, "I think that is what they were fighting over."
Ginny and Keith stared at each other in disbelief.
Keith walked over to the edge of the platform and tossed the little toy down onto the tracks, then wandered back.
Visit Ginny's zombified London!
See the contact button? USE IT. YOU DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME!
Today, we leave the children with the zombies. Children and zombies are natural companions! They love to run, and zombies love to chase! Oh young, tender brains . . .
Make sure to have a shamble through the American Classics Room and the Shakespeare Room . . . and to get your entries in by THURSDAY! That’s tomorrow! The ZOMBIE IDOL FINAL is coming!
Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson K. Fall
One evening, after thinking it over for some time, Harold decided to go for a walk in the moonlight.
There wasn’t any moon, and Harold needed a moon for a walk in the moonlight.
The moon drew out a hungry zombie.
Harold needed to run away. And he needed something to run on.
He made a long straight path and off he went, taking his big purple crayon with him. And the zombie followed.
It was a terribly frightening zombie. Harold was scared. His hand holding the purple crayon shook.
Suddenly he realized what was happening. But by then Harold was over his head in an ocean.
Harold swam for his life. And the moon swam with him.
The zombie could not swim. He was drawn down to a watery grave.
It will get worse before it gets better, Harold.
The Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum L. Anderson
“We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz!” sang Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tinman and Lion, as they skipped gleefully along the yellow brick road.
As they skipped along they could see a figure on the road in the distance, and as they got closer, they could see it was a zombie, in tattered shorts.
“O, aren’t you cute!” said Dorothy, “And what do you want from the Wizard of Oz?”
“Brains…” murmured the zombie “Brains!”
“Sorry, we already have one of those. You’ll have to wait till next time!” said Dorothy.
“We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz!” sang Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tinman and Lion, as they continued skipping gleefully along the yellow brick road.
Suddenly, the lions and tigers and bears weren't so impressive anymore.
The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis K. Sanger
A moment later the stranger came out from behind the tree, glanced all around as if it were afraid someone was watching, said "Hush," made signs to them to join it in the thicker bit of wood where it was standing, and then once more disappeared.
"I know what it is," said Peter, "it's a beaver. I saw the tail."
"It wants us to go to it," said Susan, "and it is warning us not to make a noise."
"I know," said Peter. "The question is are we to go to it or not? What do you think, Lu?"
Of course, they had already said too much. The beaver was quite serious when it told them to "hush." For out of the wood came a zombie. It wasn't one of the nice slow, zombies, no, but a rather fast one. It rushed the four children and ate their brains before they even thought to shout for help - it being hard to think about shouting for help once one's brain has been eaten.
THE DR. SEUSS ROOM
The Cat In the Hat Comes Back By my Secret Brother Tom
"Oh-oh!" Sally screamed, "Don't you talk to that cat. That cat, the undead one, That cat with nine hats. He'll go through nine more, If we let him come near. You know what he ate Just inside Mother's ear."
Green Eggs and Ham A. Holder
I do not like them in a box. I do not like them with a fox. I do not like them in a house. I do not like them with a mouse. I do not like them here or there. I do not like them anywhere. I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam I a—
Me like green eggs. Me like green ham. Me like eat brains Of Sam I am.
Now the Scar-bellied Zombies had bellies with scars. The Brain-bellied Zombies had none upon thars. The scars weren't so big; they were really quite small. You would think such a thing wouldn't matter at all. But because they had scars, all the Scar-bellied Zombies would brag, "We're the best kind of Zombies on the beaches."
With their limbs in the air, they would limp and they'd choke, “We'll have nothing to do with the brain-bellied folk." And whenever they met some, when they were out hunting, they'd lumber right on past them without even moaning.
When the little Scar-bellied dead went out to feed, The Brain-bellies were never allowed to join in and fill their need! You could only feed on flesh if your bellies had scars, and the Brain-bellied dead had none upon thars.
When the Scar-bellied Zombies had human parts roasts, or picnics or parties or blood toasts, they never invited the Brain-bellied Zombies. Left them out cold in the dark of the beaches. Kept them away; never let them come near, and that's how they treated them year after year.
Then one day, it seems, while the Brain-bellied Zombies were moping, just moping alone on the beaches, sitting there, wishing their bellies had scars, up zipped a vampire in the strangest of cars.
"My friends, " she announced in a voice clear and mean, "My name is Larissa McMakki McBean. I've heard of your troubles; I've heard you're unhappy. But I can fix that; I'm the fix-it-up chappie. I've come here to help you; I have what you need. My prices are low, and I work with great speed, and my work is one hundred per cent guaranteed."
Then quickly, Larissa McMakki McBean put together a very twisted and demonic machine. Then he said, "You want scars like a Scar-bellied Zombies? My friends, you can have them . . . . for three skulls each. Just hand me your heads and climb on aboard."
They clambered inside and the demonic machine hissed. It slashed. It whipped. It laughed and It jerked. It cut and it cut, the thing really worked. When the Blain-bellied Zombies slid out, they had scars! They actually did, they had scars upon thars!
Then they yelled at the ones who had scars from the start, "We're exactly like you; you can't tell us apart. We're all just the same now, you snooty old smarties. Now we can come to your human parts parties!"
"Good grief!" groaned the one who had scars from the first. "We're still the best Zombies, and they are the worst. But how in the world will we know," they all frowned, "if which kind is what or the other way 'round?"
Then up stepped McBean with a very sly wink, and she said, "Things are not quite as bad as you think. You don't know who's who, that is perfectly true. But come with me, friends, do you know what I'll do? I'll make you again the best Zombies on beaches, and all it will cost you is ten skulls eaches.
“Body scars are no longer in style, " said McBean. "What you need is a trip through my messed up botox machine. This wondrous contraption will take off your scars, so you won't look like Zombies who have them on thars."
That handy machine, working very precisely, removed all the scars from their bodies quite nicely. It cleaned them all up and they still looked dead. They spoke expressionless and sounds came from each head, "We now know who's who, and there isn't a doubt, the best kind of dead are Zombies without."
Then, of course those with scars all got frightfully mad. To be cut up now was frightfully bad. Then, of course old Larissa McMakki McBean invited them into her botox machine. Then, of course from then on, you can probably guess, things really got into a horrible mess.
All the rest of the day on those wild moaning beaches, the Fix-it-up-Chappie was fixing up Zombies. Off again, on again, in again, out again, through the machine and back round about again, still paying skulls, still running through, changing their scars every minute or two, until neither the Perfect- nor the Scar-bellies knew whether this one was that one or that one was this one or which one was what one or what one was who!
Then, when every last skull of their skulls was spent, the Fix-It-Up-Chappie packed up and she went. And she laughed as he drove in her car up the beach, "They never will learn; no, you can't teach a Zombie!"
But McBean was quite wrong, I'm quite happy to say, the Zombies got quite a bit smarter that day. That day, they decided that Botox and dead flesh looks very much the same. Both are lifeless and that is what's best, regardless of name.
All the differences were all in their head Because at the end of the day they all looked dead.
As promised, a new room of the salon every day until the ZOMBIE IDOL FINALS! I hope you enjoyed the Shakespeare Room. Today, I bring you some American classics, retrofit (and perfected) by the insertion of the undead.
You still have until the end of day Thursday to send me an e-mail and enter round two!
The Zombiesburg Address Margaret Crocker
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a zombie horde, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all brains are delicious.
Now we are engaged in a great zombie apocalypse, testing whether zombies, or any undead, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that apocalypse. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their brains that that zombie nation might continue to shuffle along. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and undead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget the brains eaten here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which the zombies who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored undead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these undead shall not have not died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new re-birth of freedom—and that government of the zombies, by the zombies, for the zombies, shall not perish from the earth.
Big head = big brains = zombie happiness
The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway M. Crewe
She had been looking into my eyes all the time. Her eyes had different depths, sometimes they seemed perfectly flat, like the zombie's had. Now you could see all the way into them.
"When I think of the hell I've put chaps through. I'm paying for it all now."
"Don't talk like a fool," I said. "Besides, what happened is supposed to be funny. I mean, a zombie, how can you get funnier than that. I never think about it."
"Oh, no. I'll lay you don't."
"Well, let's shut up about it."
"I laughed about it too, myself, once." She wasn't looking at me. "A friend of my brother's came home that way from Mons. It had tried to take his brains, you know. It seemed like a hell of a joke. Chaps never know anything, do they?"
"No," I said. "Not when it comes to zombies. Nobody ever knows anything."
XXVII, Emily Dickinson E. Isman
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and Munch, death's pet zombie.
We slowly drove, he knew no Haste, And I had to put away, My labor, and my leisure too, While Munch munched on my brains.
Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell A. Lipkin
"Frankly, my dear, braaaaains."
"I'll never be hungry again!"
Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain J. Hartman
"TOM!"
No answer.
"TOM!"
No answer.
"What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!"
No answer.
The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them . . . . She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear:
"Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll--"
She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and slashing under the bed with the chainsaw[....]
She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the tomato vines and "jimpson" weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So, hefting her shotgun, she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:
"Y-o-u-u Tom!"
There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize a small zombie by the neck of his roundabout and arrest his charge.
"There! I might 'a' thought of that closet. What you been doing in there?"
"BRAAAAAAAAINS!"
"Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What is that truck?"
"BRAAAAAAAAINS!"
The lad began to gnaw contemplatively on her wrist.
"Forty times I've said if you didn't let those brains alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch."
“The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe Devyn B
Once upon a full moon cheery, while I feasted, fast and fury, As I munched, her eyes became dark and dreary, While I fumbled, nearly falling, the blood on my tongue is what I was lapping, I could imagine in my victims mind, the darling must be crapping, This thought landed me on the floor, with a joyous laughing. Only this, and nothing more, Quote the Zombie, “nevermore”.
The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald H. Ryan
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.
"Whenever you feel like criticizing any one," he told me, "just remember that all the zombies in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."
He didn't say any more, but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious undead natures to me... The abnormal zombie is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown zombies. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young zombies, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope.
Wallace Stevens's "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" Malsperanza
I Among twenty snowy mountains, The only moving thing Was the twitching corpse.
II I was of three minds, Like a zombie That has eaten three brains.
III The stained rag whirled in the autumn winds. It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV A man and a woman Are one. A man and a woman and a zombie Are in trouble.
V I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of rotting meat Or the beauty of desiccated flesh, The blackbird whistling Or just after.
VI Icicles filled the long window With barbaric glass. The shadow of the Creature Crossed it, to and fro. The mood Traced in the shadow An inevitable doom.
VII O thin men of Haiti, Why do you imagine drooling jaws? Do you not see how Baron Samedi Nibbles on the feet Of the women about you?
VIII I love vile carnage And stinking, unimaginable gore; But I know, too, That the Zombie is involved In what I do.
IX When the Undead limped out of sight, It marked the edge Of one of my worst nightmares.
X At the sight of corpses Staggering in a green light, Even the mouthless victims Would cry out sharply.
XI He rode over Connecticut In a growing angst. Once, a fear pierced him, In that he mistook The shadow of his equipage For monsters.
XII The river is moving. The Undead must be lurking.
XIII It was evening all afternoon. We were bleeding And we were going to bleed. The revenant munched On the scattered limbs.
Welcome friends, to week two of ZOMBIE IDOL . . . to the opening of the Zombay des Refusés, my updated version of the Salon des Refusés. All this week, we will celebrate just some of the zombies that came in during round one.
Now, some cleverclogs out there is going to point out that Salon des Refusés means Salon of Rejects, so Zombay des Refusés must mean Zombie of Rejects, which makes no sense. To those people, I offer the guiding words of the Beastie Boys, who say, “I don’t mean to brag, I don’t mean to boast, but I’m intercontinental when I eat French toast.” In other words, shut up.
It is inevitable that, as you read some of the many, many gems I am going to post over the next few days . . . you are going to see one that you think should have won round one. The Celebrity Judges were faced with a very, very tough job!
What that means, though, is that I have tons of beautiful zombies to show you. Each day, in the Zombay des Refusés, you’ll get to see a collection. Imagine this was a gallery, with individual rooms given over to a zombie theme.
Today’s collection are the Shakespeare Zombies. I think you will all agree . . . the Bard could have done a lot better if he had just put in a few more shambling ones.
Shall I compare thee to the Zombie's way? Thou art more lovely and more desperate: For brains do shake the darling buds of May, Sweet delicious brains hath too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of Zombie shines, And often is his rott'd complexion dimm'd; And every fair Zombie sometime declines, By chance or nature's moaning night untrimm'd; But thy eternal hell night shall not fade Nor lose possession of that rank thou owest; As shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal brains to time thou eatest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long Zombie eats brains which gives life to thee.
A Midsummer Night's Dream R. Schmid
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these zombies did appear. And this awful viral strain, No more yielding than a brain Gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend: And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the zombie's moan, We will make amends alone; Else the Puck a liar call; So, good night unto you all. Give me your brains, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.
Richard III S. Nagy
Zombie horde, I have bet my life upon an empty shotgun, and 'ere I will fall beneath your tearing claws: I hope you choke on ev'ry bite you wrench free from my form. Shells! shells! I lost the shells for my shotgun!
Hamlet M. Hiatt
O, that this too too soft flesh would be a feast Thaw and resolve itself into a new! Or that the Everlasting had not limped His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! How weary, stale, reeking and unliving, Seem to me all the zombies of this world! Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an reeking garden, That grows to eat flesh; things rank and gross in nature shoot at it merely. That it should come to this! But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two: So excellent a human; that was, to this, Hyperion to a satyr; so hungry for all beings That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! Must I remember? why, it would limp at him, As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on: and yet, within a month-- Let me not think on't--Zombie, thy name is woman!-- A little month, or ere those corpses were old With which she follow'd my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears:--why she, even she-- O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have feasted longer—then gone for my uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to the dead: within a month: Ere yet the sound of most unrighteous groans Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She became zombified. O, most wicked speed, to post With such hunger to feast upon human souls! It is not nor it cannot come to good: But eat my heart; for I must hold my tongue.
THE ROMEO AND JULIET COLLECTION
#1 by JD B.
Romeo: What Light? Through Yonder window breaks. It is the east and Juliet is the sun! Juliet: Ay me! Romeo: She speaks! Juliet: No, Romeo, there's seriously a zombie behind you. Romeo: What!? I mean, I'll come thither! Juliet: Shut up with the stupid old english! There's a freakin' Zombie behind you! Romeo: Somebody get me one of those daggers! Juliet: Those are plastic! Romeo: Can you think of anything better? Juliet: How about the 9 mills that the guards keep with them? Romeo: Ugh, some one go get the guards! Crowd member: The zombie killed him! Juliet: Does that mean he took his gun? Romeo: Whether we finish the play or not, we'er all gana to die! Juliet: Stop being so pessimistic. Romeo: Well, for a pessimist, I'm pretty optimistic. Juliet: Hey, I'm the deep one here!
Juliet's head is eaten by the zombie.
Romeo: Ay me...
Romeo's head is eaten by the zombie.
Crowd member: Ahhhh Run!
#2 by A. Wilson
But crunch! What scent through yonder cranium wafts? It is fresh meat! And Juliet, the meatbox! Arise, ye mostly dead, and cleave the skull Whose cup o'erflows with that electric food Which sparks our own undeadly minds to move. O be not gentle with that pretty flesh Or vestal liver which might tempt a freshly green Away from grayer matters. Spit it out! We seek the brainstuff! O, the one true meat! O, all she's ever known must wet our teeth! She screams, her tongue insipid and distracting. (I'll yet bite, though tongue's a waste of gnashing.)
#3 by Joy from Manhattan
Two categories, the living and the zombified, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene From ancient struggle break to new invasion Where zombie virus makes human hands unclean And from forth the fatal saliva of these foes, An army of undead takes its unlife Whose stumbling, groaning overthrow Does with its advance, bury the Montague’s and Capulet’s petty strife The fearful passage of countless extras and secondary characters And the continuance of the undead’s march Which, but the zombie cure could mend Is now the tale we tell future generations And, if you with patient ears attend you’ll know that soothsayers do not pretend. THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE IS COMING. BE READY.
#4 by Melinda B.
Two households, both alike in casualty, In dark, cold graveyard, where we make our scene, From recent death, break to new undeadity, Where civil brains make civilians scream. From forth the fatal depths of this dark grave, A pair of evil zombies search for brains, Whose shambling feet seek out that which they crave, And doth spur the folk to scream as though insane. The fearful passage of their deathwalk eerie, And the refusal of these undead ones to die, Which, though well for them, leaves fam’ly fearing That they shall soon in brainless slumber lie— This, then, the fate of Verona houses two: That undead Romeo and Juliet destroy anew.
#5 by A. Kalorkoti
Romeo: But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? Is it a foul and sulf'rous burning torch, Wielded on high by deadly zombie foes Who through Verona's night have tracked me here? Alack, is doom upon me? Nay! I see It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. She scatters zombies with her radiant beams; They flee away before her dazzling light. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. The perfect roundness of thy intact skull, Which shields thy brains uneaten safely there, Arouses jealousy in her whose flesh Must monthly wane 'till all be ate away. Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green, Much like unto a zombie's rotting skin, And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! But yet I see another shadow there Betwixt the curtain and the balcony wall, A stumbling zombie ambles slowly forth, It seems that Juliet is this creature's goal, O, that she knew she were! The zombie closes, and I now can see Quite clear the remnants of its withered face: 'Tis Grandma Capulet, who oft of late Doth haunt the lives of her descendants here. She speaks…
Zombie: Braaaaaiiiins….
#6 b M. Hiatt
SCENE II. Capulet's orchard.
ROMEO
He jests at scars that never felt a wound. But, soft! What zombie through yonder window breaks? It is the south, and Juliet is the victim. Run, fair victim, and I to kill the envious dead, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou maid art far more fair than he: Be not her maid, since she is envious; His tarnished livery is but sick and green And none but them do wear it; run off! It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew where it were! It speaks yet it says nothing: what of that? It’s eye is lazy; I will run from it.
KEEP THOSE ZOMBIES COMING! ZOMBIE IDOL IS STILL GOING STRONG!
I realize we are right in the middle of ZOMBIE IDOL and that it’s time to open the Zombay des Refusés.
But first I wanted to tell a little personal story and give you a little glimpse into the Joys of Knowing Me.
Never in my life have I gotten so many birthday well-wishes as I did yesterday. Thank you all! As it turned out . . . my birthday turned out to be quite interesting.
About three weeks ago, my friend Winchester Grey sent me a note. Winchester Grey is one of these sly “take over the world” types, a general genius who whistled through a math degree at Oxford, went on to get an acting degree from one of the top drama schools in England, develops games, studies multiple foreign languages for fun, and was employed as a computer wizard for Several Extremely Large Corporations . . . before he was swept up by the juggernaut that is Google . . . where he, to the best of my knowledge, runs the internet. Winchester is one of those people who . . . if you wanted to understand the basic physics of the Millennium Falcon, could not only tell you . . . but could probably build you a small operational model COMPLETE WITH A TINY HAN SOLO INSIDE.
Winchester at home.
About three weeks ago, Winchester sent me a note that said: “Hey! Google is having a super-secret black tie affair to launch a new product. Cannot give details but will be massive. It’s on February 16th. Please say you will come with me. Also, TELL NO ONE. VERY SECRET. WILL BE MAJOR MEDIA COVERAGE THE NEXT DAY.”
I was sitting next to Scott Westerfeld when I got this note, and I immediately turned my computer toward him and said, “LOOK! SEKRITS! TELL NO ONE!” Because when you find out a tantalizing bit of information like that, you MUST tell someone. Scott is pretty much the most trustworthy person you could want, and entrusting the sekrit to him would be much safer than, say, locking it inside of Dick Cheney’s man-sized safe.
Later that night, Justine Larbalestier (who is married to Scott, in case you didn’t know) caught me on IM. The conversation went something like this:
Justine: I HAVE A SEKRIT FOR YOU.
So I thought, “Cool! It’s sekrit day!”
Me: Tell!
Justine: I won’t tell you until you tell me your sekrit.
Well, clearly she knew something. Maybe Scott had told her? Or maybe he'd told her just enough to get her hooked. Me: No I really, really don't . . .
Justine: You lie. You are a liar. A lying liar. I know you have one. And I have one. And I am not going to tell you mine until you tell me yours and mine is SO GOOD.
Me: FINE. OKAY. HERE IT IS BUT TELL NO ONE.
Telling Justine a secret is not quite as safe as telling Scott a secret. This is not because Justine is a not a good secret-keeper per se, but more because she is more likely to forget about the part of the secret in which you explained that the secret was a secret.
But I told her anyway, and she said, “HA! I didn’t know anything about a sekrit! Scott told me nothing! I TRICKED YOU! I am the winner of ALL THINGS!”
So, in about four hours, I had managed to tell TWO people Winchester’s big sekrit. And that promptly went up to three, because I then told Oscar Gingersnort, owner of the London Office.
I wrote back to Winchester, saying, “I would love to, but alas. That is my birthday, and Oscar Gingersnort, your fellow countryman, is coming over to help me celebrate.” Because he was. That was the extent of my birthday planning. After that, my only idea was to watch Law and Order and eat frosting out of the container with a spoon.
And Winchester said, “Oh, that is really too bad, but I will see what I can do.”
I didn’t hear anything else about it for a week, so I went about my business with the planning of Law and Order/frosting/spoon scenario . . . when Winchester sent me a forwarded note from his friend at work, saying that his girlfriend was unable to attend the event, so there was one more pass. We could go!
Every few days, Winchester would dazzle me with some little detail about the Google party. He could never say what it was for, or where it was . . . we would just get a hint of its majesty. The only info we were allowed to have was that tuxedos were appropriate (for the guys), I had to be at his house at 5:15, and that Google was sending a car service. The rest was totally shrouded in mystery.
Oscar and I speculated a LOT on the nature of the Google announcement. By the time we showed up at his house yesterday, we were fit to burst. But Winchester was all, “There is a reason we have embargos . . . I can say nothing . . . but all will be known at 6 PM, then I will be free to talk.”
We got into the car, and even the driver was very hush-hush. As I went, Justine sent me a “happy birthday” text. I knew that she and Scott were in all weekend because Scott was violently ill.
We ended up in downtown Manhattan, and the car finally came to a stop in front of a restaurant that I knew from Scott and Justine as being one of the best in New York and one of their absolutely favorites. It’s called WD-50. They keep a menu from WD-50 on their refrigerator as a sign of their affection for it.
The restaurant was quite small and looked kind of empty, but Winchester said that Google had taken the downstairs. We just had to wait for his friend from work to show up so that we could get the other invite and go inside. I was busily reading the menu and getting myself worked up into seventeen shades of frenzy.
“Let’s walk around the block to keep warm,” Winchester said. Which was a good idea, because it was bitter cold. Being the good friend that I am, I was living for the moment when we got inside and I could text Justine back and say, “Not ONLY am I going to the super-cool Google event tonight, it’s at WD-50! Burn! Enjoy the broth and crackers!”
Finally, Winchester’s friend sent a message, and we hurried over and opened the door.
And there were Scott and Justine. All dressed up. Scott, like the other guys, was in a tux.
And at first, my brain said, “Oh, Winchester invited them too!”
And then, two seconds later, my brain said, “There is no Google party, Maureen. There IS NO GOOGLE PARTY.”
And then they all started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh.
Once at the table, I began to unravel the scheme . . . all of the cunning that had gone into making me think there was a Google party. They revealed that they had all been exchanging e-mails for WEEKS, enjoying my dim-witted responses and my eager anticipation of “the big new Google product.” Even the fact that Scott was sitting next to me when I got the note, the needling over IM . . . it was all part of the general gaslighting of me. They had tracked EXACTLY how long it took me to tell someone the sekrit. It was something like two minutes.
We had one of the most amazing dinners I have ever had . . . a tasting menu that went on for hours, with delicious wine and champagne. And I was with Scott, Justine, Winchester, and Oscar . . . so I was having the best time a person could ever want to have. I even have some pictures of the experience.
Scott and Justine, smugly going over the details of their trickery.
Not frosting from a jar, but almost as good.
So, thank you EVERYONE. Thanks to Scott and Justine and Winchester and Oscar . . . and to all of YOU for writing in! You guys all made it the best birthday on record!
Now . . . we return to ZOMBIE IDOL. Starting tomorrow, I will be posting some unseen highlights of last week’s zombie collection! Every day, right up until the deadline, there will be new zombies!
And keep getting those entries in! YOU STILL HAVE UNTIL THURSDAY!
(Also, Scott and Justine? And Winchester? Watch your back. Because my memory is long and my patience unflagging.)
* There is one completely inevitable comment on this post that SOMEONE is going to feel compelled to make. In the interests of providing a complete blogging service, I have gone ahead and written the comment so that this person (or these persons) can simply copy and paste. You’re welcome!
COPY BELOW:
mj, don’t u know how to spell secret? You kept spelling it sekrit. How can you be a riter and not know how to spel secret? u are dumb. I cant beleve anyone would publish u if u don’t know that everyone knows that.
Friends! I'm back from insideadog! Did you miss me?
For those of you who were following over there, we are at a critical day in ZOMBIE IDOL. Today, we have a winner of Round One.
(For those of you who don't know what I am talking about, look here and here and here.)
Before the winner is announced, I want to make sure you know that you still have ALL THIS WEEK to get entries in for ROUND TWO. Here's the schedule:
Thursday, February 21: Deadline for all entries, electronically marked by MIDNIGHT (U.S. Eastern Standard Time)
Friday, February 22: Round Two voting opens! Monday, February 25: The Zombie Idol grand finale!
Yes, your Celebrity Judges (Meg Cabot, John Green, Justine Larbalestier, E. Lockhart and myself) will be reading all new entries!
Plus, all this week, I am running the hottest new salon anywhere on the blogosphere--an updated version of the Salon des Refusés--the Zombay des Refusés. I'll be showcasing just some of the HUNDREDS of amazing zombies that came in last week, organized by collection. Yes . . . a new collection of YOUR zombies, every single day! They will inspire you greatly!
But now we must get to what you have been waiting for so patiently . . . the winner of Round One.
The anticipation is growing!
It was a fierce, close battle, but in the end . . . only one zombie from this bunch can shamble on to the final round. And that zombie, with just over 50% of the vote, is . . .
is . . . .
HOW TO BE A ZOMBIE by Adrienne K.
Never stay dead. Learn to watch from shadows. Spread incurable viruses. Invite slow runners to tea. Collect occipital lobes and put them all over your house. Make friends with fear and trepidation. Look forward to nightmares. Make men cry in movies. Eat brains naked. In moonlight. Cultivate apocalypse. Refuse to “be entombed.” Do it for evil. Take lots of innocents. Give undeath away. Do it now. The living will follow. Believe in the cursed. Groan a lot. Celebrate every gorgeous medulla oblongata. Take bloodbaths. Steal others’ wild imaginings through transformative cerebrum-sucks. Revel in perfect chaos. Draw on the walls. With gnawed-off knuckles. Imagine yourself victorious. Giggle at shot guns. Listen to old people wail. Open them up. Dive in. Be free. Damn yourself. Drive in the fear. Play with entrails. You are unholy. Build a fort with corpses. Get revenge. Hug graves. Roam aimlessly. Massacre.
Adriennnnnnne! YOU are the winner of the VERY LAST ADVANCE COPY OF SUITE SCARLETT! Please send in your address!
Everyone else . . . the contest is only halfway done! Get your zombies in TODAY!
Well, this is it! The eve of ROUND ONE of ZOMBIE IDOL! Things are getting crazy! Celebrity Judges! Delicious brains! The very last advance copy of Suite Scarlett!
This is also the end of my stay at insideadog. So you can read about it over there today and tomorrow . . . and then I'm BACK!
In my final days at insideadog . . . learn how you can win the final Suite Scarlett ARC. More importantly, see how YOU can improve literature and IMPRESS THE ENTIRE WORLD!
