Dead Chicks Rock the House

A little while ago, Brownlee went on a minor zombie music video binge, prompting a snide comment from the peanut gallery.

“Well,” sniffed one of the Sunday hat-wearing biddies who inexplicably insist on reading Table, “I guess this week’s fetish is pale girls and dead stuff.”

Incorrect, grandma. On this blog, every week’s fetish is pale girls and dead stuff. Possibly with tentacles. To this end, I present Dead Chicks Rock the House, a short fiction from Everything 2’s 2003 Halloween Quest, the Blood is the Life.

Worst of all, Louis was seventeen years old, and never seemed to get a purposeful erection. Sometimes he had normal morning wood, but nothing he ever saw, in magazines, at school, around the town, ever made him feel all hot and sexy. That was just plain wrong. Every other boy in high school was a walking boner. He remembered the time he went under the bleachers and looked up under the cheerleader's skirts, desperate to make the blood pump, but nothing happened. Louis continued to wonder what was going on in life, even after normal life ended in a worldwide chomp-fest.

The writing style is immature, the horror blithe, and the outlook bleak. But the story sallies on with unbeatable charm, telling the sad tale of a boy who, no matter what he does, always ends up on the wrong side.

Dead chicks rock the house [Everything2]