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Important Updates from Our Hiatus: Same shit, different day. Frankly, there just wasn't much to report. BP killed off the Gulf (which saved us loads of time.) Justin Cronin came out with the Vampire Bible known as "The Passage," and we got tan this summer. Hallefreakinlujah.
The office doors are open and we are hard at work blogging again (can you hear us? Blog bloggity blog blog.) We also just hired a new freelance writer to help us out because the dude levels around this office were running dangerously low.
Meet Martin. He is our new freelance blogger and he is a boy. That pretty much summed up everything that we knew about him until about a week ago. Then things got interesting.
Martin is a bit green. He's wet behind the ears. He's willing, eager and stupid. How he convinced us to let him write for us, I will never know. All I know is that Miss Death has been throwing her clavicle up in his face all week like a cheap zombie trick. Thankfully, the kid can string two sentences together in some semblance of a blog post, so we'll keep him around for now. But I digress.
There's one hell of a zombie virus running amok. Just like flu season, it comes and goes, but this outbreak has been bad. Nearly everyone we're friends with has come down with it. So it goes without saying that our easily excited and not-very-smart freelancer, Martin, got caught with his proverbial pants down one night while jogging through the neighborhood and long story short, the kid's a damn zombie now.
He's doing well considering. Once the projectile bloody vomiting subsided and his orifices stopped leaking and he took a shower, he's fairly back to normal, apart from the whole "becoming a zombie" thing. He's actually getting out more. We suspect he had a date last week with the zombie secretary from the office next door.
But since this whole zombie thing is still new to Martin, the real problems haven't started yet. See, zombie-ism comes with a whole new set of problems if you will. There's the constant oozing, the agonizing pain as your cells die, and the leprosy. Martin will, within a few weeks, literally go to pieces right before our very eyes. Moisturize all you like, Martin. Your skin is still going to fall off.
We did what we thought was best and took a bunch of bets at Martin's expense. We've got a really solid pool going right now on which body part will fall off first. I have $25 on his fingers going first. Miss Death put $40 on his legs. And Miss Famine is just a filthy dirtball.
If he hopes to get anywhere with this secretary, he's going to have to do it fast.
We'll keep you updated on Martin and his zombie shortcomings, and we also solemnly vow to keep blogging! No more hiatus.No more messing around. We are serious, damnit! Blog bloggity blog blog!
Until next time, here's hoping Miss Famine is wrong - for Martin's sake.
