The Courtship of Babs and LOBO
Predator Press
[Zombie Mr Insanity]
LOBO and I were making small talk while kicking the crap out of each other playing Worlds of Warcraft, and the phone rang.
Lo and behold, it’s Babs.
I put my rotting finger to my decomposing lip, and LOBO nodded he understood. Smirking, he puts her on speakerphone.
“Yes,” he gasps breathlessly in a feeble attempt to sound sexy.
“Hi handsome,” says the voice over the speaker. LOBO grabs his controller when he realizes I’m molecularizing his WOW character with my +6 Big Hammer.
“What the fuck, you ass!?!” says LOBO.
“Excuse me?” says Babs.
“Not you. Uh. Phil.” LOBO retorts in his usual lack-of-brilliance. He sneaks a peak at his watch. “What’s up Babs? It’s like seven-thirty. Shouldn’t you be sleeping with someone right now?"
I hold back a giggle.
“Well, it’s funny that you mention that,” she says.
Now, I look at LOBO directly, expecting some kind of humorous and silent exchange, but he doesn’t seem to clock this obvious flirtation.
“What do you want?” he asks distractedly, writhing with the controller.
“I want to sleep with you,” she says.
You can almost taste her sexuality through the phone speaker.
She’s good.
“Babs,” says LOBO. “I sleep on a futon, and you know that. It’s hard as a goddamn rock. What do you really want?”
“I want to do anything you want me to do.”
“Will you go get my refrigerator, washer and dryer?”
I would’ve been slack-jawed, had my jaw not fallen off at Taco Bell.
She pauses. “Now?”
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sleeping over if we had all those things here?”
“But I drive a Porsche,” she says.
“Bungee cords,” he replies. “Get like ten bucks worth. I’ll pay you back when you get here.”
He hangs up on her.
“You know,” I says. “She’s not coming over here to sleep.”
LOBO 'pauses' the game. “What?”
“I think she has an ulterior motive.”
His eyebrows furrow as he stares at the living room television screen. “Well, if it’s to watch TV, she’s going to have to do it in the bedroom. We have a good game going.”
I feel myself inwardly sigh. Here is LOBO, on the verge of what will most certainly be the most spectacular sex he’s ever had –primarily by virtue that I don’t think he’s ever had it before—and he doesn’t know it. I look at my own rotting hands and sigh.
“I wonder what my prospects are going to be,” I wonder aloud.
“You mean, what with being dead and all?”
“Yeah,” I says.
LOBO takes a long minute to size me up.
“Well,” he concludes, “there’s always fat chicks.”
[Zombie Mr Insanity]
LOBO and I were making small talk while kicking the crap out of each other playing Worlds of Warcraft, and the phone rang.
Lo and behold, it’s Babs.
I put my rotting finger to my decomposing lip, and LOBO nodded he understood. Smirking, he puts her on speakerphone.
“Yes,” he gasps breathlessly in a feeble attempt to sound sexy.
“Hi handsome,” says the voice over the speaker. LOBO grabs his controller when he realizes I’m molecularizing his WOW character with my +6 Big Hammer.
“What the fuck, you ass!?!” says LOBO.
“Excuse me?” says Babs.
“Not you. Uh. Phil.” LOBO retorts in his usual lack-of-brilliance. He sneaks a peak at his watch. “What’s up Babs? It’s like seven-thirty. Shouldn’t you be sleeping with someone right now?"
I hold back a giggle.
“Well, it’s funny that you mention that,” she says.
Now, I look at LOBO directly, expecting some kind of humorous and silent exchange, but he doesn’t seem to clock this obvious flirtation.
“What do you want?” he asks distractedly, writhing with the controller.
“I want to sleep with you,” she says.
You can almost taste her sexuality through the phone speaker.
She’s good.
“Babs,” says LOBO. “I sleep on a futon, and you know that. It’s hard as a goddamn rock. What do you really want?”
“I want to do anything you want me to do.”
“Will you go get my refrigerator, washer and dryer?”
I would’ve been slack-jawed, had my jaw not fallen off at Taco Bell.
She pauses. “Now?”
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sleeping over if we had all those things here?”
“But I drive a Porsche,” she says.
“Bungee cords,” he replies. “Get like ten bucks worth. I’ll pay you back when you get here.”
He hangs up on her.
“You know,” I says. “She’s not coming over here to sleep.”
LOBO 'pauses' the game. “What?”
“I think she has an ulterior motive.”
His eyebrows furrow as he stares at the living room television screen. “Well, if it’s to watch TV, she’s going to have to do it in the bedroom. We have a good game going.”
I feel myself inwardly sigh. Here is LOBO, on the verge of what will most certainly be the most spectacular sex he’s ever had –primarily by virtue that I don’t think he’s ever had it before—and he doesn’t know it. I look at my own rotting hands and sigh.
“I wonder what my prospects are going to be,” I wonder aloud.
“You mean, what with being dead and all?”
“Yeah,” I says.
LOBO takes a long minute to size me up.
“Well,” he concludes, “there’s always fat chicks.”
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