Post by Trey Vincent on Dec 20, 2012 17:54:51 GMT -5
[Dark clouds hung above St. John’s Cemetery. A storm was coming. Soon. Beneath the giant steel mesh sign bearing the graveyard’s name, a lone female figure dressed in a long, flowing black coat lazily traced the gloved fingers of her right hand along the dull red bricks on the right column supporting the sign. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing the prison-like cemetery gates and shoving them inward with a dull creak.
[After an artistic quick fade in/fade out dealie, the woman was now somewhere deep in the cemetery, walking by tiny headstone markers, until at last she paused before a giant man-sized cross-shaped headstone. From over her shoulder, the camera looked at the words in a fancy font engraved upon the gray stone.]
Trey Vincent
23 March, 1976
20 August 2009
His Giant Cock Made Women Moan
[As for the cross-shape, that was actually a flat-screen television jutting out, playing “best of” highlights of the Sports Entertainment Icon’s sports entertainment career on an endless loop.]
Woman: Has it really been three years?
[The woman sighed gently and put her gloved right hand on the “Cock”. After a few moments, she kneeled down, slowly took her left glove off, and then pulled out a Bowie knife with an 8-inch blade. Without any hesitation, she put the knife against the bare flesh of her left palm.]
Woman: *Gasp* Why do the movies always make this look so easy and PAINLESS! There is sooo … much … pain! Owwww!
[Despite the pain she felt, the woman made the palm of her hand parallel with Trey Vincent’s grave. A steady drip, drip, drip of blood hit the cold, hard ground. As the blood rained down, a big gust of wind blew, followed in short order by the first flake of what no doubt was going to be a big snowstorm. The first of the season. Possibly. I don’t really pay attention to the weather in Minnesota. Anyway… blood and snow fell upon the cemetery lawn for a few seconds longer before she spoke, raising her hands toward the dark wintry sky.]
Woman: Adepto ex humus.
Orior orini ortus ex silenti.
Orior oriri ortus! Orior oriri ortus! Orior oriri ortus!
Oops, I got blood in my eye.
[She wiped her bloody hand on her pants, having forgotten she was wearing white pants.]
Woman: Ohhhh! Well, at least Trey isn’t here yet to make a period joke. Yet.
[Yet? Ooh, it seems this mysterious woman has engaged in some dark blood magick in an attempt to raise the dead. Will it work?]
Woman: I need a coffee. This is probably going to take a while.
[Fade to black.]
Caption: 22 hours, 6 cups of coffee, and 6 inches of snow later…
[The sun glistened off the newly fallen snow. All was quiet. Well, mostly quiet. There was a muffled bit of swearing coming from somewhere, but the camera looked around and there was nobody else in sight aside from the mysterious woman in the black flowing jacket, who was now wearing blue jeans, a white sweater, white scarf, and sunglasses.]
Woman: Do you hear that? I swear I hear swearing.
Cameraman: Zombie apocalypse?
Woman: Zombie? Trey! It must be Trey!
[Excitedly, she trudged toward the grave she had donated some blood to yesterday. Indeed, the sounds of muffled vulgarities and a repeated thumping were a bit louder. After nearly a minute, a small silver skull attached to a black cane emerged from the grave.]
Trey Vincent: Boobs! Boobs! Boobs!
Cameraman: Don’t zombies usually want brains?
Woman: Trey Vincent isn’t your average zombie.
[The woman grabbed the skull cane and began tugging. After a few moments, an arm emerged. Then another arm. Then a head. And with one last mighty pull, the rest of him emerged, still dressed in the black suit he had been buried in – though it looked a bit worse for wear after going through his coffin. And six feet of dirt. And six inches of snow.]
TV: Boobs! Booooobs!
[He zombiely reached for the woman’s boobs. Yes, zombiely is a word. Now. He cleared his throat, then rubbed his blurry eyes.]
TV: Michelle?
MV: Hi Trey!
TV: You brought me…back…in WINTER? What the HELL? Don’t suppose you could’ve done this in, oh, a WARMER month? When the ground isn’t frozen and covered in snow? Why?
MV: I was scared. The apocalypse is tomorrow. Didn’t want to be alone.
TV: The…apocalypse? What date is it?
MV: Well, it’s Dec. 20, 2012.
TV: How long?
MV: Three years. And four months.
TV: I’ve been dead for three years and four months? Why am I not decomposed?
MV: I don’t make the rules here. It doesn’t make much sense to me either.
TV: You look…old. Yikes.
MV: I’m 27!
TV: Like I said, old!
MV: Oh, screw you, Trey.
TV: But your boobs still look amazing.
MV: Aww, you’re so sweet.
[Michelle extended her hand and helped Trey to his feet for the first time in years. Trey took advantage, lunging for her cleavage and burying his face in between her breasts.]
MV: Trey!
[Trey came up for air, but kept his hands around her waist.]
TV: I’ve got rigor mortis in my pants!
[Michelle rolled her eyes. And smiled.]
MV: I missed you. Weirdly.
TV: So what’s the plan then?
[Michelle shrugged.]
TV: No boyfriend?
[She shook her head.]
TV: Oh baby, it’s fuck time!
[Trey grabbed the right hand of the woman he had once been married to – and subsequently divorced from – and together they walked toward the St. John’s Cemetery sign, and to a waiting snow-covered car just outside on the street.]
TV: I had the weirdest dreams when I was dead.
MV: Oh yeah?
TV: Yeah. I dreamt I was stuck in a musical.
MV: A musical? Oh boy…
TV: Say, since I’m back, if we survive tomorrow, want to restart BOB?
[Fade out.]
Caption: To be continued …
[After a few moments, the … was replaced with another piece of punctuation.]
Caption: To be continued?
[After an artistic quick fade in/fade out dealie, the woman was now somewhere deep in the cemetery, walking by tiny headstone markers, until at last she paused before a giant man-sized cross-shaped headstone. From over her shoulder, the camera looked at the words in a fancy font engraved upon the gray stone.]
Trey Vincent
23 March, 1976
20 August 2009
His Giant Cock Made Women Moan
[As for the cross-shape, that was actually a flat-screen television jutting out, playing “best of” highlights of the Sports Entertainment Icon’s sports entertainment career on an endless loop.]
Woman: Has it really been three years?
[The woman sighed gently and put her gloved right hand on the “Cock”. After a few moments, she kneeled down, slowly took her left glove off, and then pulled out a Bowie knife with an 8-inch blade. Without any hesitation, she put the knife against the bare flesh of her left palm.]
Woman: *Gasp* Why do the movies always make this look so easy and PAINLESS! There is sooo … much … pain! Owwww!
[Despite the pain she felt, the woman made the palm of her hand parallel with Trey Vincent’s grave. A steady drip, drip, drip of blood hit the cold, hard ground. As the blood rained down, a big gust of wind blew, followed in short order by the first flake of what no doubt was going to be a big snowstorm. The first of the season. Possibly. I don’t really pay attention to the weather in Minnesota. Anyway… blood and snow fell upon the cemetery lawn for a few seconds longer before she spoke, raising her hands toward the dark wintry sky.]
Woman: Adepto ex humus.
Orior orini ortus ex silenti.
Orior oriri ortus! Orior oriri ortus! Orior oriri ortus!
Oops, I got blood in my eye.
[She wiped her bloody hand on her pants, having forgotten she was wearing white pants.]
Woman: Ohhhh! Well, at least Trey isn’t here yet to make a period joke. Yet.
[Yet? Ooh, it seems this mysterious woman has engaged in some dark blood magick in an attempt to raise the dead. Will it work?]
Woman: I need a coffee. This is probably going to take a while.
[Fade to black.]
Caption: 22 hours, 6 cups of coffee, and 6 inches of snow later…
[The sun glistened off the newly fallen snow. All was quiet. Well, mostly quiet. There was a muffled bit of swearing coming from somewhere, but the camera looked around and there was nobody else in sight aside from the mysterious woman in the black flowing jacket, who was now wearing blue jeans, a white sweater, white scarf, and sunglasses.]
Woman: Do you hear that? I swear I hear swearing.
Cameraman: Zombie apocalypse?
Woman: Zombie? Trey! It must be Trey!
[Excitedly, she trudged toward the grave she had donated some blood to yesterday. Indeed, the sounds of muffled vulgarities and a repeated thumping were a bit louder. After nearly a minute, a small silver skull attached to a black cane emerged from the grave.]
Trey Vincent: Boobs! Boobs! Boobs!
Cameraman: Don’t zombies usually want brains?
Woman: Trey Vincent isn’t your average zombie.
[The woman grabbed the skull cane and began tugging. After a few moments, an arm emerged. Then another arm. Then a head. And with one last mighty pull, the rest of him emerged, still dressed in the black suit he had been buried in – though it looked a bit worse for wear after going through his coffin. And six feet of dirt. And six inches of snow.]
TV: Boobs! Booooobs!
[He zombiely reached for the woman’s boobs. Yes, zombiely is a word. Now. He cleared his throat, then rubbed his blurry eyes.]
TV: Michelle?
MV: Hi Trey!
TV: You brought me…back…in WINTER? What the HELL? Don’t suppose you could’ve done this in, oh, a WARMER month? When the ground isn’t frozen and covered in snow? Why?
MV: I was scared. The apocalypse is tomorrow. Didn’t want to be alone.
TV: The…apocalypse? What date is it?
MV: Well, it’s Dec. 20, 2012.
TV: How long?
MV: Three years. And four months.
TV: I’ve been dead for three years and four months? Why am I not decomposed?
MV: I don’t make the rules here. It doesn’t make much sense to me either.
TV: You look…old. Yikes.
MV: I’m 27!
TV: Like I said, old!
MV: Oh, screw you, Trey.
TV: But your boobs still look amazing.
MV: Aww, you’re so sweet.
[Michelle extended her hand and helped Trey to his feet for the first time in years. Trey took advantage, lunging for her cleavage and burying his face in between her breasts.]
MV: Trey!
[Trey came up for air, but kept his hands around her waist.]
TV: I’ve got rigor mortis in my pants!
[Michelle rolled her eyes. And smiled.]
MV: I missed you. Weirdly.
TV: So what’s the plan then?
[Michelle shrugged.]
TV: No boyfriend?
[She shook her head.]
TV: Oh baby, it’s fuck time!
[Trey grabbed the right hand of the woman he had once been married to – and subsequently divorced from – and together they walked toward the St. John’s Cemetery sign, and to a waiting snow-covered car just outside on the street.]
TV: I had the weirdest dreams when I was dead.
MV: Oh yeah?
TV: Yeah. I dreamt I was stuck in a musical.
MV: A musical? Oh boy…
TV: Say, since I’m back, if we survive tomorrow, want to restart BOB?
[Fade out.]
Caption: To be continued …
[After a few moments, the … was replaced with another piece of punctuation.]
Caption: To be continued?