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September 18, 2007

David: Repose

Zombie Keith Richards sat quietly in his London flat, gathering wool and moss. It had all been a laff when he’d snorted his dad’s ashes along with some coke off of that groupie’s ass. And the joke had been for years that Keith was an incredibly well- and self-preserved animated corpse, the only thing except cockroaches and Twinkies to survive the coming apocalypse.

Only now that he was here, trapped in his rotting flesh, and surrounded by Twinkies, cockroaches, and the empty skulls of his mates, did he realize the Great Truth of his life.

God, he’d murder a fag.

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Comments

I may not have used "murder" in it's proper colloquial sense.

Posted by: David at September 18, 2007 4:48 PM · Permalink