Over at the League of Reluctant Adults, mdhenry held a trivia contest awhile back. It was ostensibly to celebrate the release of his first novel, Happy Hour of the Damned and—I suspect—also because he likes zombies. The prize was a rubber duck of the zombie-devil persuasion and I thought to myself I like bathing, and more importantly, when it comes to zombie trivia, I have a depth and breadth that is unrivaled by any girl I’ve met.
So, because there’s nothing like feeling special over knowing pop-culture minutia that no one in their right mind would bother to retain, I was compelled to show off my Skillz. As a result, I recently received this unassailably cool duck in the mail.
Its brain is showing. Tell me that’s not cool. Plus, it glows in the dark.
Needless to say, I was extremely pleased with the duck, and have been leaving it around for house-guests to stumble upon, but the real windfall was this:
It’s a known fact that I’m a sucker for the undead. But, and here I reveal the true depths of my nerdiness, I’m an even bigger sucker for footnotes. The. Book. Has footnotes.
If you’re bothered by copious amounts of bodily fluids, I can’t in good conscience recommend it. If, like me, you are not bothered by copious amounts of bodily fluids and you like your protagonists with great shoes and a taste for human flesh, maybe just don’t read it at the gym, because then the woman on the adjacent stationary bike will ask you what’s so funny and you will be forced to:
A) tell her
B) make up something completely unconvincing, but wholesome
C) tell her in a euphemistic, round-about way that actually, when you think about it, sort of makes a ménage-à-quatre-turned-bloodbath in a cheap motel sound even worse
Because I’m a remarkably bad liar and also find it expedient to avoid using the phrase gang-bang in conversation with strangers, I picked C. Saying that it could have gone better is being generous. The situation is, of course, compounded by the fact that Happy Hour has a pretty innocuous cover. It would not look out of place on the sassy beach-read shelf, but don’t be fooled. It’s not chick-lit, but if it was . . . well, basically, I’d read a lot more chick-lit.