Summer Of Zombie Blog Tour 2015: Claire C. Riley

You're reading Books, Beer and BLOGshit! It's the only blog that saves the best for last! I am your succulent host, Mr. Frank!

This is it. June has come to an end and so has the Summer of Zombie Blog Tour. It's been a hell of a ride. We've spoke to more zombies than we can shake a rotting limb at. We're read essays defending the zombie genre. We managed to get a drinking game or two in and we've read some exellent stories from zombies on summer vacation.

To end this shebang, we've saved our favorite submission for last. Claire C. Riley provided us with an exclusive piece entitled, "My Summer Apocolypse". It is a one of a kind What I Did On My Zombie Summer Vacation Piece.  We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we did.

And before we get started with the end, I'd like to thank each and every zombie author who contributed to the festival of the dead. We had a blast spotlighting you all and we hope we've helped connect you with a new reader or two.  Until next summer, we leave you with Claire C. Riley...

Brainz. Brainz. Brainz. 

That’s all anyone ever thinks we zombies think about. It’s quite presumptuous and insulting 
really. When I was alive, I was a tit man. Nothing like a good ole’ pair of titties to put a smile 
on my face. Summertime was my favorite season of the year. You know why? Because women love flashing all their junk as soon as they see a little bit of sunshine, and I was always on hand to offer them a free ogle.

But brainz? Nah, never thought much about brainz.

I don’t really know when it happened, the whole zombie thing, but my last thought was of titties. A big pair of bouncing titties in a tiny string bikini. She was jogging along the each
like she was on a Baywatch commercial. Titties bouncing, blond hair flapping around behind her, firm ass that I wanted to cup my hand over, and I was practically salivating, hiding behind my RayBans as I watched her.

Yeah, my last thoughts were damn good ones.

My first thought wasn’t so good.

Pain like you wouldn’t believe flared inside of me. It was like being beaten with a baseball bat with six inch nails protruding out of it. So yeah, that pretty much sucked. I remember screaming and not recognizing my own voice. I remember my blood covering my hands, and the red crimson tide lapping over my feet. It was majorly fucked up if I’m honest. Like tripping but without the comedown.

It hurt to sit it, but I dealt with that, gritting my teeth and forcing my body to move. God damn I felt angry though, and hungry. The last thing I ate was a hotdog and I was pretty sure it was only an hour or so ago, but it felt like a lifetime. I looked around me, wondering what the hell had just happened, the pain in my body was subsiding, and I had a feeling that the hotdog must have been bad, because my guts were churning something rotten. Still, when I saw that big tittied woman, crawling along the beach and sobbing, I pushed my bad guts to one side and stood up, intending to be her knight in shining armor.

Her eyes were wide with fear when they saw me, and I scratched at my beard, feeling the bristles spiking my fingertips. She wasn’t as pretty up close, but her body was bangin’ either way, so I focused on that instead.

She smelled like coconuts and mojitos. 

I smiled at her and held a hand out to help her up, but the crazy bitch started screaming and backing away like I was some crazy assed serial killer. I knelt down next to her, intending to calm her down and basically shut the hell up, but the smell of coconuts was growing even stronger and making my guts twist painfully.

I knew I needed to get away, if I didn’t I was definitely gonna’ shit myself, but damn it’s hard when there’s a semi-naked woman in front of you. 

I’m not sure what really happened next, it’s a bit of a blur, so you’ll have to excuse my shitty memory. There was blood. I remember that much. Lots and lots of blood. And then I was chewing on gristle, and I remember wondering if I had spewed my guts up in my mouth after all, because there was the rankest taste in my mouth.

I spat out whatever I was chewing on and looked down at the woman with the big titties and saw that her chest was an explosion of red. And what looked like an implant was hanging half inside and half outside her body. I grimaced and stood up, backing away from her in disgust.

I didn’t know what the hell was going on with this bitch, but all I really wanted to do was get the hell away from her.I turned and staggered away, my guts still churning and my head spinning from what just happened. I glanced back several times trying to work out if I had done that, but then something else caught my eye.

A beautiful brunette in a pink bathing suit running along the shoreline. She was screaming something fierce, her hair whipping about her face, but all I could focus in on was her big ole’ titties bouncing around.

I stumbled after her, eager to help, or do whatever needed to be done, to get a taste of those big titties of hers.

My summer was pretty awesome when I think back to it. No complaints from me. Well, apart from my guts still feel awful and I think I just shit myself again.


Claire C. Riley

Zombie Author Claire C. Riley

Claire C. Riley is a bestselling British horror writer whose work is best described as the modernization of classic, old-school horror. She fuses multi-genre elements to develop storylines that pay homage to cult classics while still feeling fresh and cutting edge. She writes characters that are realistic, and kills them without mercy. Claire lives in the United Kingdom with her husband, three daughters, and one scruffy dog.

Author of the bestselling Odium The Dead Saga Series, Thicker Than Blood, Limerence, plus much more.

Contact Links:

www.clairecriley.com

www.facebook.com/ClaireCRileyAuthor

http://amzn.to/1GDpF3I

Here's a picture of a zombie queen for no particular reason.

Summer of Zombie Blog Tour 2015: Mark Tufo

You're reading Books, Beer and BLOGshit! Its the only blog that has big guns! I am your high caliber blog host, Mr. Frank!

Today is a super special day on the BLOGshit. We have a Mark Tufo EXCLUSIVE! That's right, you're only going to be able to read this right here on Books, Beer and BLOGshit! One of the options we gave to the blog tour participants was to write a short piece about, "What I Did On My Zombie Summer Vacation." This was the option we were most hoping the writers would go with. Not many did but the ones we got are magnificent!

So here and here only, I present to you, Mark Tufo's What I Did On My Zombie Summer Vacation as told by Mark's nefarious zombie clown, Timmy!

Let 'er rip!

Timmy’s Summer Apocalypse

“Timmy? Timmy? Wake up! This is class not your tomb where only hell knows what you do!”
Mrs. Grimestein shrieked, shredding through her taut vocal chords. Timmy’s classmates giggled in a
deep groaning manner befitting of the newly teenaged dead. “It is your turn to speak.” Her tongue
peeked and poked out through the hole in the side of her cheek sometimes she would bite down on it
hard enough to draw blood and would pause as her eyes rolled up and she drank deeply of the brackish fluid. Timmy stood, he was enormous for thirteen, already well over six feet tall and two hundred pounds, he’d used his size advantage to his benefit for as long as he could remember, intimidating his classmates and sometimes his teachers.

Of them all it was Mrs. Grimestein with her gray rotting flesh that had never been able to see his
vastly superior size as scary. She would mock him at every turn, he would later learn that this was her way of keeping him ‘small’ but for now he went to the head of the class to deliver his Summer
Apocalypse report. He was all too aware of the condition his umm rigor mortis was causing, the front of his pants stuck out like he had a narwhal tucked down there. His classmates moaned in derision as his member preceded him. Timmy turned and faced the room, his face twisted up in strain as he let loose the build of up of gaseous pressure within his colon, ribbons of Bob the janitor’s undigested lower intestines fell from Timmy’s rectum pooling up in the seat of his pants, making the tight clothes that much more uncomfortable. Wendy Walker wrinkled up her nose from the offending smell then began to lick at the air like a snake sampling a scent. Timmy cleared his throat, a wet bloody ball of phlegm and fibrous material shot out from his mouth and fell with a squishing sound to the floor. Don Deader and Sara Shambler fought for the food ort.

“What I did for my summer apocalypse.” He started, his voice sounding like he had tiny bits of razor sharp coral shoved down his throat causing the vocalized air to be thick and coated in fluid. “Her name was Vivian.” There was a sneering snicker rippling throughout the class until he gazed at each and every one of his classmates threatening to stuff their heads into long unflushed toilets. “Vivian
Deneaux.” He continued. “She tried to kill me, had a gun pressed to my forehead. The joke was on her though it was empty. I bit her outstretched hand so hard I ripped her thumb clean off!” The front of Timmy’s pants which had been deflating, once again began to inflate with the thought. “The crunch of her brittle bones was heavenly the burst of marrow like a cream filled snack.” His eyes took on a dreamy expression. “I stripped her thumb of meat like a chicken bone, her screams of pain and shock like a deep am...am (he struggled with the unfamiliar word) am...”

“Ambrosia.” Mrs. Grimestein said leaning around his side to look at his paper.

“Yeah ambrosia. I moved up the length of her arm, the loose flesh from her upper arm pulled away with only some slight tugging I knew it was going to be tender.” He was drooling slightly now. “I
held her up as I chewed through the fatty wriggly meat. I slurped every delicious morsel. She was still screaming which I found amazing for someone so old. Usually they die pretty quickly, not this one though she was a tough old bird, I mean in the head not in the body that was as tender as fine
steakhouse aged steak. When I was done on her arm there wasn’t meat enough for a maggot and still the bitch wouldn’t die. Then I got an idea.” He pointed to his head like he was amazed something other than ‘eat...shit’ passed through there.

“Really?” Mrs. Grimestein also seemed surprised.

“She wouldn’t die so I saved her.”

There was an audible gasp from his classmates who were now rapt with his report.

“Yeah I saved her for later!” And then he laughed a wild maniacal thing. “She tasted so good I didn’t want to eat her in just one sitting, so I would bring another meal home and eat in front of her. She
would look at me sometimes wondering why I was doing that but I didn’t care. I like my food to be
aware of what is going to happen to them. When I was done with the little girl, I grabbed the old biddy’s lower calf, she struggled pretty hard for someone with one arm and about three thousand years behind her. Didn’t matter I bit through the bottom of her heel and ripped a chunk of flesh easily an inch...”

“Timmy!” Mrs. Grimestein started.

“Sorry, two point five three centimeters thick.’

“That’s better.”

“She had fat callouses and a few plantars warts that...I mean I just can’t describe how good it was. I mean even better than the first eyeball I ever ate.”

The class sighed thinking of their first times.

“Oh and the screams, it was an added am...am...”

“Ambience.” Mrs. Grimestein prodded. “Go on.” Seemed she was interested as well.

“I thought for sure she’d die but I think maybe she’s too mean for that. So on and on it went the entire summer, I would kill and eat someone and then take a portion of Deneaux as an after dinner mint, her calves, the sallow flesh of her thighs, just last week I ate her sex, have to admit that wasn’t the best part, sort of moldy but still better than most.”

“Is that it?” Mrs. Grimestein asked.

“Not quite I wanted to finish with a show and tell.” Timmy shuffled out of the room, he came back in pulling a chain. A furious old woman whose eyes blazed red was being dragged behind him, the chain wrapped tightly around her neck. Her arms and legs reduced to yellow bone as they scraped against the flooring. The class eyed her hungrily as she left a slimy trail of pus behind her.

“She is not one of us yet she is still alive?” Mrs. Grimestein had come closer. “I thought perhaps your story a fabricated tale Timmy, then I remembered you lacked the imagination.”

Timmy hadn’t heard a word his teacher said. “I present to you class, a gift. You can eat what remains though it will spoil it for every other meal you will ever have.” Chairs started moving backwards as his classmates arose. “First though! First Grimestein must die.”

There had never been a zombie on zombie killing before that day but never had something as special as that old crone ever been offered up as a motive. The rest of the day the class lazily ripped meat from Deneaux’s torso all the while she cursed and spat at them and finally begged for a cigarette before her eyes dimmed and closed.

“I cannot wait for school tomorrow. I have another surprise.” Timmy said as he walked out of the room. “I wonder what table wine goes with a Tal...” The door closed behind him and the rest was lost to the wind.

Thank you for having me on your blog and I hope you guys enjoy the short! -Mark Tufo

Zombie Author Mark Tufo

Woo! I think we all need a cigarette after that bit of juicy Tufo! While you're inhaling carcinogens, why not take a look at the links to all things Mark Tufo. Its equally orgasmic we assure you!

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