Pyganglion: A Zombie Parody

Britney vs. Ke$ha – Piece of Blah Blah Blah mash-up…

“Where are the others?” Ace asks, as we reach the bottom of the steps, heading back up into the giant pyramid shrine aboard the barge.

Carvery shrugs.

“Never touched ‘em,” he grins.

Uh-oh. I wonder if that means the crocodiles have had an early breakfast…

A figure appears at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against the flickering torchlight. The outline of a regal headdress stops my heart dead in its tracks. My kneecaps file against my body for divorce.

“How the Hell did she do that?” Ace gulps. “Next time, I’m bringing ketamine as well…”

The figure takes two paces towards us, and raises an arm imperiously, to point in our direction. I clutch the mechanical clockwork hand to my chest – but it is dormant, no sign of helpful magical activity coming to our rescue from within it at all…

Gooood,” the distant shape groans.

Then trips over its skirts, and falls flat on its face. A very impressive stair-tumble follows, shedding bangles, headddress, pendants, and unravelled silk.

“Homer!” we all shout, as the now semi-naked gray zombie arrives at our feet.

“Ouuuuuch…”

“Well, we know what he’s been up to,” Carvery remarks, as we help the bedraggled, undead transvestite Dry brother to his feet. “Found his mother’s closet again, by the look of it.”

“Do you think we could use this?” Ace suggests, picking up a tail-end of embellished white sari, or toga, or whatever it is. “Seeing as Homer likes to dress up as his mother already. Could be our ticket out of here.”

Home!” cries Homer, and we have to stop him, as he spots the distant bath-tub.

“Risky,” Carvery replies, shaking his head. “The guy can’t stay upright and facing in one direction all at the same time. But I reckon Sarah could do it.”

If my mouth could drop open any further, I’d be obliged to fit it with a manhole cover.

“Cool.” Ace holds out the toga and headdress, towards me. “Get your pyjamas off.”

Again – not the way this fantasy about Ace Bumgang was meant to happen!

“No!” I cry, more in frustration with the way my imaginary future love-life seems to be getting bulldozed at the moment, than in response to the request.

Which, under other circumstances, I’d have no problem with at all…

“Come on, Sarah.” Carvery waves the shotgun in my general direction, gesturing up and down. “It’s not like we haven’t seen it all before. Like, when you’re asleep. Or sending Ace Bumgang pictures of it, playing Draw My Thing online.”

Does this guy stop at nothing??!

“They were good drawings,” Ace nods in agreement. “All I had to do was colour them in.”

“For the last time, it was a picture of a taco!” I nearly scream at him. “Didn’t the clue ‘you eat this’ give you any ideas?”

“Yeah,” he says. “But not food-related ones. And I guessed the letters C and T, remember?”

“Wasting time, Sarah,” Carvery reminds me. “Time in which we might all get eaten, by zombies and crocodiles and stuff.”

He’s right. The zombies at the far end of the great hall by the marble bath-tub are trying to organise themselves, bumping into one another and attempting to haul the black onyx body of their zombie queen, Lady Glandula, out of the water. They’re like honey-bees, prioritising their queen first – luckily for us…

“Okay,” I relent at last. “But you guys have to turn around. No peeking.”

“NOW you don’t want us to look?” Carvery chuckles, as he and Ace, smirking, turn their backs. At least now, they can keep an eye out for danger.

Oh, God, how does this sari-toga thing work? Maybe I could just wrap it around over the pyjamas… but Homer joins in once he sees what I’m doing, flinging the fabric expertly around me, over a shoulder and under and through, pleated here and tucked in there – and in the process, my borrowed pyjamas from Crispin Dry drop discreetly onto the floor.

Phew. No more work for the lawyers of Angelina Jolie and Lara Croft: Tomb Raider at the Mutual Film Company today, then…

And now the bangles and headdress… strange. The bangles have the same sort of surface engravings and gemstones in as the golden clockwork hand. Maybe it was procured to co-ordinate with the queen’s wardrobe, when it was being made in Switzerland?

“You done?” says Carvery Slaughter, and I realise he’s been peeking all along. “Let’s go. Try to act classy. That means – not like a pizza-delivery girl. Or an alcoholic, sexually-frustrated, closet necrophiliac.”

“And Lady Glandula isn’t one, I presume?” I retort.

“Good point,” Ace agrees. “Just march right up there and ask if anyone wants to see your Thing.”

“In a classy accent,” adds Carvery.

“Just you wait, Carvery Slaughter,” I scoff at both of them. “And you, Ace. When we get back – just you wait…”

I turn around, head held high – and with Homer attending carefully to the longer bits of my gown, which would have made Pippa Middleton professionally envious – I start to ascend the grand stairs, back up into the pyramid.

“You know she rolls around naked in the cheese before they put it on your pizza?” I hear Carvery telling Ace, behind me.

…And if I ever find out who invented the idea of keeping a ’secret’ diary, I am going to travel back in time and give them a big piece of my mind…

Restored Audrey Hepburn vocal on ‘My Fair Lady’ version of ‘Pygmalion’ – Enjoy 🙂

More mindless mayhem: The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum

Also available for all other devices, and online reading, on Smashwords

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s