Bite Me

BITE ME

Being the Journal of Abigail Von Normal, Emergency Backup Mistress of the Greater Bay Area Night. The City of San Francisco is being stalked by a huge, shaved vampyre cat named Chet, and only I, Abby Normal, emergency backup mistress of the Greater Bay Area night, and my manga-haired love monkey, Foo Dog, stand between the ravenous monster and a bloody massacre of the general public. Which isn’t, like, as bad as it sounds, because the general public kind of sucks ass.

Still, I think that this battle of dark powers; the maintenance of my steamy, forbidden romance; the torturous break-in of a new pair of red vinyl, thigh-high Skankenstein® platform boots; as well as the daily application of complex eye makeup and whatnot, totally justify my flunking Biology 102. (Introduction to Mutilation of Preserved
Marmot Cadavers, with Mr. Snavely, who totally has his way with the marmots when no one is around, I have it on good authority.) But try to tell that to the mother unit, who
deserves this despair and disappointment for cursing me with her tainted and small-boobed DNA.

Allow me to catch you up, s’il vous plaît. Pay attention, bitches, there will be a test.

Three lifetimes ago, or maybe it was like last semester, because like the song says, “time is like a river of slippery excretions when you’re in love”—anyway—during winter
break, Jared and I were in Walgreens looking for hypoallergenic eye makeup when we encountered the beautiful, redheaded Countess Jody and her consort of blood, my
Dark Lord, the vampyre Flood, who was totally disguised in jeans and flannel as a loser.

And I was all, “Nosferatu.” Whispered to Jared like a night wind through dead trees.

And Jared was all, “No way, you sad, deluded little slut.”

And I was all, “Shut your fetid penis port, you spunkbreathed poseur.” Which he took as a compliment, so that’s how I meant it, because while Jared is deeply gay, he’s never really gayed anyone up, except maybe his pet rat, Lucifer. Strictly speaking, I think Jared would be considered a rodentsexual, if not for the difficult geometry of the relationship.
(See, size does matter!)

Note to self: I should totally set Jared up with Mr. Snavely and they can talk about squirrel-shagging and whatnot and maybe I won’t have to repeat Bio 102.

From the book BITE ME: A Love Story by Christopher Moore. Copyright C 2010 by Christopher Moore. Reprinted by permission of William Morrow, an Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.