Longer, Thicker, Harder, Massive!

I have a dirty little secret.  I miss penis enlargement ads. Between the successful takedown of several large spammers and my own efforts, I get almost no spam any more.  Believe me, I don’t miss 99.999% of it.  Just the best of the make her long for your schlong ads sent by people in countries for whom English is not to be speaking the language of primary. Many of these foreign fraudsters possessed all the communication skills of the friendly folks who brought us All Your Base Are Belong To Us or Engrish.

I adored the way they tried to find new and unique ways to refer to a man’s pride and joy without actually using the clinical term for it. (And I have to admit the cleverness lacking in calling it a ‘man’s pride and joy’ would not make it into Nicole’s Hall of Sham(e) below.)

Big enough for ya?

I don’t think anyone went broke underestimating the number of males who suspect they’re under-endowed, or who believe that having a perfectly normal ‘love cannon’ is simply not acceptable to modern females who want it to be no less than the size of the rod in a Tom of Finland cartoon. What was a wank fantasy for post-War gay males, apparently, is only good enough for today’s voracious woman.

“Smilin’ Bob” from the old Enzyte commercials. Bogus penis pills that were actually advertised on American TV for awhile in the early ’00s.

As much as we might laugh at the ridiculous claim that some miracle pill can produce three inches in a month or a thicker girth in seven days, articles I’ve read over the years indicate that not only men respond to these, but women as well. I am so curious about this! Do you hand them to your lover, a tacit admission that he’s not satisfying you? Or do you tell him they’re “vitamin supplements”? Or do you crush them into powder and mix them in with his mashed potatoes?

Every once in awhile some spammer’s servers got hacked and customer data was exposed for all the world to see just how massive and imposing some men’s…….gullibility really was. Several years ago I read of a case where an enlargement spammer’s customers included men with college educations and prominent jobs on Wall Street. (As Xaviera Hollander, the Happy Hooker once put it, “When the stocks go up, the cocks go up!”) You’d think these people would be smart enough not to fall for one-eyed trouser snake oil, but apparently the fear of not measuring up, as it were, overrides any logic circuits in the male brain and they whip out……..the ol’ credit card.

For awhile I kept a list of some of my favourite enlargement spam headlines. A few are more for, er, performance issues rather than size.

NICOLE’S MASSIVE MANDINGO HALL OF SHAM(E):

Make your love torpedo drive all the way to her tanker

Your girl very likes to be engaged in love! And can not you do love long?

Would you like to be a sculptor of your own penis?
(Does this involve plaster-of-Paris?)

Literally become a monster snake in my pants
(This just scares me. I don’t want to be a monster snake & I’m very sure if I was I wouldn’t fit in your pants even if your name was Michael Moore!)

Hoist your darling sexual times

The One Secret to Giving Your Woman Paralyzing Orrgasms That Will Have Her Brainwashed
(Does that mean I’ll turn into a Teabagger?)

Capture rapturous girls’ looks on your zipper protuberance!
(Jim is bustin’ out all ohhh-ver!)

Deeper in her shaft

Doping for your porksword…Be her mighty night predator!
(H1N1 isn’t now an STD, is it, you swine?)

2 Steamy Small penis sex Positions – Supercharge Her Pleasure No Matter How mSall You Are!
(Not an enlargement ad, obviously, but if all else fails…)

Don’t let porksword rust – Support your custard launcher – It’s like having a female catcher
(Three utterly unrelated mental images. I mean WTF is a ‘female catcher’?)

Make your tentacle work well – Prosperity in banging – Cures bed fast finish
(Attention all hentai lovers!)

Negroes admire with the of the size – we will surpass them!
(I have read that the real reason many men want bigger you-know-whats is to impress the guys in the locker room. Yes really. You can draw your own conclusions about the Average Male from that.)

Rasputin’s alleged preserved ding-dong, or just a giant clam?

Power up your pork rocket – Neither rod will stay so long – Nail her like a youngster
(How many rods do you have, exactly?)

Harder banging is real
(Good to know. I was afraid it was all a fig newton of my imagination!)

Your wood will be prefect for her fornicator – Lite your bedroom with fire once and for all!
(We’re gonna have to hurry before we die of smoke inhalation!)

Stop repelling your manliness – Get hot in a while – Make your intruder the best for her – If she is tired of your night games you can rock her world using our products!

You’ll brake walls with your boner
(Does this mean you can use your boner to brake your car so you don’t hit a wall?)

Your shlong can be shlonger
(Oh, that’s original.)

Virtual Sax can not be compared with real pleasure!
(Sex is still better than jazz music)

Make your weapon of love shoot twice more at one night! With our goods it isn’t a limit!
(Hope you’ve got a permit for that thing)

Your unstoppable love force will be all about you
(May the Love Force be with you, young Skywalker)

Desire will literally circulate in your wang
(That’s gotta feel weird)

Do not let your intentions in love go flop anymore!
(Heaven forfend)

Three girls at one night? It is easy for your manhood when you know our address in Internet!
(Because, like, the women who will agree to ménage-à-quatres live at your place?)

Get incredible sizing profit in pants
(Ironically this was for a thyroid drug!)

You can drill ladies better! Faster rod boosting!

The dangers of addiction.

Women will see your talent in drilling and banging
(Who knew carpentry was so erotic?)

Breakthrough in wang-liftin!
(Is this an Olympic event?)

Impulse for manliness ideals of bed-marathons

You’ll be able to invade so deep into woman, she’ll scream and shout like crazy
(“OW, MY STOMACH! OW, MY LUNGS! OW, MY THR–AIIGIIGGHHHLLLLLEEE!!!”)

Be her wild banger!
(But don’t mash her potatoes)

The quicker pecker picker-upper!
(Someone’s showing their age)

You’ll fap with eager on it
(WTF? I’m fairly certain ‘fap’ is a reference to masturbation, but why would you want to get bigger if you’re by yourself?  Maybe you need to shoot over a few of those Hot Filpnio grils who are dying to meet YOU!!! spams)

If you aren’t American you may have missed the classic “Smilin’ Bob” Enzyte commercials:

Don’cha think if it was possible for medical science to give you a longer, thicker, harder, more massive Pied Piper that most men today would be forced to go everywhere pushing a wheelbarrow in front of them? Believe me, the marketing success is guaranteed. As soon as a REAL enlargement pill works, Pfizer and Eli Lilly will be all over it like a banker on a bailout!

Now if your problem is erectile dysfunction, and you’re short of cash, there is an alleged cure that’s a lot cheaper than Viagra…however, you’re not gonna like it…

4/20 Day: A Brief History Of Weed, Maaaan…

It’s 4/20 Day! Stop whatever you’re doing on April 20th, at 4:20pm, and light up a joint just to mellow out, show the world that reefer smokers are way nicer people than drunks, and really, really piss off Republicans and other incurable tightasses.  While you’re waiting for the mellow to set in, here’s a brief history of weed, from those tuned-in stoners in early China to the present day – that’s 4/20 Day 2012, baby!

10,000 B.C.: (Before Cannabis, not British Columbia!) The Chinese are, thus far, the most likely first humans to discover and use weed. They brew it into a tea and call it ‘green’.  China doesn’t invade anyone for 800 years.

1300 B.C.: India invents the pot brownie.  Indians believe weed encourages sleep, lowers fevers, cures dysentery and improves the mind and judgement.  It also makes them very horny.  Pretty soon there’s more than a billion Indians.  They’re so mellow and laid (back) they barely notice when the Mughals invade in 1526 A.D., but boy oh boy do they have some really mind-blowing art and statuary to show them…

4th CENTURY B.C.: Alexander the Great smokes a pipe full of weed and puts off conquering Asia Minor for at least three weeks while he contemplates the intricacies of his favorite concubine’s testicles.

610 A.D.: Islam is invented.  The Prophet Mohammed decrees that alcohol is prohibited, but weed is not.  Hashish becomes popular in the Middle East, which remains to this day the only place on the planet where smoking weed fails to mellow you out.

History's first recorded Republican.

1787: America’s Constitutional Convention, held in Philadelphia and attended by 55 delegates and 189 hookers, wraps up in September when the delegate from Virginia passes around some weed he brought back from his recent trip to Jamaica.  That day they write out the plan for something they call the electoral college.  The next morning, after sleeping it off, no one can figure out how the hell it works.  Or what they’re all doing in the belfry of the Old North Tower.  Or why they’re naked.  Or why Steve is grinning like George III on Tax Day.

1936: The movie Reefer Madness is released, horrifying Americans with its depiction of what kind of movies are made by people who’ve clearly never smoked weed before.

1966: Marijuana is popularized by drop-out long-haired bell-bottomed Communist hippie weirdoes who never shut up about Ginsberg and Camus and Che and who listen obsessively to a terrible racket they call ‘psychedelic music’ and which their parents call ‘sound of cats being tortured .’  The new ‘reefer madness’ works to many new rock stars’ advantage as, for example, no one notices that Jim Morrison writes lyrics like a mentally-challenged banana slug and that Canned Heat guy can’t sing for shit.  In 1967, Timothy Leary urges people to turn on, tune in, drop out.  Everyone’s far too stoned to realize Leary is 47 years old and waaaaay past thirty, which means they shouldn’t trust a damn thing he says.

1996: Famed astrophysicist Carl Sagan dies, and it comes out shortly thereafter that he liked to smoke weed while taking a shower with his wife.  This comes as a giant embarrassment to marijuana critics who contend that weed wrecks your brain and turns you into a total underachieving slacker loser.  “Toldja,” says Harrison Ford, eyes half-mast.

2001: Canada becomes the first country in the history of the world to legalize weed for medical use.  Conservatives complain that those damn godless socialist lefties will legalize anything.  What’s next, gay marriage?

2002: The Canadian Special Senate Committee on Illegal Drugs issues a report saying, in essence, marijuana should be regulated like tobacco because it’s less harmful than alcohol, which comes as no surprise to anyone who’s ever been to a Jimmy Buffett concert.  Canadian conservatives, like, completely freak out totally all over the place prompting the Committee to issue a second report saying, in essence, chill, dudes.

2010: California Proposition 19, also called the Regulate, Control, & Tax Cannabis Act, becomes a statewide ballot initiative.  It would allow certain types of non-medical marijuana use although still prohibit the sale of it.  Supporters argue it would help reduce the budget shortfall as well as force vicious Colombian drug cartel overlords to start shopping at Dollarama.  It’s defeated by a powerful group of Republicans who object to the fact that the new law doesn’t negatively impact the poor, illegal Mexicans, old people, baby bunnies, and children dying of leukemia.

Have a totally groovy day, amigos!!!

Crikey! It’s The Giant Spider Invasion!

Good gods.  A town in Australia called Wagga Wagga (and that’s pronounced WOGGA WOGGA, not WAGGA WAGGA, as my Ozzie friend Libby archly informed me, despite the fact that it’s spelled WAGGA WAGGA and not WOGGA WOGGA and is without question the world’s stupidest town name) has been invaded by giant horrible evil brain-destroying monster spiders from hell, because, I think, Wagga Wagga must have been a very, very bad town in a former lifetime, and its karma is coming back on it.  Another explanation has it that the horrible beasts relocated to higher ground after a flood, but that’s just silly.

Just to put things in perspective, this apocalypse was prophesied in what was once thought to be a cheezy horror movie but what is now understood to be an insightful documentary, 1975′s The Giant Spider Invasion, set in the mythical state of Wisconsin:

Not to put too fine a point on it, but there was a more recent “horror movie” (read: explosive documentary) on what happens when spiders go all Hell’s Angels on an entire town, 2002′s Eight Legged Freaks:

Pay special attention to the spiders mummifying a human, arachno-style, and then compare this to what’s happened in Wagga Wagga:

And now for the REALLY freaky s**t!

When the little @#$%s are building SKYWAYS, for frack's sake, just kill me now!!! Or buy me a one-way ticket to Hawaii, where all I have to deal with are volcanoes

Crikey, some might argue that Wagga Wagga’s Boschian nightmares aren’t exactly giant spiders, they’re merely wolf spiders (that jump!), but it’s only Australians who say that, because they actually think big futhermuckers like that are normal!!!  Listen, I grew up in Florida where we had big ugly spiders (some of which had pretty colors but I maintain that any spider bigger than a dime is a Big Ugly Spider and I don’t care if he’s got a friggin’ original Picasso on his huge tank-like back).  My mom said there was a spider web between two trees outside my bedroom window when I was a baby, and she tried to hose it down, but it was too strong, and then she tried a flame-thrower but it was too strong, and it even survived her small tactical nuke.  So she sent out the big guns – or rather, the big pole – in the capable hands of my father, who made short work of the lair and the vicious lemon-sized beast that Mom swears had glowing eyes and giant fangs.  But, you know, Mom’s even more arachnophobic than me, so she might have exaggerated a wee bit.

I used to watch something like the little dude to the left hanging off a bush outside our church while the sermon was going on and I thought that was a really big-ass spider but clearly I’ve never been to Wagga Wagga.  And I will never, ever, visit Australia, because you just know this mass invasion is just a rehearsal for their next stop: SYDNEY!!!

The people, in case you were wondering, evacuated the town before the spiders even realized the roof was leaking, but I doubt they’ll ever return.  Would you?  OMG THEY GOT THE DOG!!!

And here’s the REALLY scary thing (yeah, like this isn’t enough nightmare material to send you into therapy for like the next 45 years): Australia is JAM-PACKED CHOCK-FULL of vicious, evil, horrible, killer spiders and junk!

Libby told me they have horrible poisonous killer spiders that hang out in your swimming pool and I’m like, you’re freaking s**tting me, spiders that swim, with, like Jaws music playing in the background (except on didgeridoo) and, like, latch on to you and KILL you?  She’s just messing with me, right?  Right???

No, she’s NOT messing with me.  Here’s a really stupid freaking Australian who’s not the Crocodile Hunter swimming in a pool with a FREAKING DEADLY FUNNEL SPIDER in it, a beast which can swim, sink, float on the water, and apparently KILL YOU IN FIFTEEN MINUTES WITH A SINGLE BITE, and he’s talking to the farking camera while this farking spider is sizing him up for a torpedo kill!  Someone please enlighten me: Are all Australian men this stupid?!?!

Now, I know Australia’s one of the most dangerous places on the planet.  Like, everything can kill you, even otherwise benign creatures like toads and lizards and baby octopi. The only animal that’s widely regarded as relatively non-fatal is the sheep, but I have my doubts about that because since everything else that flies, crawls, walks, or slithers across Down Under can kill you, why wouldn’t the sheep have developed lethal superpowers too?  I offer you Exhibit A: My ancestor from England who wound up in Australia on a family sheep farm.  He died there when he was thrown off his horse.  Why?  My theory is the sheep attacked the horse just to get to the human.  Goddess only knows what happened after that but I will tell you, the New Zealanders recently made a movie that I suspect tells the real story:

To make matters worse, Libby tells me about something called “bluebottles” which exist, she assures me, to do nothing more than kill any human unfortunate enough to step on one.  “What are they,” sez I, “houseflies?” And she looks at me like I’m farking brain-dead while I’m thinking they’re probably Australian houseflies the size of opossums with giant fangs and a hate-on for humans.  She wasn’t quite sure what they were, “just ambulating bags of goop and spines,” which, as it turns out, wasn’t all that accurate, as bluebottles are actually Portuguese Man O’ War jellyfish, which have no spines, only very rarely kill you, and do not ambulate (if they’re on the beach for you to step on, they’ve washed up there by mistake and are in the middle of dying, which is why they so deeply resent your squishing them with your big fat foot, although frankly, if I was a big blob of goo about to dehydrate into a sticky pancake on a New South Wales beach, I think I’d more than welcome instant death from some lumbering human).  But never mind, the point is, those farkers can farking put you in a world of hurt and make you wish you were dead.

What you’ve got to worry about more, rather, are stonefish, which look like stones and if you do step on it it will try to farking kill you, and box jellyfish, which can kill you in less time than it takes to scream, “OH F**K, I’VE JUST BEEN STUNG BY A BOX JELLYFISH!”

So anyway, my point is, whatever you do, DON’T GO ANYWHERE NEAR F**KING AUSTRALIA!  It can kill you.  Just by looking at you weird.

And the sheep will eat you, if the spiders don’t get you first.

What Wagga Wagga needs - John Goodman, the exterminator in Arachnophobia: "ROCK & ROLLLLLLLLLL!"

Better Living Through High Tech Toiletry!

The Darth Vader Laser Toilet. Pray your butt isn't Alderaan.

Isn’t it about time we had an adult conversation about, you know, high-tech toilet technology?  Not just the flushy things, but all things related to the process of elimination that can make our lives better.  Or maybe just save them, even if we fervently hope the following remains in the realm of science fiction…

For example: The Japanese, those wacky wild-asses who gave us hentai, tentacle porn, bukkake, undies vending machines and Pearl Harbor, have come up with the ultimate in bad taste – the Turdburger!  (With shiitake mushrooms, please! Ar ar!)

A Japanese researcher has created an new burger which is sure to please PETA – no animals died to make it! – out of soya, steak sauce essence (WTF? What is that? Artificial A-1?) and protein extracted from human you-know-what.  Yes really.  Don’t look at me like that, I’m not making this up!  All right, see for yourself!

Fortunately, it’s way too expensive to even consider mass manufacturing, but give it time. Hey, it’s a hungry world out there and those Third World people should be grateful they’ve got anything to eat, right? Never mind that this’ll probably be a platform idea for the Republican candidate for the 2012 election if the liberal-biased press (what little of it is left, ar ar) pushes them enough on at least throwing a bone to the poor.  Or in this case, a turdburger.  Can you just hear Mitt Romney on this? “You want socialism?  All right, you foul liberals, here’s yer stinkin’ socialism.  In place of food stamps we’re offering all unemployed losers – I mean Americans – free turdburgers.  Get a job, or eat shit!”

An article recently in Scientific American argues that it’s time to think about recycling urine for drinking water.  Because the U.S. is running low on same and anyway, you’re kind of sort of already drinking recycled urine that’s gone through American treatment plants.  (Relax, Canada: This is not a concern of ours for now.  We possess like 20% of the world’s drinking water, so we don’t have to let the yellow mellow or restrict our showers to no more than an hour and a half.)  But wait!  NASA’s already on it!  Because it’s really cost-prohibitive to schlep water into space for the astronauts on the International Space Station, they’ve figured out a way to convert piss and sweat into potable water!  Uh, well, that’s what they claim, anyway, although evidence indicates their first experiments needed a little tweaking:

 

Wonder if it would taste any better with a shot of Stolichnaya?

But, on the less disgusting side of things, Bill Gates wants to revolutionize the way people take a dump. The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation will work with the government of Kenya to provide decent sanitation facilities and clean drinking water to 800,000 Kenyans. (No word yet on any NASA involvement.)  With no less than 2.5 billion people in the world without the ability to flush the brown down, it’s an admirable project, although I hope the Kenyans already have enough food before some Republican dreams up an excuse to cut off foreign aid without starving them to death.  Among the ideas are waterless toilets that separate urine and feces for drying.

Plumbers fear it worse than laser toilets.

But don’t worry, our First World engineers are forever thinking up ways to revolutionize the way you take a wiz!  Speaking of dry toilets, our finest minds have been working on the waterless urinal.  Don’t expect one coming soon to a public washroom near you, as plumbers unions are pissed off about this threat to their livelihoods.  But, if you’ve got six grand just lying around doing nothing, you can buy a waycooler fancy high-tech twa-lette with a heated seat you can also adjust for height, a charcoal air filter and an FM radio/MP3 player while you do your thang to the beat of Salt ‘N’ Pepa’s Push It.  (What? No built-in Kindle for Dad so he can check the New York Times?)

But, getting back to the Japanese (because weird shit always comes back to them!), for the must-have 1%-rich-kid science fiction toy to impress all your friends, there are the highest-tech toilets imaginable – motion-detecting lids that open and close when you approach and walk away, butt-cleaning water nozzles, automatic lights for nighttime use (never miss the bowl again at 3am!) and major advances in flushing technology/water conservation (the Japanese are down to 3.8 liters per flush vs. our water-wasting 15 liters.

Better living through high-tech toiletry.  You can thank the Japanese.  And Bill Gates.  And NASA.

Coming soon to a McDonald's near you!

Fox Hunting (As In Babes, Not Critters Or Right-Wingers!)

Whither comes the word ‘foxes’ – which I mostly associate with the glitzy disco era – connoting attractive women (although in the late ’70s it was most assuredly applied to hot men too)?

A friend and I debated this recently over dinner.  I thought it was most likely a late ’70s invention but he reminded me of Jim Hendrix:

Touché. 1967, bro.  Then of course there was the inimitable Foxy Brown (Pam Grier) in 1974:

“You tell me who you want done, and I’ll do the hell out of him!”

Say it again, sistah!!!  It’s like the word jive, Foxy – ain’t nobody said that since prefacing it with something like, “A peanut farmer in the White House?  You jivin’ me!”

It seemed to me, though, that the word ‘fox’ for babes didn’t become part of the lingua franca – and only for a few years – until The Hustle reigned supreme:

We said it in school, it was oft-repeated in the movies & TV shows of the day and then it seemed to die out as quickly as disco.  I saw Fast Times At Ridgemont High in 1982 and when a girl referred to a good-looking man as a fox I remember thinking even at that time that it seemed a bit outdated – no one said ‘fox’ anymore.  Please! The New Wave had washed the glittery excess of the über-feathered hair era away!

So where did these foxes come from, and are they still around today?

A little research jointly conducted with my Nutmegger buddy Steve Sokolow revealed the following foxy facts.

I'm pretty. Worship me.

The earliest reference to women as ‘foxes’, allegedly, was in 1895, coined by African-Americans, and white folks picked it up a few years later.  It didn’t enter popular parlance, though, until the 1940s, and I can’t as yet explain why, although my friend Rachel Satu Victoria Parry humorously commented, “Fox hunting was a favoured sport of the rich? And then if they caught her, they got to wear her?”  Well, maybe, although I’m inclined to think that perhaps only rich women could afford fox coats and wraps, and they could also afford to look better than the rest of us mortals, so maybe that’s how foxes came to be associated with attractive women.

I found a blog called The Beheld: Beauty And What It Means with one writer’s lovely rumination on all chicks ‘foxy’:

“Foxy is assertive, even aggressive, maybe ready to run her claws down your back. Foxy is canine, vulpine; foxy is active, not passive. You can’t quite trust a foxy lady; she’s cunning, sly, a trickster, and she might just outfox you. Silver foxes aside, chances are that if you are foxy, you are a woman. More specifically, you are—ooh! a foxy lady.“

It seems to fit, doesn’t it?  We call aggressive men ‘wolves’, because wolves are predatory and bring down their prey through sheer force; they’re big and strong.  The smaller, sleeker, fox has come to be known first and foremost for its cunning and cleverness; much like women have had to be since the dawn of time because we couldn’t compete with men on sheer strength alone, and in fact were dominated by them so had to cultivate our own cunning ways to get what we wanted.  (Think about this the next time you’re complaining to your buddies about the ‘games’ women play with you; y’all asked for it, when you decided that you were the superior gender and we had to do as you wanted! Now it’s as ingrained in our DNA as playing stupid beer games and bungee-jumping is in yours.)

Steve found a reference to a list (but only a partial list) of a thousand slang terms used by college students by Willard C. Gore, Ph.M from 1895 which repeatedly references ‘foxy’ although it doesn’t appear to relate to human attractiveness at all.  So I’m not convinced that foxy women started that early, but hey, please prove me wrong and I’ll post it here!

So where have all the foxes gone, long time passing?

The Queens of the Foxes

Oh, they’re still around if you really look hard enough.  According to the Urban Dictionary, both men and women are now stone cold foxes.  When I typed ‘foxy chicks’ into Google I mostly pulled up porn sites, but since porn’s heyday was the 1970s I guess that doesn’t surprise me too much.

Am I missing anything? Are there other post-1980 foxy references?  And can you pre-date Jimi Hendrix for the late-twentieth-century usage of the term?

One more video: Steve Martin & Dan Aykroyd on Saturday Night Live doing their Two Wild & Crazy Guys sketch at the Fox Gallery where they are there to–what else? Pick up foxes and enjoy their big American breasts!

Attack of the Chinese Porno Zombies! (Flashfic)

Take some paranormal creature and combine it with some Toronto neighbourhood: That was the writing exercise we had to do for the T-Dot Writers group.  And what did I pick?  Zombies, which hadn’t yet been done to death in popular fiction, and Chinatown, a familiar neighbourhood.  Which led to the following humorous flashfic…

ATTACK OF THE CHINESE PORNO ZOMBIES!

by Nicole Chardenet

I was just stumbling out of the dim sum restaurant in the center of Chinatown when the first zombie attack occurred. A naked elderly Asian gentleman, growling in Cantonese, attacked two young women on the street corner and began munching on them. I lurched forward to pull them away, but other strangely-unclad zombies stopped their threesome to grab me and I was lucky to pull myself away before any of them bit me. There was nothing I could do for the young women, the zombies who’d attacked me now turned to them and they and the elderly zombie mercilessly ripped into the women as their dying screams joined those of others around me.

I raced down the street, dodging naked horny zombies right and left until I reached Kensington Market. All the zombies were Asian; it was like a Bruce Lee movie gone horribly awry. Five Japanese school girls, dressed only in g-strings, all pointed at me and shrieked, “Kawaaaaiiii!” as they surrounded me and began clawing at my limbs. Using my best Xena, Warrior Princess move I pivoted around with my fist out, punching them in the face one by one until they all sprawled on the sidewalk. A well-hung young Chinese guy landed in front of me; he’d jumped down from the deck above the fruit stand, his body a horrible pasty color and the look of naked desire in his lifeless eyes. He pulled back into a kung fu move but I pulled an Indiana Jones on him and removed my concealed Walther PPK and blew several holes in him. It’s good to be an American tourist, and everything they say about the porous Canadian border is true.

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten you can’t easily kill a zombie; they are, after all, already dead, so it takes more than a Dirty Harry weapon to stop their mindless blood/lust. The good thing is even my grandmother can move faster than a zombie, and she uses a walker. I shoved a decomposing dominatrix into a corn bin and a gangrenous geisha girl into the fo fi tien display; she fell against it and it collapsed, showering her with Chinese herbs and lychee nuts. I raced toward Spadina Avenue but found myself blocked by a gang of otaku dweebs dressed like their favourite skimpily-clad manga comic characters; the poor shits had probably died virgins. I turned around to find myself at another street market; I grabbed coconuts and began hurling them at the flesh-eating freaks.

Screams filled the air around me; blood ran in the streets as all of Chinatown turned out to eat the foreigners. “And they thought SARS was gonna kill tourism in Toronto,” I muttered as I ran down the sidewalk, grabbing a parasol from one of the vendors – what, like she was going to stop me and make me pay? She was too busy eating a hapless Brit – and whacked zombies right and left as I tried not to look at the sight of so many unlucky tourists being mangled and ripped apart by crazed Asian nudies infected with some bizarre virus they’d probably picked up from, I don’t know, a tainted restaurant or something.

Asian zombie porn. It's just hot.

Just as I thought I would collapse from exhaustion – right outside an Asian porn house featuring the classic triple header, Great Balls of China, Behind the Green Tea, and Peking Suck– I heard someone yell “CUT!” and then all the zombies dropped whoever they were eating and looked toward the sound. A terribly well-dressed, extremely hip-looking young guy with streaked hair, uber-cool sunglasses and a desperately fashionable beret walked toward us and yelled, “That was fabulous, absolutely fabulous!” And the half-eaten victims and their famished flashers all stood up, brushed themselves off and stood waiting for more instructions.

“You mean this is a MOVIE?” I screamed into the director’s face, and he laughed, displaying perfectly even white teeth.

“Of course it is! What did you think, zombies are real? This is my pornographic political allegory of China’s Cultural Revolution – I call it Mao Tse-Dong of the Dead!”

Tragically for the director, there actually had been some horrible mutated virus in the roast pigeon I’d had for lunch. Suddenly feeling ravenous, I sank my teeth into his shoulder and began feeding.

The next scene didn’t require any acting from anyone. Because within an hour all the actors were un-dead anyway.

It's just not looking too good for our heroes...

Mini-Challenge Book Giveaway! We have a winner!

And Charla Wilson is the winner of a free e-copy of Young Republican Yuppie Princess!  She rose to the mini-challenge.  To the question…

You’ve just stepped through a portal in your friend’s shower into a medieval alternate universe.  It looks like something out of friggin’ Tolkien and you have no friggin’ idea where to go or what to do next.  What do you say to the first denizen of this universe you happen upon?

Our fair damsel Charla replied,

I say old chap, can you direct me to the nearest pub?

Sounds like something a Canadian would say!  Wonder if Charla is Canadian?!?  LOL!

Check out her wicked cool blog, Book Talk With Charla!