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You Suck: A Love Story

You Suck: A Love Story

Titel: You Suck: A Love Story Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Christopher Moore
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know who you’re talking about. This is my apartment.” Then I opened the door and inside, lying on the landing, there’s this dead guy with a huge bald cat in a red sweater on his chest. And the cat hissed at me and I screamed just a little bit and slammed the door. “You have to go,” I said. “My boyfriend is naked and he gets mad if strangers see his enormous unit.” I looked right at the blue bitch when I said that, like: Oh yeah, some of us are confident enough in our own femininity that we don’t need fake tits to get a guy with a huge unit.
    And the black guy is like, “I just talked to Flood here last night.”
    And I was like, “Yeah, he moved.”
    Then the Asian guy checked his watch and was like, “Dude, too late, it’s officially sunset.”
    And it was like it was on cue or something, the cat on the dead guy let out a long scary yowl, and even the blue skank backed away toward the limo.
    “You’d better go now,” I said, all ominous and full of foreboding and dread.
    And she was all, “We’ll be back.”
    And I was like, “So?”
    So they went. But then I had to get past the cat and the dead guy and go up the steps. I have to say, that as much as I’m all about the peace of the grave and the glorious gloomth of the nonliving and all, it’s different when there’s a real dead guy you have to walk over, not to mention a really big, angry cat in a sweater.
    NOTE OF SELF: Always carry Kitty Treats for Self-Defense (because evidently they don’t like
    Skittles, which I tried).
    S ince I didn’t have any kitty treats, I got by the preternaturally big-ass cat by opening the door wide and yelling, “Hey, kitty, go away!” Much to my amazement, the cat ran out of the doorway and hid under a parked car. It was like I already had vampyre powers to command the Children of the Night. Then I had to get past the dead guy on the landing, which was sort of like dead-guy hopscotch, but I got up the stairs and managed only to step on one of his arms. I was hoping he really was dead, and not one of the nosferatu, because then he might be pissed off when he rose. He certainly smelled dead, the fetid stench of the charnel house emanated from him like a foul miasma of evil, as they say in the books.
    So I opened the door, and I go, “Lord Flood, there’s a stinky dead guy with a huge cat on your landing.” Thinking that I would get total loyal-servant brownies.
    Then I saw her, the ancient vampyre mistress-her skin like alabaster, or you know, no zits at all, and she seemed to glow with inner power. I could see why even a powerful vampyre like Flood might be helpless under her awesome strengths, gathered over the ages by sucking the lifeblood of thousands of helpless victims, probably kids. And she was like, drinking a cup of coffee out of aGarfield mug, as if flaunting her immortality in the face of us petty, insignificant mortals. She had on only a bathrobe, which was partly open in front, so you could see that she had like great cleavage, ancient total skank that she was.
    So I’m like, “Hi.”
    And she’s like, “So, Wednesday, you know Buffy’s not a real person, right?”
    Bitch.
    W hat do you mean, dead?” Tommy said. He ran to the door and flung it open. “He’s not here.” He bolted down the steps in his bare feet, leaving Jody standing across the breakfast bar from Abby. “I’m
    going to look for him,” Tommy called. The downstairs door closed, the lock clicked.
    Jody pulled her robe closed when she saw AbbyNormal staring. She could hear the girl’s heart pounding, could see her pulse beating in her neck, could smell nervous sweat, clove cigarettes, and some kind of cheese snack.
    They stared at each other.
    “I found you an apartment, Mistress,” Abby said. She dug into the pocket of her hoodie and came out with a rent receipt.
    “Call me Jody,” Jody said.
    Abby nodded conspiratorially, like she was acknowledging it was only a code name. She was a cute kid, in a scary, will-probably-poison-the-dog-and-then-molest-him kind of way. Jody had never really had a problem with younger women as competition. After all, she was only twenty-six, and with the extreme antiaging treatment she’d gained from her vampirism, right down to her baby toes straightening out and every freckle she’d ever had disappearing, she felt superior, even a tad maternal toward Abby, who was a little knock-kneed in her red plastic skirt and green sneakers.
    “I’m Abby,” Abby said, and she

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