Twi-fy... choose your monster

Eclipse is about to be released and I have renewed my Twilight feud, as always. The other day I was having this discussion with a guy at my job, hardcore zombie fan, you know and he had the face to tell me that vampires were nothing but cry-baby bitches. Point being that both vampires and werewolves (specially vampires, since Anne Rice penned Interview) have been lending themselves to this ideals of stoic romanticism that lead to Twilight, etc, etc, etc.



I told him that paper will carry any crap people write on it and he told me that certain monsters has a street cred that could just not be " Twi-fied", whatever that means.







I told him that the tween demographic was so frigging unreasonable that they could buy anything, as long as it followed Stephanie Meyers, rule of thumb: that monsters are not really monsters, but supernatural people with acceptance issues. That all you need to do in order to Twi-fy anything is use certain code words and deprive your monster of one basic characteristic, vampires no longer lust for blood, werewolves no longer thrive on violence and zombies simply wont eat brains. I told him that I could twi-fy a zombie in 200 words or less and here it is, for your displeasure. I didn't even bother giving them another name, Bella and Edward in TWIBIES, two hundred words or less.





The smell of earth lingered in his clothes as he clawed his way out of the grave. His once beautiful hands are now scarred and welted. The hunger pangs and fast, flashing memories are competing for supremacy. Unlike many affected by the virus, Edward has discovered a trace of reason still, and all his thoughts, however brief, are about her. He'll drag himself tonight, as he did so many times before when he was alive, to her window. He'll watch her sleep and fight the need to tear her apart. He will be strong, for her, because one day they'll be together. He tries to utter her name and the guttural sound that emanates from him is both surprising and saddening...





Bella woke up to the smell of mud and formaldehyde, running towards her half opened window. The wind battered the old frames and through the night, she'd hear a sound that was almost a whisper. The rising sun was cruel, playing it's tricks. He stood there, so close, so dream-like. She couldn't know he was nothing more than a lump of rotten flesh. The dead, standing in the sun, look like statues of china white and smell like hyacinth.





There ya go, zombies twi-fied in 200 words using the Meyer's formula, shitty, incomprehensible blabber and something nice to take your mind off the unpleasant sight of the living dead, you gotta love the smell of zombie in the morning!!! Pay up Mike!!!