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Let me just say – the whole “rest in peace” thing is a fallacy, as far as I’m concerned.   Being dead is fucking drama central.   There’s the double life (so to speak): mild-mannered (well. comparatively) Jonathon by day; shadow horror, death-strike Jonathon by night.   Then there’s the little foibles to worry about: the daily necessity for slathering sunscreen, disposing of bodies, cleaning up bloodstains; needing to remember to blink, to breathe – to blend in.

And then there’s the other stuff.   The special ‘specie-al’ problems.   Namely: Daisy won’t speak to me, Dwayne is all ashes to ashes (or he’ll wish he was if I ever get my hands on the fucker), the Cat ate a poodle from down the street and the owner is still crying and lost-pet door-knocking (when I dropped the corpse in their own garbage bin a week ago)…

Oh.   And I’m broke.   Flat broke.   First fucking time in five centuries.   Rent due, Kane’s birthday, Iphone on the fritz…


I’m gonna need to get a job.





  1. ._. Please nothing with lots of customer interaction. You’ll give yourself away in a homicidal rage before your first shift is over.

  2. Yeah, undead and broke really bites. *snort*

  3. That Dwayne! Stealing your funds and making you think about a job. Asshole! If you start working you are likely to write less. Then we all lose. Thanks Dwayne, you freakin’ thieving geek!!

  4. Emm if murders not a problem, your hardly likely to be against thieving???

    • When it comes to five-finger discounts, cash and other untrace-ables – yes. But other shit gets too fucking complicated…

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