Tuesday, November 21, 2017

The Gal's 2017 Halloween Frivolities Day 31: Holt's Character Has Spoken


The Gal in the Blue Mask:
Hi, Angel.  Welcome to The Gal.

Angel:
Oh, umm. Hi, I guess. This is about the stupid book Jeremy is writing? I don’t really have anything to say about it. He’s completely out of his mind, just like his mom.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
Some of my readers have yet to read your story.  What should they know about you?

Angel:
What part of “no comment” do you not understand. Fuck a duck, you people are annoying. I don’t want to talk, okay? Fuck off.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
What do you believe in?

Angel:
Minding my own business. Why the hell don’t you? Jesus Edgar Hoover! Is this about Jeremy’s dad? Look, the guy hired me to do a little research, that’s it. If he turned up some giant conspiracy to prove Trump is a Big-foot or something, that was him. I’m just the fat girl the old man hired as a favor to his son and to put his prick in when the red pill makes the weasel pop… Fuck. You aren’t going to publish that, are you. Please don’t.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
What haunts you?

Angel:
What haunts me? Seriously? Is this some sort of existential circle jerk. If so, go see Mrs. Martin in room 236. She secretly has prayer circles during detention. I caught her once and asked her if she was going to sacrifice a chicken too? Next day for lunch she was eating a cold piece of fried chicken. I sat down next to her and stared at her and the chicken until she ran from the room crying. It was pretty amaze-balls. But I did get a stern talking to by the principle about religious acceptance and what not. I swear, if they didn’t fear a backlash about racial tolerance I would have been sacked ages ago. Being an overweight Chinese-American woman has its downfalls, but it is absolutely wonderful when in a union job. 

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
Do you have any phobias?

Angel:
I am deathly afraid that I will grow old and die alone. I yearn for a meaning, a purpose in my life to make me realize that my life is not a waste, that I matter, that I am important, and I… I… Nope, no sorry, I can’t do this. What a bullshit question. Do people really answer this shit seriously?

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
What's the worst thing that has ever happened to you?

Angel:
Trump winning re-election. No, I’m fucking serious. Do you realize the kind of shit that his re-election caused for minority middle school teachers? I’m starting to wish my people never left China. I mean, sure, it would mean that I am either dead or undead now, but there are worse fates than zombie-ism.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
Are you lying to yourself about anything?

Angel:
Fuck is that supposed to mean?

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
What was your childhood like?

Angel:
Fat.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
Were your actions the result of freedom of choice or of destiny?

Angel:
Destiny? Seriously? Fuck that question. In fact, I’m going to pretend you didn’t even ask it and go back to talking about my childhood. From the age of nine to seventeen I was Leroy Brown. Lived on the South Side of Chicago and I was meaner than a junk yard dog. Verbal sparing was the local past time, and I was the baddest man in the whole damn town. 250 pound prize fighters ran when they saw me coming, because everyone knew that the fat Chinese girl had a tongue like a dragon and would humiliate everyone. Or that’s how I remember it anyway.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
If you could go back in time and change anything, would you?

Angel:
Like stop the zombies from spreading? Stop Israel from being nuked? Stop Trump? Yeah, I would go back ten million years or whatever and tell the monkeys to stay in the fucking trees.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
What does your name mean to you?

Angel:
Angel? Haha no, you have it wrong. My name isn’t Angel; it’s Angle. Many people think I’m called Angle because I’m a geometry teacher. But no. I’m actually Angle because I’m shaped like a Dungeons and Dragons eight-sided game master die. I gave the name to myself, so you can shut off your bleeding heart before you drown me with pity. It goes with my belief that you should disarm everyone of everything they could possible use against you by embracing it and letting it define you. I love that shit.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
What scars, birthmarks, tattoos, or other identifying marks do you have?  What stories lie behind them?

Angel:
I have a tattoo of a spider web with the eight planets caught in it. It’s on my inner thighs and up around my pussy. Want to see it? Fucking pervert. Next question!

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
What was unique about the setting of your books and how did it enhance or take away from your story?

Angel:
What books? You mean Jeremy’s little shitty thingy that he’s writing. Look, I don’t know what he told you, but it isn’t going to be a good book. The dude is pretty boring actually. I don’t know what he told you, but he will be lucky if he ever finishes it.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
How do you see yourself?

Angel:
Fat and sassy. How else?

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
How does your enemy see you?

Angel:
Enemy? Probably the same. Who’s my enemy though? Is it Tim? Is he the reason you are here? You know he’s gay, right? And married. To a woman. Lucky bitch, am I right? Married to the best-looking guy in town and doesn’t have to worry about any other girl stealing him. Twats.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
How does the author see you?

Angel:
Again, who is the author? Is it Jeremy? If so, I think he may actually love me. Weird, right? I mean, I know I’m nothing to look at. The only dick I ever get are from dudes that are so desperate that they are about to fuck the sofa. I don’t think Jeremy finds me attractive at all though. His father does, which is pretty awesome. And his mother, too. I… I’ve said too much. I’ve been told that when I blush I look like a beefsteak tomato? Is it true?

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
Why do you think the author chose to write about your story?  Do you think they did a good job?

Angel:
Look, I’m sick of questions like this. Give me the damn manuscript if you are going to ask me about it. I want to read this fucking opus.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
What do you think about the ending?

Angel:
What ending? Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick. Do I live to the end? Tell me that much at least. Fuck.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
Do you think the author portrayed you accurately?  Would you change anything about the story told? Did they miss anything?

Angel:
One more fucking question like that and I will fuck you up. Don’t think I won’t. I hold back a lot in the classroom, but I won’t here.

The Gal in the Blue Mask:
Have you read any of your authors' other works?  Any good?

Angel:
Come here bitch! Come here!


About the author:
Robert Holt is the author of dark fiction and horror, spanning through every form of the written word, from spooky children's stories to gruesome splatter punk.  He lives in St. Louis, Missouri.


About the book:
There are no zombies in America.  Rest assured, President Trump would tell us if there was.  With most of the globe being swarmed with the living dead, Americans watch with fascination, glued to the 24-hour news cycle and the social media circus to hear all the latest.  As things spiral towards chaos with zombie cults rising, armed militias patrolling the streets, and a police state set up to keep peace, there is no escape.  You don't need zombies with friends like these.
            Robert Holt presents us with a fun political satire/horror that will keep you flipping the pages to see the atrocities, blasphemies, and phantasmagorical terrors pile up.


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