My name is Tess, and I'm an alien. Life can

My name is Tess, and I'm an alien. Life can get weird like this, but I've learned to act normal, at least. Except that one time...

dfg

Wrote that at 2 in the morning. Wasn't thinking straight. Everyone started calling me a racist after that accident. I feel so much remorse and shame, there's no sympathy for me.

Or is that just political correctness? I will wait till I have had coffee and and am awake. Everyone else looks like walking zombies. My shrink gave me this advice and I follow it.

So when the zombie in the DRINKS ONLY line insisted she go before me I admit my hackles were fully extended. Having left my blade at my table I had to improvise by using a spindle

and some thread. I quickly sewed the zombie's mouth, so she could not complain, and gave her a right good kicking in the behind, booting her to the back of the bar. It was a brawl.

I grabbed the nearest stool and swung it as hard over the bar as I could. A leg broke off in a semblance of a stake and I continued my circle as I swung the sharp end into the zomb

oni or whatever that ice cleaning machine is called. I used that as a hand hold to climb free of the zombie horde before they found out that they would starve on my brain. I still

refer to it as the Zombie Zamboni, and take it out on clear, icy days, when the zombies are well-fed on better brains than my own. I wave at them as I slowly roll by. Bloated, they