Continued from chapter one :
Night Of The Twerking Dead
When I woke up , a dog was licking my face , and a paramedic and a cop were squatting next to me. The dog was a small , scroungy looking mutt with a couple of bald patches in its fur. It smelled like pee. I pushed it away as I tried to get up.
The paramedic and the cop were young and kind of cute looking.
“Hey! Whose dog is this?”
“Now relax lady , and let me take a look at that cut on your forehead ,” the paramedic said. He smelled like Old Spice. Something my husband seldom smelled like. Paul usually smelled like gas.
“What cut? I’m fine.” I tried to get up , but immediately felt dizzy. The dog continued licking my face. I pushed it away again. “Go away mangy mutt , you stink!”
“You’re not fine. You knocked your head against the steering wheel when you rammed into that car in front of you ,” the police officer said. The name on his tag said officer Jenkins. He had a Burt Reynolds type mustache ; he even slightly resembled Burt Reynolds. “You might have a concussion. Best to let the paramedics take you to the hospital to check you out. Is there anyone here who can take your dog home?”
Funny , but I didn’t recall slamming my head against the steering wheel.
“What makes you think it’s my dog? I wouldn’t be caught dead with an ugly mutt that smells like pee.” The mangy thing whined slightly as if it knew I had insulted it.
“Oh … well , I thought … never mind.” He turned to the crowd of gawkers who were staring at me as if they were in a trance. Typical of Obama supporters. Drooling Zombies all of them.
“Does anyone know who this dog belongs to?”
No one answered. They continued to stare for several moments. I began to feel uneasy. All those zombie movies I had seen as a kid came flooding back to me. I was terrified they would start mumbling about wanting to eat brains or babies or something. But no such thing happened. I felt a little disappointed. These were Obama supporters after all.
Then the crowd parted and an old woman who looked just as mangy as the dog , stumbled forward , and with an almost toothless grin , called the dog to her. The mangy little mutt jumped into her arms , and as she turned back toward the crowd , she began twerking! God , it was obscene! But what was even more obscene , was the crowd twerked along with her , uncannily matching her every move , as if they were being directed by some unseen force. Obama , most likely.
“Oh … my … God! Get me out of here , somebody , please!” I wanted to vomit , but all I could manage to do was gag. The paramedic helped me up and into the wagon.
As it pulled away , through the back windows , I could still see the crowd twerking. I felt sick again , but instead of gagging , this time I did vomit … right into the face of the young paramedic!
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