Are You a Fan of the Dead?

It’s fucking Tuesday and I’m hungover as fuck, you fucks

“Are you a fan of the dead?” says this well-groomed, pasty-faced waiter at this fancy-assed cafe.

“Well, to be honest, they’re mostly a bunch of spoilt pricks,” I say. “And it’s hard to have a decent conversation because they won’t slow down long enough to listen to what the fuck you are trying to tell them. They get so fucking panicked about not being solid that they’re just running around looking for a damn body. Any damn body will do. And the trouble is most of them don’t get that if there’s someone in there already there’s barely enough room for two. It’s like squeezing that last bag of peas into the freezer. Ya can do it but it gets fucking cramped and cold. And it takes a special kind of force to get it in there, and a special kind of vulnerability to open the door to someone. And even then they have to know it’s the back of the neck where you enter. It’s why you should always keep the back of yer neck covered when yer sick or mentally vulnerable. Oh and avoid smoking the hooch. Entities are always riding that smoke into your body. Cos it lowers yer fucking guard so much that it’s like putting out a fucking sign that says, party in my body, all deranged fucks seeking a body welcome, bring a fucking bottle of…