"Not this time, princess, I am starting to tire." He informed her, swooping her up and throwing her (very manly-like) over his shoulder like a fireman, gripping round her thighs, her head bouncing wildly down his back. As they trundled upward, Anabelle tried not to stare at his notoriously good looking glutious maximus and imagined at any second, his lithe form was going to buckle under her weight.
Looking out the window at the alien castle around her, and knowing there were hollywoodized aliens dwelling somewhere within, Anabelle felt an acute pang of longing for her small run down little farmhouse in the middle of Calfornia happy cow fields.
Feeling a little bit like an inbred lunatic from another planet, Anabelle set out to search among the bushes and rocks for her lighter, at night, in the shadows beneath the labyrinthine monstrosity that dominated the landscape around her, without any real idea of where to look. Muttering and cursing to herself, she bent down and started rummaging.
Anabelle Greeves, who was not, in fact, a hurricane, but exactly as she seemed, (a small town girl from the middle of nowhere who'd never been out of the country unless you counted Mexico, which she did not, who had escaped the ravages of hillbillitus when all other options had failed by literally floating away from Bumfuknoware with a large amount of balloons) felt a modicum of security in the fact that she looked decent, her laundry was clean, and being seated by the window, she had the perfect excuse for keeping her sunglasses firmly intact.
When Anabelle had first sent her script in to the little known Rupture Studios, she hadn't expected an answer at all, let alone an offer to join on as the main writer for the project. She'd been ecstatic (until about five minutes after she arrived in L.A.). Of course, things had only gone downhill from there. And now, having been escorted to her hotel like a child by a tart twenty two year old intern named Karina who wanted to be an actress and treated Anabelle like a inbred retard from another planet, she was significantly less enthused by the whole ordeal.
Chapter One, Coughing at the Enemy When one does not have a mother and is raised by a gruff absentee father and a partially senile grandmother, one is not much prepared for such things as frilly tea parties and gossip. I tugged uncomfortably at the rigidly high collar of the puce ruffled number my Nan... Continue Reading →
This book is vulgar, curmudgeonous, unnecessarily gory, potty-mouthed, a little bit dirty and in general, displays a wanton disregard for social niceties. Please read responsibly.