Status: Work In Progress
Cyborg Beyoncé vs Zombie Paula Deen
The Beginning
The year was 2018 and a lot has happened in the past five years. Cities have been destroyed and all order has been lost, and people have died. Many, many people. Like, thousands. Of millions. Of people. A lot of people have died, that’s what I’m getting at.
But here I was, strutting down the empty road of New York City, it was empty because everybody died, looking super fabulous. My ultra sexy next season stilettos, I got them now because the designer died after making a pair just my size, clicked on the hard asphalt.
I could smell it. A battle was to begin, war was to be waged, my hair was to be fabulous through the whole thing.
“AHHHH HEY Y’ALL, IT’S ME, PAULA DEEN AND I’M GONNA EAT YOU!” The beast bellowed, and I turned to see it down the road. Paula Deen, the zombie queen, looking ratchet as hell.
“All the single ladies, now put your hands up!” I shouted, before putting my giant bionic arm in the air. The metal hand split open, and a canon burst out. I pointed my now fabulous weapon arm at her. A giant burst of energy escaped it, shooting right through Paula’s stomach. It left a wide, gaping hole, but only for a few seconds. After a moment that whole became smaller, and smaller, and soon wasn’t even there.
“It’ll take more than that to kill me. Now, yah see I’m followin’ this new recipe for a little somethin’ I call world domination. Soon, you’ll be dead and everyone else in this world will follow me. SO DIE!” Just then Paula Deen projectile vomited butter at me. I dodged it using my super cyborg dexterity. It was a good thing I was fast because her butter shots weren’t just any old butter, they were laced with a special acid.
But hold on, let me back it up to the beginning. This all started five years ago, and it’s been one hell of a ride.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
I ended the set with Halo before strutting off of the stage. The fans called for an encore, silly peasants. I was too tired for an encore, and what did they do to deserve one? Nothing. They did nothing but watch me be perfectly flawless.
I sighed before entering my dressing room. Jay-Z was waiting for me.
“Gurl I ain’t got time for you.” I said and he left because he was scared of me because I was a total badass bitch. Ain’t nobody got time for that husband bullshit. I was too busy making that cash money, and he was just sitting here waiting for me with a dozen roses and a dinner reservation to the best restaurant in town. Silly commoner, I’m too flawless to go out to any of those disgusting places with those disgusting people.
After changing into my clothes that I usually wear, a blue shirt with a black cropped jacket that I got hand sewed by the Queen of England because she can’t get on my level and a back miniskirt that looked super kawaii. I was also wearing black knee high boots that had like 3 inch heels and had spikes on them just in case I had to kick any disobedient peasants.
I strutted out of my room to see a note on the floor. I kicked a peasant, I think it was my mom, who cares, and told her to pick it up. She was bleeding from the spikes but she listened. I kicked her again. The note said that I had to meet them at the park in like two hours. I lit it on fire with my mind before strutting to the park. I strutted there without needing a ride because I’m too good for automobiles.
When I got to the park I noticed a super ugly sack of potatoes lying on the ground. “Move, bitch.” I yelled before realizing that it was Paula Deen, groveling at my precious feet. “Oh, it’s you. Paula Racist Deen. And if that isn’t your middle name it is now.” I said while signing a form that changed her middle name to racist.
“Please, please oh great and mighty Beyoncê help me get my channel back.” she said, tears streaming down her ugly face. I strutted back to my home because I didn’t have time for that.
Once I got home I found another note. I ignored it.
But here I was, strutting down the empty road of New York City, it was empty because everybody died, looking super fabulous. My ultra sexy next season stilettos, I got them now because the designer died after making a pair just my size, clicked on the hard asphalt.
I could smell it. A battle was to begin, war was to be waged, my hair was to be fabulous through the whole thing.
“AHHHH HEY Y’ALL, IT’S ME, PAULA DEEN AND I’M GONNA EAT YOU!” The beast bellowed, and I turned to see it down the road. Paula Deen, the zombie queen, looking ratchet as hell.
“All the single ladies, now put your hands up!” I shouted, before putting my giant bionic arm in the air. The metal hand split open, and a canon burst out. I pointed my now fabulous weapon arm at her. A giant burst of energy escaped it, shooting right through Paula’s stomach. It left a wide, gaping hole, but only for a few seconds. After a moment that whole became smaller, and smaller, and soon wasn’t even there.
“It’ll take more than that to kill me. Now, yah see I’m followin’ this new recipe for a little somethin’ I call world domination. Soon, you’ll be dead and everyone else in this world will follow me. SO DIE!” Just then Paula Deen projectile vomited butter at me. I dodged it using my super cyborg dexterity. It was a good thing I was fast because her butter shots weren’t just any old butter, they were laced with a special acid.
But hold on, let me back it up to the beginning. This all started five years ago, and it’s been one hell of a ride.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
I ended the set with Halo before strutting off of the stage. The fans called for an encore, silly peasants. I was too tired for an encore, and what did they do to deserve one? Nothing. They did nothing but watch me be perfectly flawless.
I sighed before entering my dressing room. Jay-Z was waiting for me.
“Gurl I ain’t got time for you.” I said and he left because he was scared of me because I was a total badass bitch. Ain’t nobody got time for that husband bullshit. I was too busy making that cash money, and he was just sitting here waiting for me with a dozen roses and a dinner reservation to the best restaurant in town. Silly commoner, I’m too flawless to go out to any of those disgusting places with those disgusting people.
After changing into my clothes that I usually wear, a blue shirt with a black cropped jacket that I got hand sewed by the Queen of England because she can’t get on my level and a back miniskirt that looked super kawaii. I was also wearing black knee high boots that had like 3 inch heels and had spikes on them just in case I had to kick any disobedient peasants.
I strutted out of my room to see a note on the floor. I kicked a peasant, I think it was my mom, who cares, and told her to pick it up. She was bleeding from the spikes but she listened. I kicked her again. The note said that I had to meet them at the park in like two hours. I lit it on fire with my mind before strutting to the park. I strutted there without needing a ride because I’m too good for automobiles.
When I got to the park I noticed a super ugly sack of potatoes lying on the ground. “Move, bitch.” I yelled before realizing that it was Paula Deen, groveling at my precious feet. “Oh, it’s you. Paula Racist Deen. And if that isn’t your middle name it is now.” I said while signing a form that changed her middle name to racist.
“Please, please oh great and mighty Beyoncê help me get my channel back.” she said, tears streaming down her ugly face. I strutted back to my home because I didn’t have time for that.
Once I got home I found another note. I ignored it.