Status: Work In Progress
Cyborg Beyoncé vs Zombie Paula Deen
Chapter 2
I watched Beyoncé leave and buttery tears fell down my face. There goes my last chance to regain what I lost. I wrote another letter and sent it by pigeon because I think it’s still like the 1800’s or some shit. I don’t know when they used pigeons to send things, but fuck the sending things by mail. They cost a lot and if you can get like five pigeons well trained and organized they can send big packages for only a few seeds or bread crumbs or even a promise to not kill and eat their family. I like this mailing system, so why change?
Well, with my old middle name Ann gone I was now Paula Racist Deen. I guess that means I have to live up to my name, and to do so I’ll just buy a bunch of butter and serve it to people that match a piece of paper. You got a tan? Get the fuck out, I’m Paula Racist Deen.
I shuffled down the street, and Nicki Minaj jumped out of nowhere. “SUPER BASS!” She screamed before shooting me five times in the chest. I punched her in the throat and she died but I walked off the bullets because I’m a half butter so all I have to do is fill the bullet holes with butter and I’ll be fine.
I was a badass like that. But Beyoncé still didn’t want to help me. Oh well, I guess I’d have to help myself.
As I walked by this really cool cow farm somewhere in New York, I decided to regain the life force that I lost from that wig wearing bitch. I stabbed my hand through the cow’s chest and drank it’s buttermilk blood. Instantly I was better.
I did the same to like five more cows because I didn’t care and then I walked back to Georgia.
It took me like five minutes because of the buttermilk blood. Once I was there I was greeted by my two sons. They still had jobs so I decided to see if they could help.
“Hey y’all, wanna help me get my job back?” I asked sweetly.
“no” they said.
I cried a single buttery tear and then went off to bed.
___________________________________________________________________________________
New York 2018. Back to the present.
Beyonce was charging at me and I must admit she looked rather fabulous. I’d have to ask her where she got her hair done because I know five years ago she got it cut but in that five years it grew out and it looked dope.
She shot more energy beams at me from her bionic arm, and they stung a little bit.
“Beyonce, you wound me. Not literally, though. I mean that you underestimate me because we both know you can’t hurt me.” I said looking at her menacingly. “You’re just a machine. I’m a goddess. I have the power. THE POWER OF DIABETES!” I yelled before my eyes ignited with diabetes lasers.
They could cut through some stuff. I’d say diamond but I never tried because after my show got canceled I could never buy diamonds.
My diabetes lasers missed at first, because Beyonce could dodge things super good because she was a cyborg. But then she made a mistake. Well, it wasn’t a mistake because Beyoncé is flawless but she did something super risky and it was good for me.
She stepped out in front of my laser to shoot a missile at me. The missile hit me and it exploded, but not before my lasers hit her robotic arm, doing great damage to it.
Her arm powered down and I could tell that she got type 2 diabetes. And then the missile exploded and I exploded but I could still tell what was going on because I wasn’t dead. My entire body bursted, coating the immediate area with butter.
But then, from the butter I rose, a new Paula Deen. I was still a zombie because otherwise the whole story would be ruined and there would need to be a name change, but my body was renewed and I was stronger.
“Get ready Beyoncé, because this girl is gonna run the world!”
“GURL PLEASE!” She yelled, looking at me like I was some nasty ass ho. “Do you honestly think that using my lyrics is gonna help you. Write your own songs!”
“Your just jealous because I’m bootylicious!” I started to dance and sung the song Bootylicious by Destiny’s Child.
Well, with my old middle name Ann gone I was now Paula Racist Deen. I guess that means I have to live up to my name, and to do so I’ll just buy a bunch of butter and serve it to people that match a piece of paper. You got a tan? Get the fuck out, I’m Paula Racist Deen.
I shuffled down the street, and Nicki Minaj jumped out of nowhere. “SUPER BASS!” She screamed before shooting me five times in the chest. I punched her in the throat and she died but I walked off the bullets because I’m a half butter so all I have to do is fill the bullet holes with butter and I’ll be fine.
I was a badass like that. But Beyoncé still didn’t want to help me. Oh well, I guess I’d have to help myself.
As I walked by this really cool cow farm somewhere in New York, I decided to regain the life force that I lost from that wig wearing bitch. I stabbed my hand through the cow’s chest and drank it’s buttermilk blood. Instantly I was better.
I did the same to like five more cows because I didn’t care and then I walked back to Georgia.
It took me like five minutes because of the buttermilk blood. Once I was there I was greeted by my two sons. They still had jobs so I decided to see if they could help.
“Hey y’all, wanna help me get my job back?” I asked sweetly.
“no” they said.
I cried a single buttery tear and then went off to bed.
___________________________________________________________________________________
New York 2018. Back to the present.
Beyonce was charging at me and I must admit she looked rather fabulous. I’d have to ask her where she got her hair done because I know five years ago she got it cut but in that five years it grew out and it looked dope.
She shot more energy beams at me from her bionic arm, and they stung a little bit.
“Beyonce, you wound me. Not literally, though. I mean that you underestimate me because we both know you can’t hurt me.” I said looking at her menacingly. “You’re just a machine. I’m a goddess. I have the power. THE POWER OF DIABETES!” I yelled before my eyes ignited with diabetes lasers.
They could cut through some stuff. I’d say diamond but I never tried because after my show got canceled I could never buy diamonds.
My diabetes lasers missed at first, because Beyonce could dodge things super good because she was a cyborg. But then she made a mistake. Well, it wasn’t a mistake because Beyoncé is flawless but she did something super risky and it was good for me.
She stepped out in front of my laser to shoot a missile at me. The missile hit me and it exploded, but not before my lasers hit her robotic arm, doing great damage to it.
Her arm powered down and I could tell that she got type 2 diabetes. And then the missile exploded and I exploded but I could still tell what was going on because I wasn’t dead. My entire body bursted, coating the immediate area with butter.
But then, from the butter I rose, a new Paula Deen. I was still a zombie because otherwise the whole story would be ruined and there would need to be a name change, but my body was renewed and I was stronger.
“Get ready Beyoncé, because this girl is gonna run the world!”
“GURL PLEASE!” She yelled, looking at me like I was some nasty ass ho. “Do you honestly think that using my lyrics is gonna help you. Write your own songs!”
“Your just jealous because I’m bootylicious!” I started to dance and sung the song Bootylicious by Destiny’s Child.