Over Poe's Dead Body
by Bree Katz
I didn't actually want to bring the professor along when we rightfully brought Poe back from stinking Philadelphia. But she just jumped in the trunk "to warm his bed for him," no different from every other fangirl I ever met. She spent the whole drive from Baltimore giddily relating the chronology of all the dead guy's stories. Plus something about how he'd boinked his dead, underage cousin or maybe hadn't because he was afraid of vaginal teeth. I told Jax to take the shovel and stick it one of her sets of teeth, upper or lower, to get her to shut up, but he only hit her over the head with it.
When we got to the museum they'd displayed the body in, the professor started making these moaning noises, so I hit her with the shovel again. We dragged Poe out to the car. The professor was of course no use at all, just chattered incoherently the whole time. One of the garbage bags we'd put Poe in tore as we were loading him in the trunk. I said, "I don't want no car that smells like no dead guy." The perfessor went all crazy and offered me a blank check for the car. It would've been a good deal, too, if she hadn't insisted that all he needed "to heal him" was "a woman's touch" and insisted on going "night-night" with him when we put him six feet under Baltimore's grit. And good for her and all, but even with all the Febreeze in the
world, Poe still lives on.
Bree Katz teaches English as a second language to unsuspecting young adults. In her generous amounts of free time, she writes absurd plays, stares at her computer screen while drooling, and yells at passing cars.
by Bree Katz
I didn't actually want to bring the professor along when we rightfully brought Poe back from stinking Philadelphia. But she just jumped in the trunk "to warm his bed for him," no different from every other fangirl I ever met. She spent the whole drive from Baltimore giddily relating the chronology of all the dead guy's stories. Plus something about how he'd boinked his dead, underage cousin or maybe hadn't because he was afraid of vaginal teeth. I told Jax to take the shovel and stick it one of her sets of teeth, upper or lower, to get her to shut up, but he only hit her over the head with it.
When we got to the museum they'd displayed the body in, the professor started making these moaning noises, so I hit her with the shovel again. We dragged Poe out to the car. The professor was of course no use at all, just chattered incoherently the whole time. One of the garbage bags we'd put Poe in tore as we were loading him in the trunk. I said, "I don't want no car that smells like no dead guy." The perfessor went all crazy and offered me a blank check for the car. It would've been a good deal, too, if she hadn't insisted that all he needed "to heal him" was "a woman's touch" and insisted on going "night-night" with him when we put him six feet under Baltimore's grit. And good for her and all, but even with all the Febreeze in the
world, Poe still lives on.
Bree Katz teaches English as a second language to unsuspecting young adults. In her generous amounts of free time, she writes absurd plays, stares at her computer screen while drooling, and yells at passing cars.
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