Lesbians vs Zombies: The Musical Revue was conceived within the twistedly
brilliant mind of multi-published author Amber Green.
Amber, after an evening of something she still refuses to talk about - rumor
has it pirates with torn clothing atop picnic tables smothered in candy
hearts and watermelons were involved . . . and maybe some rope - decided she
should gather a gaggle of authors who may or may not know each other and
write novellas containing lesbians, zombies, music, and colleges. The
literary gods Jose and Cuervo then fell silent, leaving said authors to use
their imaginations and/or any available firemen for inspiration.
The end result is a litany of tales as different as Amber's stockings.
Somehow, Amber convinced Noble Romance Publishing (between us, I heard that
a Belize cabana boy and two sea sprites were involved in the negotiations)
to back the project, and Lesbians vs Zombies: The Musical Revue was born. Or
hatched, depending on one's perspective of whatever that thing in the
By the way, HC didn't write this. She's far too civilized to stoop to such
low posture . . . without velvet restraints and a picture of Hugh Jackman
taped to my face.
HC. LOL Now a little more about this exciting venture from the irrepressible David Kentner AKA KevaD
Musical Revue, I had no idea what to write. Aside from the fact Amber
scares the crap out of me, I’d never written a story about zombies or
lesbians. However, I did survive the sixties – 1960s that is – with a
few brain cells still intact, though on occasion my wife has been
known to challenge that belief.
The sixties produced flower power and some really radical music for
the time. Free love produced flower children. FM radio was a new
concept, “head shops” where suburban hippie wannabes could buy
tie-dyed clothing, love beads, and incense prospered, and no party was
complete without Boone’s Farm wine and a bag of Columbian buds. Add a
basement floor covered in pillows, a few black lights and posters,
Hendrix growling “Foxy Lady” on a stereo, a few jars of body paint,
and the evening gathering quickly became an all-nighter. Usually at
some point somebody stoned out of their gourd would slither into a
diatribe of how we were changing the world, making it a better place
for the children. Those of us still conscious would all mutter “far
out” and nod our heads while trying not to burn our fingers on the
joint as it passed by.
Surviving brain cell M2G7 connected with H98X to rekindle a memory of
a young lady who wore flannel shirts and bell-bottomed jeans, and
stuck dandelions in children’s hair when we hung out at the park. I
sprinkled that vision with a dash of mythology, and my comedic drama
“The Zombie with Flowers in Her Hair” was born.
The hardest part of being alone is realizing you are.
1969 was a busy year for the young woman nicknamed Isis. She graduated
high school, engaged in a lesbian relationship, died, and rose from
the dead as a pot-smoking, flesh-eating zombie in need of a good
orgasm. Yet, in death she ended up as alone as she had in life. But
when a beautiful zombie with flowers in her hair forgets her sweet
butt on a toilet seat, Isis's undead life will never be the same. Nor
will it be one she could ever have envisioned, even on the wildest
acid trip. Because for Isis, her true reason for life lies in her
You're funny, Dave. Everyone, he wrote his story long before I
unwrapped the sword-length Khyber Knife I got for Christmas. He just
likes hiding under the sink, is all.
What he hasn't said about The Zombie With Flowers in Her Hair is that
the story needs at least one beverage alert per page. Seriously. The
heroine is terminally horny (literally), has a taste for road
kill--especially skunk, with that tangy au jus in the scent
glands--and has a horror of scrotum-dwelling scorpions. Yes, yes, she
also has a lesson to learn and a love to accept or reject. But this
is no solemn march to the altar. This sketch launches the Musical
Revue with the kind of screwball comedy only our beloved under-sink
troll could craft.
On January 23, the curtain will rise on the next sketch in the lineup:
"Dead Kitties Don’t Purr." It’s a tender story of first love, and of
a girl finding her tribe among college students trapped by the
government’s draconian efforts to contain a devastating new plague.
People who take their shots and do as they’re told have nothing to
fear, right? The Rabies Z epidemic began and ended in Miami this past
summer, didn’t it?
And that guy my daddy saw at the Jacksonville airport last week was
just having an epileptic seizure. No cause for alarm. Epilepsy always
causes an eighteen-hour hazmat shutdown at a major airport. Right?
So while my twin tours to flog her newest album, here I am, Camie
Invisible, parked at this nice, safe college–as far from the infection
as I can get and still pay in-state tuition. Only now my studies have
become focused on the fascinating Risa Ruiz. And she has eyes for me.
Isn’t this the perfect time for the z-things to show up?
WE HAVE T-Shirts to give away :-)
Want to find out more? Visit the Lesbians vs Zombies blog