P. Kirby > Recent Status Updates

Why else would the horseman keep me around if not to punish me?

He needs your Magical Twat of Redeeming.

I break eye contact for no other reason than I'm noticing how handsome he is when he's kind.

Oh, please, bitch. Your panties get damp when he kills people. Also, it's reported that Hitler was a vegetarian and anti-vivisection. Millions of Jews and ethnic minorities would agree that he wasn't kind.

The electricity--and thus, the hot water--doesn't work here.

One doesn't necessarily follow the other. Hot water heaters can run on natural gas or liquid propane. A real firefighter would know that.

"Do you even have the ability to speak without insulting me?"

He might, but I don't, you dimwitted bull's pizzle. (Some Shakespeare for you.)

There are always things like philosophy and literature, history and politics to think about. And when those lofty subjects get dull, ...mulling over what used books I'm going to blow my paycheck on.

Oh please, "saying" you read doesn't make you deep. Using and applying the knowledge from books makes you deep. And honey, you're as deep as a puddle drying in the Arizona sun.

I have his whole story figured out too. Trixie Skillz, the noble steed, once lived a life of poverty and fear, turning tricks on the streets for carrots ad grain when Pestilence saved him.

This is hillarious! IF YOU'RE TWELVE. Also, the horse's name is Butt Stallion (Borderlands shoutout).

I'm pretty sure the steed is a ale (haven't checked because unlike some people I know, respecting one' privacy is important), but no matter.

More scorching stupid. Horsey junk is up high and in the open; if "steed" is a stallion, it's damned obvious. Not like you'd have to root around as with a bird chick or reptile.

No, buy you know you don't really want me to be silent.

Ah, but I do. Shush, woman!

A beauty so stagger it make you fell physically close to God.
*Rolls eyes so hard they get stuck looking at brain.*

Time for the "evil guy refuses to give her privacy while bathing, but that's okay because he'll help scrub her back" segment of the program.

This is like an endless chain of fan fiction tropes strung together with torture and disease.

And bonus: this house has electricity, which means hot water...

How convenient. Especially after telling the reader that electricity is rare.
World building = suck.

Seriously? So not only can he prevent me from catching the plague, he doesn't need to clean my wounds to keep infections at bay?

*Sighs.* Someone fetch me some aloe, because this woman's stupid, it burns.

"Your wounds won't become infected."
"I swivel more fully to face him. "How do you know that?"

Yeah. How does he know that? His only job is to cause and manipulate disease, but...how, how, how does he know that?

Because it's not a trope if it doesn't get use and abused like an old work truck, it's time for the "Evil man demonstrates his soft side by tending the heroine's wounds, but first scaring the shit out of her, so his actions are a contradiction."

So...he's trotting around nekkid, but I'm bored and wondering if his quiver has magical arrow regenerating power.
Like, if this were an RPG, Pestilence's quiver would be sought after equipment for a Ranger. It's would be like +100 to Accuracy, with 90% Arrow Regen, but maybe also -10 to Vitality.

Standing on the other side of the room, his hair still dripping form the shower, is a very naked Pestilence.

Because...of course there is. *Rolls eyes.*

Pestilence's arm tightens around my waist. "Enough idle chatter. Your questions tire me.

Yeah, shush, woman.

This dialogue is terrible.

Even with all the aches and pains that pull at me, riding is far beter mean of travel than running, wrists bound, behind a horse.

Not really. If you've never ridden before, long stretches on horseback will be excruciating, even debilitating. It actually takes time to develop the technique and muscles to be in the saddle all day.

His steed waits for us, its reins not tied to anything, just standing there like the creature has nothing better to do than wait on its master.

Because non-pockyclypse horses always have a full agenda of brain surgery and grocery shopping... What the fuck kind of stupid sentence is this? Horses can be trained to ground tie (read: "stay"). It's not remarkable.

I dump out the glass of water right onto the carpet--because no one's going to give a shit about a puddle in a house full of plague...

Uh, no, but wasting water in an apocalypse is pretty brain dead.

The apartment I lived in never did [have electricity]. It was oil lamps and lanterns all the way for me.

Wait, whot? Didn't she have a television a few chapters back? It ran on what? The distilled power of her stupidity?

This close to him, I can see the crystalline blue of his eyes.They're the color of the sky on a clear day.

And his breath is the stench of a garbage truck with a full load.

The position puts me uncomfortably close to the horseman's mouth, and I have the misfortune of noticing how his upper lip is fuller than his bottom one.

The constantly mating rabbits in my yard are less in heat than this woman. (Reminder: he just dragged her behind his horse for miles until her arm dislocated. Totes sexy!)

He waits for me to continue. But now that he's here, looking like some airbrushed male model, I"m losing a little of my nerve.

Male model? Like the one on the cover, who's curiously fixated on his crotch. Seriously. What is he looking for down there?

This door opens, and there Pestilence is, looking like a prince form a fairy tale.

That's at least the fifth reference to his good looks in two pages. If this were a drinking game where I took a shot every time the text mentioned his hotness, I'd have alcohol poisoning by now.

Someone saw me topless. My eyes slide to Pestilence, who's staring at me passively. It was probably him, which mans that he's now seen both my vagina and my boobs.

Oh, noes, his eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the tits! Also, my vagina is tucked inside me and out of sight. Miss Thing's got some weird lady bits.

He's gazes at me for a long moment, looking every inch the damnable angel, then nods.

Yawn. Yes, I think we've established that he's beautiful, and by the laws set forth in the Romance Novel Code, entitled to your love, no matter what he's done.

Again, I don't know whether him saving me is a kindness or a curse.
It's obviously a curse, you dumb bimbo. He ain't saving your to romance your ass.

LOL! The fact, that for just the briefest moment, the author seems to be acknowledging her protagonist's stupidity, is hilarious.

"Suffering is for the living," Pestilence replies from where he sits.

And anyone with a brain cell reading this book.

There's nothing--nothing--more monstrous than that beguiling face Pestilence wears, his golden crown resting proudly on his head.

Yeah, we get it. He's purty and evil. But mostly...purty.