Madness With Zelda

Zelda loves Scott. But she doesn’t always treat him well. And Scott loves Zelda but he wants to move on…to a point.

A point?


And therein lies the problem.

When Lacey first had a perfume blog…she had a follower we’ll name Stacey. Stacey thought she was better than Lacey or thought Lacey should think so. Stacey hated her Hispanic heritage and looked for ways to seem more white. Lacey despised this.

And what could could be more white and “high-brow” and “Lacey” than F. Scott Fitzgerald? Right?

*Frank McCourt cracks-up laughing*

The thing is…Scott had been flirting with Lacey. And Zelda didn’t like it. And so…she worked with other dead folks and pulled a few strings, so to speak. Because Zelda isn’t stupid, y’all.

And…Nancy hurt Lacey and mocked her soul while swinging her narcissistic behind in Lacey’s face demanding Lacey worship her. On Zelda’s behalf? As Zelda’s unwitting emissary in the world of the living?

Was it fair? Hardly. Was it cruel? Yes. Was it all evil? …No.

Zelda isn’t stupid y’all.

“Well, you’s a fool, D-R, ha-ha!”

So Lacey stands still. Watching. Waiting. Because she wasn’t trying to steal someone’s man. She was trying to take back was just for her all along. That’s all. That. Is. All.

Since Zelda actually loves Scott she went through all those machinations for a reason not just to meaninglessly shake her behind in white jeans and pointy-toe heels to look like a grown “cool-kid.” She wants Scott. She’s not a machine without a soul in some rich man’s factory. She’s not a wannabe with no connection to reality.

So Lacey hopes they can move on. And so does Zelda. And they do?

Can life make that much sense? Can people have a point? Can ideas be going somewhere? Or are we past existing? Was survival so old-school?

“Well?” asks Michael to Lem. “What do you think?”

Lem thinks.

“Do we owe Stacey a thank-you note? She got rid of Joe, Joe, and Jack.” Michael says.

“That was more Zelda than Stacey. And Lacey isn’t really fine. You know that right?”

“Well, I mean…she writing a novel. What could be better than that?”

“Being alive.”

“Like us?”

“Not yet.”

“So which one of us wins?”

“Are we really going to discuss that right now?”

“Well, I mean one of has to win.”

“I hate that.”

“I know. We actually could have been real friends.”

“Oh well. Hey, we still could be.”

“You’re right. …Why is Harold buying root beer?”

“Root beer?”

“He always does these little things to win her attentions. And they work!”

“Shh! Don’t let know that Heaven is far better than Earth. They “know” that but they don’t know that. And these fools just think He’ll is a joke. At heart they seem to think you can shoot kids in the head and simply literally shake your ass enough and God will look the other way.”

“Are we racist?” asks Michael.


“I just hate evil!” says Zelda.

“Excuse me.” Lem leaves.

“I best go too.” says Michael.

“Harold is that root beer for Lacey?”

Harold walks off without answering.

Be careful Peaches.