My given name is The Fru Fru—which completely sucks. My mother was a dumbass. Not murderous like yours, but a total jackhole nonetheless. I’m a cursed Fairy that has to live in inanimate objects for twelve hundred-ish years because I had a horrid little habit of bitch slapping the wrong people—a lot.
I’m going to go by The Shelia now. I like it and it fits me. My mother can bite my ass.
I’d like to address a few of your alarming questions slash observations. You had a lot, which is an understatement, but since I’m polite I’ll leave it at a lot. You’re welcome.
I’d first like to point out that you have an unhealthy obsession with threatening death. You should work on that along with cleaning up your poop language. Just a suggestion. However, using the word fuck as a noun, verb, pronoun and adjective is wildly impressive. I’d like to congratulate you on that.
Yes, your uncle does secretly like being called Uncle Fucker. I saw him grin with delight when you weren’t looking. Keep up the good work. If you want to vary your endearments try Uncle Fester. That would be hilarious.
You could have easily gotten out of writing your uncle’s autobiography, but then I wouldn’t have had this bizarre and wonderfully strange month with you. Cheating at cards is easy. Tape twelve aces under the table before you play and then yell, ‘What the ever lovin’ fuck?’ while pointing across the room at an invisible object when you’re losing. You can quickly retrieve the cards when everyone is looking the other way. This works. I know. It’s what Uncle Fucker did to you. He also marks the cards. That is time consuming. I’d go with taping cards under the table.
I kind of like starting each chapter with ‘It was a dark and stormy night’. It’s fabulously redundant. And just so you know, the book will sell millions. I know… it’s a dreadful book. Doesn’t matter. I, too read Fifty Shades of Gray. ʼNuff said.
Yes, Satan will now be wildly popular with feminists for regularly sending that fat royal bastard to the guillotine. As a feminist myself—albeit a very horny feminist who worships male genitalia—I find the beheading Henry the Eighth very arousing. Also, I did take you up on your offer to read about the Elizabethan orgy—and I threw up. Gross is an understatement. I’m truly sorry you can’t puke. I hurled in your honor. It was awesome.
Don’t kill me.
You are correct. Your closet is incredible. I took the Birkin bag with me. I’ll return it in about six hundred years.
Again—don’t kill me.
Thanks for the heads up on the Basement of Hell. Giant fucking infernos are not my thing.
Being stuck as an inanimate object, I haven’t gotten laid in centuries. When the damned curse is lifted I shall make up for lost time. Returning to my natural form of a Fairy with extremely loose morals is appealing at this point. I will be back to borrow your black stiletto Prada boots when the time comes. Pretty sure they will get me laid.
And congrats, you totally got me on the Twilight thing you did! I was so curious after our one sided conversation that I watched the movies on your laptop so don’t be surprised when you see your bill. They sucked. I certainly hope the books are better. They usually are in my humble Fairy opinion.
As far as killing family members goes, I can’t promise you anything. My assmunch fourth cousin on my mother’s side put this curse on me. I’ll be gunning for her ass in a thousand years or so.
Umm… Not sure what to say about your secret Bigfoot fantasy other than I laughed harder and longer than Uncle Fucker. You are one warped dead girl. And I too thought Strange Wilderness was hilarious. I’m a huge Steve Zahn fan. I plan to do him till his eyes cross when my curse is lifted. I hear he’s a Phoenix. They’re supposed to be really good in bed.
Your son is adorable. I could eat him up, but I wouldn’t do that because I’m not a cannibal or Elizabeth Bathory—she was certainly a sick whack job. Glad to hear she has to eat herself. Turn about is always fair play when dealing with the batshit crazy. And I dated Tinky Winky. He is not gay—trust me on that. Those Telly Tubbies can go for weeks without stopping. Weeks.
For your information I do know Unicorns exist. I dated one for eighty-three years and twelve days—but not Steve Perry. They’re very sensitive and suck in bed. If you repeat that I’ll deny it. But I will say even though I’m no longer into guys with horns, I’d probably give Steve Perry a shot. I like his mom jeans and his midriff shirts.
I feel you about the contracts. I signed a whopper without reading it and now I’m stuck as an inanimate freakin’ object for twelve hundred years. I thought I was signing up for a new cell phone plan. What the ever lovin’ fuck? Right?
I’m still unclear if Mavis Beacon is real or fictional. I’d be pleased to rip her a new ass for you when my curse has been lifted. This past month in your warped company has been the most fun I’ve had in centuries and I want to do something nice for you. If this dastardly woman is real please trap her and put her in a cell for the next thousand years and then I will take care of her free of charge. You’re welcome.
And I have to say I really thought you won in the useless contest with your Uncle Fucker. I’m still laughing and completely grossed out by as useless as a fart in a space suit. However, I should point out I have the humor maturity level of a fourth grade human boy even though I’m four thousand years old. So take my congratulations with a grain of salt… or a bag of poop… or a big fat hairy butt. Your choice.
As far as Satan’s staying power in the boudoir, I found it riveting. I read it sixty-nine times. Chalk that up to the fact I haven’t gotten laid in a few centuries.
On to the pen names… Blade Inferno is totally a male stripper name. I love it. As for you… I’d go with Darynda Moans—but then again my judgment might be swayed by the fact I’m horny. However, I must admit that a book by Blade Inferno ghost written by Darynda Moans would probably make a very good porno movie. Just a thought.
I’d also like to put in dibs on your sister Tiara. I need to find a Fairy to be a Fairy Godmother to and she sounds perfect. Violent and profane are attributes I admire—which is probably why I like you so much. Since Tiara’s a lesbian we won’t be competing for men. I won’t have to bitch slap her and that will work for me. Let her know I will look her up in a thousand years.
Noah’s Ark is one I’ll have nightmares about. Thank you. You suck. That’s all I have to say on that one.
I’m glad you train with The Kev. What I’m going to tell you now might shock you so sit your ass down. The Kev is my brother. He tried to save me from my inanimate punishment, but alas it was my own fucking fault for not reading the fine print of what I thought was a steal of a deal on a cell phone plan. The Kev is a wonderful person and I love him dearly. You can tell him this and let him know I owe him dinner in about a thousand years. I can’t cook, so I figured I’d take him to that hamburger joint you talked about… Humphrey’s Hamburger House. I’d like to try that rabbit turn ice you spoke so fondly of.
As for visiting your ice cream island, I’m in. And just so you know, I can make that happen. You’re going to have to get someone else to give you dispensation to eat since you’re dead, but I think your grandmother, Mother Nature, can do that. I’d also like to clearly state, I’m not going to have sex with you—you’re not my type—but I can make you a food island with a blink of my eye. Put it on your calendar for about a ten centuries from now.
Moving on, I’d like to address the living forever conundrum. I’ve been around for about 4000 years. And while I have to spend the next fucking thousand inside inanimate objects I still say life is good. It’s what you make of it. Now some would say I’ve made a mess of mine, but I’ve enjoyed the Hell out of it and you should too. Just refrain from bitch slapping the wrong Fairy. It doesn’t end well. Trust me on this.
Thank you for leaving me with A Wrinkle in Time, while it wasn’t as satisfying as getting laid, it is indeed a wonderful book. Your thoughtfulness is greatly appreciated and will be repaid when I get the fucking curse lifted.
Astr
id, the end of the book was perfection. Don’t be surprised if it all comes true. Good things do indeed happen to bad people—especially those who aren’t as bad as they want you to believe. Furthermore, don’t be shocked if this alarming tome becomes a movie. I know, you think I’m batshit crazy, but I watched Fifty Shades of Gray on your laptop and… well, you get my drift.
I won’t be staying in your closet for the next thousand years so your secrets are safe. I’m thinking about becoming a bed at a brothel for a while. It might subdue some of my horniness—or not. I’ll let you know how that works out when we meet someday.
I will miss you and your warped mind and your potty mouth.
Take care of yourself, your mate and your beautiful son. Life is good. All of it is precious even when you live for eternity.
Oh, and ask The Kev to find out if The Dave has a mate. I’m hoping that hot piece of ass is still available when I get sprung from my inanimate Hell. That Fairy is all kinds of sexy and all kinds of mine.
Be good my friend or I’ll have to kill you.
Just kidding. I’m not into bloodshed except for maybe offing my fourth cousin on my mother’s side and anyone who thinks they can have The Dave.
xoxo Shelia
Get Your Next Satan Fix!
The next book in The Hot Damned series is now available for Pre-Order!!!
Coming to an e-reader near you—March 12, 2018.
Pre-Order your copy of Fashionably Forever After!
Note From the Author
Thank you for reading A Fashionably Dead Diary!
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a positive review or rating on the site where you purchased it. Reader reviews help my books continue to be valued by resellers and help new readers make decisions about reading them. You are the reason I write these stories and I sincerely appreciate each of you!
Many thanks for your support,
~ Robyn Peterman
Want to hear about my new releases?
Sign-up for my newsletter to be notified.
Book Lists
(in correct reading order)
HOT DAMNED SERIES
Fashionably Dead
Fashionably Dead Down Under
Hell on Heels
Fashionably Dead in Diapers
A Fashionably Dead Christmas
Fashionably Hotter Than Hell
Fashionably Dead And Wed
Fashionable Fanged
Fashionably Flawed
A Fashionably Dead Diary
Fashionably Ever After
SHIFT HAPPENS SERIES
Ready to Were
Some Were in Time
No Were To Run
Were Me Out
MAGIC AND MAYHEM SERIES
Switching Hour
Witch Glitch
A Witch In Time
Magically Delicious
A Tale Of Two Witches
HANDCUFFS AND HAPPILY EVER AFTERS SERIES
How Hard Can it Be?
Size Matters
Cop a Feel
If after reading all the above you are still wanting more adventure and zany fun, read Pirate Dave and His Randy Adventures, the romance novel budding novelist Rena was helping wicked Evangeline write in How Hard Can It Be?
Warning: Pirate Dave Contains Romance Satire, Spoofing, and Pirates with Two Pork Swords.
About the Author
Robyn Peterman writes because the people inside her head won’t leave her alone until she gives them life on paper.
Her addictions include laughing really hard with friends, shoes (the expensive kind), Target, Coke Zero Cherry with extra ice in a Styrofoam cup, bejeweled reading glasses, her kids, her super hot hubby and collecting stray animals.
A former professional actress with Broadway, film and TV credits, she now lives in the South with her family and too many animals to count.
Writing gives her peace and makes her whole, plus having a job where you can work in your underpants works really well for her.
You can leave Robyn a message via the Contact Page and she’ll get back to you as soon as her bizarre life permits! She loves to hear from her fans!
Want More Info About Robyn? You can find her here…
www.robynpeterman.com
[email protected]
A Fashionably Dead Diary Page 6