# Z Hot Naked Chicks

Editor’s Foreword

Every month, thousands of people search for “hot naked chicks.”. Some of them are bound to find this page. Do you think they’ll appreciate Mike Philbin’s “Hot Naked Chicks?” Or, maybe they’ll prefer Matthew Laznicka’s Hot Naked Chicks. Stay tuned...

By the way, if you like the image, you can get it on a BBQ apron.

Hot Naked Chicks

I don’t even know why I’m telling about the dream I had. Hot, naked chicks dancing about in the infernal flames, laughing and joking.

* * *

My fiancée and I were due to be married in less than a week and it was our Wednesday tradition to settle down on the couch after our evening meal to enjoy a bottle of Rosé and our favourite TV show. Nothing seemed amiss. In fact the drink went straight to my head. I am not a heavy drinker at the best of times but... there was a knock at the door.

“We’re not expecting anyone, darling.” it was a statement of fact. This was our night in, together. Nothing (and no-one) disturbs it.

She smiled and bounced off the couch to answer the door. I tried to follow after her but only succeeded in sliding face-first off the couch and cracking my nose on the corner of the oak coffee table. Our drinks went everywhere. Blood cascaded into my mouth. My wife-to-be was very good with first aid, being a nurse, so I knew I would be well looked after.

There was laughter–wretched, taunting laughter I would never forget for as long as I lived.

It was a hen party to end all hen parties. Brenda’s work mates were in attendance. No family members. I thought that was funny until I started to recognise every one of Brenda’s work mates. And there was a reason I recognised every one of them. A very intimate reason. Clearly my wife-to-be had found out about my insatiable urges and the girls had come to seek cruel revenge–teach this old letch a lesson.

They started to carve off my right arm. Pain exploded along my body. Blood burst out into the living room carpet. I was face down on the coffee table. It separated from the shoulder and hit the floor, making a heavy thump that made some of the girls dance even harder while some stood around looking at it as the nerves expired. One of the girls, I think her name was Rita or something, Rita Fairhouse, I called her the screamer because she did. She picked up this arm, my right arm, the one I’d had all my life, and smacked me across the face with it. I felt one of the chunky gold rings on my ex-hand strike me across the eye socket, causing more blood to spill.

I was totally de-limbed. The girls lifted my body. I floated on a sea of pain into the kitchen. I was laid on a greased baking tray. Fingers pulled my nose back and an apple was stuffed into my mouth for creative flair...

* * *

In the dream I’d neglected to remember that there was a kitchen table and kitchen chairs also crackling away in the flames–as if the view of the dancing inferno was from INSIDE the oven.

Damn my human weakness in all its forms...


About the Author

Mike Philbin is the man behind the surrealist writing entity Hertzan Chimera. Mike is the editor of the Chimeraworld anthology (now in its fifth year). In 2008, Silverthought Press of New York will release his two new novels Bukkakeworld and Planet of the Owls.


Where to Find this Author

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Selected Books by this Author



Color illustration by Matthew Laznicka of Basement Productions.

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# Z Keeping It Together

Ever have one of those dreams where you’re naked, only it wasn’t really a dream after all?