Tuesday, February 26, 2013
TALL TALES WITH SHORT COCKS VOLUME 3
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Selections from…THE ILLUSTRIOUS ANNALS OF SLAGHEEPIAN HISTORY
TOC is…
Varnie Proposes Marriage Rasta Booglely-Doo and the Old Seer of Frogtown The STRANGE UP & DOWN World of FLAVOR & CHARMing COLORs Sheisgrooby! The Terrible Tragedy of One Colorful Character The Church of the Holy Shaggaho Tale of the Trojan Sphynx Time Warped Billy Space Codger & the December Frog Spaced Out in East Mudbucket Sex, Drugs, & Siren’s Songs Froggenstein’s Monster Brain Transplant Time & Time Again Blue Moons over Widdlydink The Other Slimy Cesspool of a Frog Shit Village The Mesmerizing Sound of Lethargic Radiation
Back cover blurb -
Dudes and dudettes, ya’ll come along; plenty of misadventures for all. There’s Lil’ Skippy Shitler enacting a war on anyone over two feet tall. There’s the king stoner himself, Timidly Blurry, brought back from the dead to promote one last rok concert. Just can’t leave out her portliness, Bulldozer Bertha Bustanut, as she makes an unscheduled stop in the village of East Mudbucket much to the horror of the East Mudbucketeans. Yeah, these and many many more! Far out and groovy baybee! Don’t forget to make a stop of your own at the Church of the Holy Shaggaho ‘specially so if you’re a foxy lookin’ babe-o-licious!
Brief excerpt from “Blue Moons Over Widdlydink” (a top ten finisher for Editors & Preditors Reader's poll for 2011) -
Bobos on the Watch
…….Quoddie Quodlibet looked up at the night sky. It was black as black could be up there. Blacker than a hairy Huht’s ass. Couldn’t be anything else. There’d been rumors about some fool loony things called stars. Points of light, the conspirators had said. Big points of light. HUGE kind of big. But only loonies and crazies and brain baked druggies believed in them anymore. Hell, by the flamin’ feet of former Frogtown fasting followers of the Filosophical Frogorum, those learned gentle jokers of a bygone age and the bygone village of Frogtown had once proclaimed: It is a black sky and forever shall be a black sky. Ain’t no froggin stars, dammit! And they were right. No frogging stars.
…….And Quoddie knew they were right.
…….Still, secretly, Quoddie kinda wished they were real. Secretly ‘cause you gotta watch what you wish for and say in these long last dark days of Slagheep. Some people don’t like you wishing and hoping for things, much less thinking and/or saying what you think. Yeah, thinkin’s a bad thing. Mostly outlaws resorted to such primitive unsavory practices like thinking and wishing and hoping. Caused you to say things you shouldn’t.
…….Saying and wishing and hoping and nonsense like that had caused the Bobo’s to spring up. They were (and are) a group of authoritarians in service to The Big Throbbing Head bent on stomping out the last vestiges of thinking and hoping and wishing…and when they hear of such despicable acts, they’re right there on your tail with the metaphorical soap and water bucket to wash your brain out. Eyeah, metaphorical, ‘cause what they really do is unspeakable in these long last dwindling days. They figure they ain’t got nothing to loose.
…….Pookipsee Pisswater, known as Pookie Pissie to his friends, and PeePee (PP) to one other (yeah, that would be Quoddie Quodlibet that called him PeePee) was one of those dastardly free thinking, free wishing, free hoping, free saying, free wheeling, free dealing, toking-on-a-number outlaws that the Bobos were after. Pisswater was a dastardly hard ass hardened criminal of the first order who had the audacity to think freely, and what’s more, to speak those rather fried, confused, and muddle thoughts. Bad dude, he was, eyeah, real bad BAD dude. And the Bobos were keeping a watch on the ole brain fried stoner.
…….Through some miraculous miracle unbeknownst to science, superstition, and sorcery, and even with his brain fried to the rather dark and crunchy side of a BBQ, PeePee had some vague inkling that the Bobos were keeping an eye on him. So, the brain fried stoner took to hiding in a joint that was commonly known as the Forbidden Palace through all the alleys, highways, byways, and backyards of Widdlydink. In the olden days people called it a library. It was a big one. Four stories high. But now was mostly in ruin; moldy, crumbling illegal items called books and magazines lay everywhere under dust inchidees thick.
…….But down in the basement, in a small corner room with a few side rooms for space, contraband, Huht Rinds stash, and other dastardly items of the illicit variety, was the Hep-Pad (as PeePee called it) where the brain fried stoner and his far out freaky stoner friends lived in way cool drug induced hallucinogenic secluded illusion. No one knew that the stoner and his far out freaky stoner friends were hanging out there. Hell, no one much gave a fuzzy frog’s ass where they lived or what they did. And when the stoner started talking about stars, just about every genuine pink blooded Widdlydinkan gave the brain fried druggie a wide berth. Except Quoddie.
…….Quoddie was enthusiastically deliriously brain screwed about the fool ass bullshit stories the brain fried stoner told her. Like a kid in a Widdlydinkan candy store, she would sit and sit and sit and sit and listen to the stupid stories of long dead people and events – King Huht-Uncommon and his pyramid (whatever a pyramid was; the stoner never explained that); Cap’n Henri Huhtson sailing up some long vanished river; Cap’n Brane Phart traveling the Spaceways; the long ago day that ex-President of the galaxy, Bulldozer Bertha Bustanut, came calling to Slagheep (before she became president due to a most unfortunate accident); and the wild stories of the long dead King Stoner himself, Timidly Blurry. Such a mythical figure, this Timidly Blurry.
…….But stories about the stars in the sky thrilled Quoddie the most. Far out groovy, PeePee would say. And he always had a faraway look in his eyes when he did. Said the stars were real. Said…theyz a twinklin’, a far out light show, kinda like they used to do at a Freaky Froggy and the Hepfrog Frogettes concert. Far out man. Cooooool.Groovy baybee! Whatever that meant. Quoddie didn’t know what it meant. PeePee liked to talk like that. All funny-like. Needed a dictionary to figure him out. But dictionaries were (and are) illegal. Had to explain himself on many occasion.
…….But there were no stars in the Widdlydinkan skies this night. And the blue moons hadn’t risen yet. Now they were something to see. All big and fuzzy and blue. There were six of those pretty blue fuzzy things. Soon they’d be bopping across the sky. And it was time for Quoddie to be bopping back to Widdlydink.
…….She traipsed through the high grass and came upon a path that led through the woods. There were weird dark scary things in those woods that made your skin crawl or your scales (if so inclined to have them) quiver. The dark was everywhere. Strange things hung out in trees. Eyes watched and leered. Funny faces made funny faces. Quoddie got a rush from the nasty feelings of being watched. The path suddenly opened into a small clearing that was softly aglow under the blue light of a newly risen blue moon.
…….There were two glows in the night shy, the soft sickly yellow glow of Widdlydink, and the wispy blue light of the risen blue moon. With the blue moon hanging in the sky like a great fuzzy frog’s ass, it was time to hang out with the stoner. Quoddie smiled, remembering the last words the stoner had said to her – "When the first blue moon is a quarter of the way above the horizon, baybee," PeePee had told Quoddie, "you just come on back to ole PeePee daddy. But watch out for the bobos!”
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
AT THE HOTEL MONTICELLO
TOC is…
At the Hotel Monticello
Something Like Mephistopheles
The Beasts of Harrow Point
Share and Share Alike
The Shade
Of Alexandra, Possessed
The Masquerade Ball
Night of the Blood Red Moon
The Dead, Death, and Decay
The back cover blurb reads…
The Hotel Monticello, a little joint at one of many crossroads in time and space. Not many hang out there, but those that do, they’re an odd lot. There’s the old woman who plays a sad crying violin; a time traveling gangster blues pianist and his blues singing whore; a gay couple fresh out of the big house; a mysterious woman who never removes the Venetian Masquerade mask that she wears; a writer being chased across time and space by her own creations; a two-bit hood come to make a buck at the expense of a well known politician; and a small assortment of other down on their luck characters. Then there are the demons that appear from time to time to entertain themselves at the expense of the hotel clientele.
*************************************
Here is an excerpt from my story “The Masquerade Ball” -
…….Baltimore.
…….That’s where Victoria Devon had called home.
…….Poe literature and visits to Poe’s grave had taken hold of Victoria at an early age. Guilty by Poe association, if only in literature, were Collins, James, Radcliffe, Blackwood, Bierce, and others.
…….Victoria had become an avid reader.
…….The term Gothic had quickly entered her vocabulary, and before long, the term Goth in its contemporary sense and lifestyle.
…….Black clothing and black roses became the order of the day.
…….On the date of Poe’s birth, January 19th, she would wait at his grave hoping to meet the mysterious night visitor with three red roses and a bottle of cognac, but never saw him.
…….Alone, in the cold, she would toast the horror master with her own glass of cognac, leave her own three roses, and hurry away to the nearest Goth nightclub.
…….On one such cold and icy January night, she stood at the Godefrey Carriage Gate of the Westminister Burying Ground and made her toast. Then turned and started to walk away.
…….A figure stood on the side walk near the south end of the wall that surrounded the burying ground. A tall woman. Long dark hair framing her face and rolling across her shoulders.
…….A strange woman…
…….Shrouded in shadow.
…….Odd that she appeared to be wearing an ankle length strapped gown with nothing covering her shoulders on this cold January night.
…….Her face seemed to be disfigured and long thin horns sprouted from her forehead.
…….Victoria caught her breath and stared.
…….Something passed between them and then the strange woman turned and walked away.
……. “Wait!” Victoria called out.
…….The woman didn’t.
…….Victoria hurried after her to the corner of Baltimore and Greene, paused, looked in vain for the strange woman. The woman was gone.
…….Across the street in University Square Park walked a misty ghost-like figure in a long gown.
…….The strange woman.
…….Victoria ran after her, but again the woman was gone.
…….Shadows cut across her path, the trees; a light post on the nearest corner. Victoria stopped, sighed, and stared. Disappointed.
…….Then, a soft touch on her shoulder.
…….Victoria turned.
…….The woman was there. Smiling. Staring into Victoria’s eyes.
…….There was a reason for her disfigurement; she wasn’t disfigured at all. She wore a Venetian masquerade mask. Golden with a beak nose, and the horn tips fading to black. The horns exposed her forehead in a V-shape, and the mask road down her cheeks to points.
…….Flowers were attached to the mask above her right ear, real flowers with an overwhelming scent that made Victoria swoon euphoric.
…….The gown she wore was indeed a shoulder strapped affair, her shoulders bare, skin cool to the touch, the gown gossamer with a wave on a slight breeze.
…….Victoria was captivated.
…….There was an aura of mystery about this strange woman, something of the old world, Europe.
…….She closed her eyes, breathed in the scent of the flowers as the strange woman rested a hand on Victoria’s shoulder, and gently stroked her cheek.
……. “Who are…?” Victoria began to say, her eyes still closed.
…….The woman gently touched her lips to Victoria’s lips. Held them there. A brief moment.
…….Victoria’s body rippled.
……. “Be still,” the woman finally said. Voice soft, musical. “I will come to you again.”
…….The touch was gone.
…….The woman’s hot breath on Victoria’s face was gone.
…….The mesmerizing scent of the flowers was gone.
…….Victoria stood, eyes still closed, and held her breath. Wondered. Thought a ragged jigsaw of wanton lust and curiosity.
…….Finally eyelids fluttered and Victoria peered about.
…….The strange woman was gone.
…….It was cold.
…….January.
…….Poe’s birthday.
…….The mysterious night visitor to Poe’s grave hadn’t shown up again this year.
…….It looked like the visitations had ended.
NOTE: The artwork below captivated me and was the inspiration for this story, artist unknown.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
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