Sunday, February 24, 2013


My fantasy satire collection, Selections from…THE ILLUSTRIOUS ANNALS OF SLAGHEEPIAN HISTORY, follows the misadventures of a variety of slimy undesirable nitwits and ne’er-do-wells. The collection is now available in pocket paperback format from

TOC is…

Varnie Proposes Marriage
Rasta Booglely-Doo and the Old Seer of Frogtown
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!”

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