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Out Now: An Augmented Fourth

The latest from Worde Horde has arrived, and it comes complete with its own book trailer!

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Codger Burton, bassist and lyricist for Frivolous Black, the heaviest heavy metal band to ever come out of the UK, awakens to find his hotel snowed in, his band mates evacuated, and monsters roaming the halls. Looks like Codger picked the wrong week to quit using cocaine. From the twisted mind of Tony McMillen comes the hilarious rock and roll horror of An Augmented Fourth, a novel of the Lord of Low End.

Get your copy here!

Out Now: Is Winona Ryder Still with the Dude from Soul Asylum? and Other LURID Tales of TERROR and DOOM!!!

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To entertain its new neighbors, a kind puppet puts Chicken McNuggets into tiny coffins and buries them in its yard. A famous pest control man is diagnosed with the “In the Air Tonight” disease, an incurable sickness that slowly turns its sufferers into the rapist referenced in Phil Collins’ hit song “In the Air Tonight.” Having just escaped TERROR TOWN, a man is opened up like a can of sardines by a can of sardines. The supposedly debunked but very real ghost caught on camera in the movie Three Men and a Baby exacts revenge on humanity for not believing in him. Though Courtney Cute is indeed the cutest child in the world, her evil doll and batshit-insane grandfather are anything but. A Ouija board grows bored of being a Ouija board. Two passengers (one human, one evil scarecrow) aboard the sinking RMS Titanic refuse to abandon ship because they’re too busy watching the blockbuster film Titanic on the actual Titanic

These and many more ABSURDITIES await in Is Winona Ryder Still with the Dude from Soul Asylum? and Other LURID Tales of TERROR and DOOM!!!, the second collection of bizarro-whacko-absurdo short fiction from Douglas Hackle.

“Hackle may be the best absurdist story writer working today.” –Bradley Sands, author of Dodgeball High

“Hackle combines an English major’s love of literature and respect for the written word with a twelve year old’s penchant for dark, dirty, demented imaginings and the crassest of crass, sick/twisted humor.” –Arthur Graham, author of Tanuki Tango Overdrive

Get it here.

Out Now: White Trash Gothic

Deadite Press presents the latest abomination from the legendary Edward Lee!

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From the master of extreme horror, Edward Lee, author of over fifty books that have redefined the boundaries of depravity in fiction, comes a novel that brings together all of his most extreme characters into one epic, gut-wrenching masterpiece of terror.

Plagued by nightmares of torture and intense violence, a writer suffering from trauma-induced memory loss seeks to solve the mystery of his missing past. The only clue is a single page of an unfinished manuscript found in an old manual typewriter, in a fleabag motel, in a small West Virginian town called Luntville. It is here that the writer will seek answers, believing that if he finishes the book he was writing, his memories will return.

But Luntville is not just some bumfuck town in the sticks. It is a place where the locals make extra cash by filming necro porn, a place where vigilantes practice a horrifying form of justice they call dead-dickin’, a place haunted by the ghosts of serial killers, occult demons, and a monster called the Bighead. And as the writer attempts to make sense of the town and his connection to it, he will be challenged in ways that test the very limit of his sanity.

Deadite Press is proud to present White Trash Gothic, the first book in a series of highly anticipated novels for fans of redneck nightmares and backwoods terror which invokes Edward Lee’s many classic gross-outs while exploring even more revolting and disturbing new directions.

Get it here.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Pub Fight

by James Burr

“You, sir, have spilled my pint!”

All eyes in the pub turned at the sound of breaking glass, a pool of foaming ale rapidly spreading out at the feet of the furious Academic.

The Professor eyed his accuser angrily. “And I contend that I did not spill your pint, as all property is theft. Ergo, if a pint was spilled, it was certainly not yours.”

The Academic jabbed the Professor in the chest. “But a pint was indeed spilled, as we can see from the shards of glass and pool of beer at my feet.” His companion, an elderly man in a tweed jacket tried to restrain him, weakly muttering, “Leave it. He’s not worth it.” The Academic continued. “And the pint was indeed mine for does not First Occupancy theory proceed on the basis that it does not particularly matter how I took possession of it or what sort of use I intended to make of it; what matters is that I am acting as the owner of said beverage.”

The Professor snorted at him. “Well sir, I could proffer Liebniz’s contention that everything is contingent: that is that, logically, it is quite possible for the pint to not even exist!”

“But something can be said to exist if it has a place as part of objective reality?” the Academic replied.

“But what is ʻreality?’”

“ʻReality’ is real existence, what is real, what underlies experiences.”

“But what is ʻreal?’” the Professor asked.

“Something can be considered real if it exists as a thing or occurs in fact. I can determine the existence of the former pint through my eyes and the stickiness under the soles of my shoe. A pint has been spilled. Such a fact can be undeniably determined through the sense organs. The fact that the pints exists – or at least did until you spilled it – is an undeniable, objective fact.”

“Very well,” said the Professor. “I shall accept your objectivist observation that the presence of an ex-pint before us means that a pint was spilled. However, I counter your assertion that it was I who spilled said pint as that would require conscious agency on my part. Without such deliberate intention, the very best that can be said is that your beer was spilled – the result of mere accident or act of God.”

The Academic puffed out his chest. “Pah, but God does not exist. A claim that is further evidenced by the fact that if He did exist, His omnipotence and omniscience would ensure that He did not go around accidentally spilling pints.”

“And yet, my slippery-fingered friend, you contend that God does not exist when the adherents of scores of faiths and religions would argue that their personal experience of God is very real. Billions of souls have experience of whatever deity they worship, so by your own definition, God must exist and so be real, as is evidenced by the fact that we are talking about Him.”

“Rubbish! Liebniz believed that it is possible to describe the essence of a person or thing whether they are real or imaginary. God has an essence, in that his qualities and personality and station can be described, yet he does not exist. The fact that an entity has an essence does not necessarily imply existence! The pint was not spilled by accident or through some act of God. Ergo the pint, if not spilled by a non-existent deity, must have been spilled through some agency, and I contend that that agency was you, hence my original assertion!” The Academic angrily pushed his face into that of the Professor.

His companion turned and cried, “Someone, call the Police!” to the other patrons.

“Nonsense!” said the Professor. “We may have determined that there was a pint and that it has now been spilled. We may have even decided that it was not spilled through some act of God. However, I cannot yet be sure of your existence, as your existence is integral to your belief that it was your pint that was acted upon. Just because you may, as proposed by Liebniz, have some essence as an argumentative, small-minded buffoon, the fact that such an essence can be described does not necessarily mean that you exist. Using your own argument, you, like God, may not exist, and so it was not your pint that was spilled.”

The Academic’s companion tried to feebly pull him back by the arms. “Leave it” he muttered weakly. “He’s had enough.”

“Indeed,” said the Professor. “Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am. I can be certain of my own existence but not of your own.” The Professor smiled as he sought to end the barbarous altercation with a brutal strike. “And of course, as Spinoza believed that everything is ruled by an absolute logical necessity, there is thus no such thing as ʻFree will’ in psychology, or ʻchance’ in the physical world. As such, the pint was simply spilled – not by accident and certainly not through any intention of my own.”

The Academic rounded on him. “Yet you argue there is no free will! If there is no free will, there can be no independent thought. Thus, if you cannot think, using your own philosophy, you cannot exist!”

The pool of beer on the floor spread across to where the Professor may, or may not, have once stood.

The Academic cracked his knuckles, nodded at his companion, and went to the bar to buy another pint.

________

Jim Burr wrote Ugly Stories for Beautiful People and is working on a second collection, State of the Nation. You beautiful people can read more of his writing here and here. Ugly people can follow him on Twitter. Do either or both, depending on your mood.

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Submit your bizarro flash fiction stories to FlashFictionFridaySubmissions@gmail.com.

 

Tons of New Releases! Mud Season! Tenderbear Goes Apeshit! Mother’s Revenge!

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From Justin Grimbol and Atlatl Press comes a book of poetry about Upstate New York and marriage: Mud Season.

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Next, Moses Guttchenridder has several problems. His business, Macramania, is going under. His lovelife is in the toilet. Oh, and he has been forced into helping a murderous garden gnome take his revenge on the brothers of a fraternity who make sport out of destroying garden gnomes. The only spot of good news is that he has been chosen at random to become the new face of Krap-Wad Toilet Paper, replacing their beloved spokesanimal, Tenderbear, who has been arrested for drunk driving. The new head of Krap-Wad, Regan Moribund, falls in love Moses, but their relationship is put immediately in jeopardy when Tenderbear escapes his jail cell and goes on a murderous rampage, killing everyone who crosses his path. The former head of Krap-Wad toilet paper, Giles Moribund, attempts to re-take over the company  by hiring a hitman, Asigao, to kill his daughter, Regan.  When Moses, Regan, Giles, Asiago, the muderous gnome and several others converge on New York City, it becomes a bloody masacre to see who will remain on top of the dangerous toilet paper world. At turns humorous and horrifying, Tenderbear Goes Apeshit is another twisted offering from the mind of Bix Skahill (Babes in Gangland and Dope Tits). Get it here!

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And finally, Mother’s Revenge: A Dark and Bizarre Anthology of Global Proportions. What happens when you abuse your mother? It’s not pretty. It’s not nice. And she can get downright mean and nasty if you don’t straighten up and make amends. In this mixed genre group of eco-tales, thirty-two authors from around the globe offer up some lessons in why it’s wise to be kind to Mother Earth. Read and take heed. Your very life may depend on it!

Out Soon: John Wayne Lied to You

Coming soon from Rooster Republic Press and John Wayne Comunale comes the tale of a modern day legend in the making, JOHN WAYNE LIED TO YOU. It’s half autobiography, half creative nonfiction, and an extra half of good old fashioned lies, and will be available for purchase soon. Keep an eye out!

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In the meantime, Comunale has created a new podcast, John Wayne Lied to You, to promote this book and recount his insane real life adventures. Listen! Purchase! Read!

Support John Skipp’s ‘HOPE IN HELL’

John Skipp is putting together a feature film where the house isn’t haunted. YOU ARE! And you can help make it happen!

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Here’s the pitch from the man himself:

For my 60th birthday, I swore a “bucket list vow” to make a deeply personal micro-budget feature, full of heart, soul, and strangeness, which I knew no studio would ever finance. Moving into my new house gave me the perfect location AND inspiration. Not saying HOPE IN HELL is my fancy “magnum opus”. But it is the one work in which I devote all of my skills — as writer, director, musician, performer and more — into one sweet, sexy, philosophical slice of pure tripped-out art-o-tainment.

Check out the Hope In Hell Indiegogo page for more details and to help John Skipp make something cool!