The cult section of the literary world


Weird Comic Watch: aama

This comic is a real throwback to the old European sci-fi comics, the kind that throws a heavy side of weirdness in with the aliens and robots, and was usually drawn by Moebius. It begins with a regular guy living in the future named Verloc. Along with a robot ape companion, he joins his brother on a mission to find some missing scientists and their experiment, called aama.


Of course, they are soon overwhelmed by the strangeness they find on this journey. It turns out aama might just have the power to create/destroy everything while altering our characters’ feeble perceptions of their dystopian world.


As the story goes on, it becomes more surreal, until Verloc’s daughter gets involved and begins to harness aama’s reality-warping power.


Until everything gets all mutated and metaphysical and you’re just lucky you finished this comic with your consciousness intact.


So if you enjoy weird comics, sublime visuals, and existential insanity, check out aama!

Count the days with Fucking Dragons

I’d have called it “Dragons Fucking,” but “Dragon Sex Calendar” is still a serviceable and accurate title. Apparently there have been a few of these, and now the 2017 edition has arrived. Now you can have the geeky sexiness of dragon porn spliced with the everyday banality of asking what’s today’s date. It’s weird as hell, and that’s beautiful.


You can put this calendar on your fridge after you go here and buy a copy!

Weird Movie Watch: The Greasy Strangler

Disgusting people. Disgusting food. Disgusting nudity. Hot pink clothes and weird murders and dysfunctional relationships. Love. Madness. Disco. All of this is encapsulated in the recently released The Greasy Strangler, a story about father and son weirdos in the vein of John Waters or Tim & Eric. This is a truly fucked up movie for fans of disgusting entertainment.

The Slow Poisoner releases… Swamp Fist!

The Slow Poisoner, that one-man surrealistic rock and roll band, has released his latest album: SWAMP FIST! Individual tracks and the entire album can be purchased here. If you’ve ever heard The Slow Poisoner’s music or seen him play live, you know that this album is chock full of auditory oddities that make even the dead tap their toes. If you haven’t heard The Slow Poisoner before, then get this now! It’s the perfect music for the Halloween season.

The Slow Poisoner | Swamp Fist!

Out Now: The Terrible Thing That Happens

The release of a new Carlton Mellick III book is like a million doves made of ice cream taking wing into the sky. You can get your copy here. Check it out!

“A new spin on the post-apocalypse genre. One you won’t soon forget.” –Garrett Cook, author of A God of Hungry Walls

There is a grocery store. The last grocery store in the world. It stands alone in the middle of a vast wasteland that was once our world. The open sign is still illuminated, brightening the black landscape. It can be seen from miles away, even through the poisonous red ash. Every night at the exact same time, the store comes alive. It becomes exactly as it was before the world ended. Its shelves are replenished with fresh food and water. Ghostly shoppers walk the aisles. The scent of freshly baked breads can be smelled from the rust-caked parking lot. For generations, a small community of survivors, hideously mutated from the toxic atmosphere, have survived by collecting goods from the store. But it is not an easy task. Decades ago, before the world was destroyed, there was a terrible thing that happened in this place. A group of armed men in brown paper masks descended on the shopping center, massacring everyone in sight. This horrible event reoccurs every night, in the exact same manner. And the only way the wastelanders can gather enough food for their survival is to traverse the killing spree, memorize the patterns, and pray they can escape the bloodbath in tact.

From the godfather of bizarro fiction, Carlton Mellick III, comes an absurd horror story unlike anything you’ve read before.

Flash Fiction Friday: The Ghosts Live in the Walls

by Nimrod Tzarking

The walls are white, immense. A void. Gauzy specs wiggle in the air, wrinkles in the eye revealing flaws in the infinite, giving way to ghosts.

The ghosts live in the electric. The electric lives in the walls. The walls are throbbing with crazed ectoplasm. How much of me lives in there?

It’s a fresh day. The walls are screaming hundreds of names; I do not know which one is mine. Janet, Doris, Evey, they moan. Juanita, Natasha, Lucille. Faces dance in the ectoplasm. There are no mirrors here, but sometimes a face reaches out. Sometimes they cluster.

One is reaching out to me today. It slinks from the wall and into my grasping hands, its surface sticky and its color inconsistent. I hold a right hand to it, and my left to the face I am wearing. I am not a blind person- I cannot feel if they’re actually the same, or if this is just what faces feel like. My reflection is muddy and distorted in its surface. It coos and licks my earlobe. I wrap my arms around it and kiss its sticky face. I do not remember any songs, so I hum a new melody. Light flickers.

Its voice is tiny but unbreakable. It whispers, these faces are not Yours. Perhaps once they were. Now, You grow around their bones.

I look at her fellows in the walls. Each face has a different character. Among them are warriors, mystics, victims and tricksters. Their features are always in motion. Noses pinch and wrinkle. Eyes wander, laze, and squint. Mouths curl, gape, undulate and smack.

Time wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for meals. They come on plastic trays, each morsel segregated in a shallow rectangle pit. I touch foods. I fill my fists with peas, sprinkle them in gravy, and smear my skin with taters. The ghosts sing oooo and aaaah. These boundaries are my play-things. Perhaps I am an artist.

The square white men get frantic when I paint. The void-white walls are stained with streaks of jelly scrawled in shapes unplanned. My arms have an intelligence of their own. Mashed carrots pool in subtle crannies, edges tugged by the weight of having-worked. No mind could guide these subtle forms. Only an artist. Only a room.

They are wordless when they fetch me, draped in ham and tossing crumbs. But I see they carry suds in buckets and wheel a bed with straps.

Leather bites into my arms. Fluorescents whiz overhead. The ghosts sing from their lightbulbs, fear not, for we are here. I smile. A voice grunts with disgust beyond my eyes, whispers a hateful word. Someone’s scrubbing the walls I left behind.

The wheels pause. More leather is crammed in my mouth. Rolling my eyes as far as they’ll go, I see a metal box with blinking lights above my head. A metal band with white muffs wraps around my skull. The machine hums. The dial twists.

A pulse runs through my head, but I feel no fear. The electric is within me now, and I am inside of it. I am in the walls.


Nimrod Tzarking is a middling dungeon master and a bad influence on children. He eats nothing but whey powder, eggs, and coffee. He teaches literacy in Kansas, which means he might not be teaching for long. His fledgling website ( features angsty fan fiction and Bizarro fiction reviews. You should be his friend!


To see your name up in pixels, submit your twisted little stories to to Eric Hendrixson at

Out Now: Punk Rock Ghost Story

The latest collection from David Agranoff is available, full of hardcore punks and supernatural horror. Presenting: PUNK ROCK GHOST STORY


“David Agranoff is a razor sharp writer, a storyteller with a hard rock pacing, a magician of ideas, an adventurer in subcultures, an expert in underground music scenes.”
–John Shirley, author of Wetbones

“Agranoff puts you on tour with one of punk’s great mysteries in this stunning and unflinching dive into the blood, sweat, and vitality that helped punk rock change the world and destroyed one of its legendary bands.”
–James Chambers, author of Three Chords of Chaos


In the Reagan 80s, at the height of hardcore punk, bands eager to make it big crisscrossed the United States in beat-up tour vans with little more than DIY passion and boxes of handmade records. Basements, warehouses and dive bars were alive with the raw energy of the underground scene. But in the summer of 1982, legendary Indianapolis hardcore band, The F*ckers, became the victim of a mysterious tragedy.

They returned home without their vocalist and the band disappeared. A single record sought by collectors, a band nearly forgotten, and an urban legend passed from punk to punk. What happened to The F*ckers on that tour? Why was their singer never seen again? No one has been able to say. Until now…

For the first time, the truth behind Indiana’s lost hardcore legend THE F*CKERS, is revealed. And the most shocking secret is that it could happen again.

From the author of Amazing Punk Stories and Boot of the Wolf Reich, David Agranoff, Punk Rock Ghost Story is a one of a kind supernatural horror set against two very different eras of punk rock history.

Get it here!