by: Andrew Novak
The people see me dance and they can’t believe. They compliment my wooden mask, its bright saffron and blackened stripes. They stare into my reflective eyes and touch my mouth lined with rotting teeth of creature.
Only, it’s no mask.
It’s my face.
And the people, they love me.
Burning yellow and black-spotted, I run around town kicking up dust at the base of the mountain. I’ve twice trashed the offices of the major political parties. First with cinder stones, then with fire.
I run faster than cops can drive.
At the strip club, ladies tug my tail and stroke my fur under dim purple lights. I purr to the sounds of reggaetón. The owner of this place knows me well.
I blast dumpy rock music at unreasonable volumes in the zócalo. When people come to stop me, to shut me down, I spit cheap beer onto their clothes. When they spit back, I catch it in my mouth and laugh.
I eat tobacco leaves and dance the danza.
I smoke a pipe and drink mezcal.
Yes, I’m the wiseguy who buys up all the books at the bookshop. And after I’ve read each one, I eat the pages. I chew paper to pulp and swallow.
The mayor hates me and prays for my death. He knows: I secretly run this town and, if pushed, I’ll run it right into the ground.
The people erected a statue in my honor, right downtown. But someone spray-painted a hooked phallus ejaculating over the bronze face of my likeness. That someone was me.
The mayor, he hates me because I was wearing one of those trick handshake-buzzers the first time I met him. He looked so foolish yelping on stage, pulling back his soft palm, and flailing in front of thousands of respected city denizens. I burned his house down later that week.
My email address is email@example.com. I spend hours each day sending obscene spam emails to every person I hate.
I care for stray dogs and cats. I feed them the food I cook for myself. I also keep a green bird as a friend that I teach to swear at passersby.
I spray-piss poems onto walls and prolapse my ass squeezing coiling shits into rich people’s pools.
Yes, I live on peanut butter sandwiches.
And still I run faster than cops can drive.
Andrew Novak is a journalist and news editor in Washington, DC. He likes to read. He likes to write. He likes to take pictures with his camera. His fiction has appeared in Shotgun Honey, the Robbed of Sleep anthology series, Dark Moon Digest, and Out of the Gutter Online. His bloggings can be found at Neon Grisly.
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The latest collection by Kevin Strange is here! All the Toxic Waste From My Heart will be available for purchase on September 17th, but it can be pre-ordered at Amazon today!
Since 2012 Kevin Strange has been smashing medulla oblongatas with his unique brand of horror and bizarro fiction. He returns here with a brand new collection of short stories sure to leave readers recreationally deranged or at the very least psychotically inclined.
All The Toxic Waste From My Heart features ten brain-bending tales ranging from the whimsical fantasy of a boy who falls in love with a whale fart to an apocalyptic wasteland full of cannibalistic sludge monsters.
Fans of Strange know that he only gets better and weirder with time. And ALL THE TOXIC WASTE FROM MY HEART proves to be no different.
BONUS: This collection includes four erotic spider microfiction stories. What’s an erotic spider microfiction? Read on to find out!
Word Horde is proud to present the latest book from author and illustrator Alan M. Clarke. A Brutal Chill in August is a fictionalized historical account of Polly Nichols, the first victim of Jack the Ripper.
We all know about Jack the Ripper, the serial murderer who terrorized Whitechapel and confounded police in 1888, but how much do we really know about his victims?
Pursued by one demon into the clutches of another, the ordinary life of Mary Ann “Polly” Nichols is made extraordinary by horrible, inhuman circumstance. Jack the Ripper’s first victim comes to life in this sensitive and intimate fictionalized portrait, from humble beginnings, to building a family with an abusive husband, her escape into poverty and the workhouse, alcoholism, and finally abandoned on the streets of London where the Whitechapel Murderer found her.
With A Brutal Chill in August, Alan M. Clark gives readers an uncompromising and terrifying look at the nearly forgotten human story behind one of the most sensational crimes in history. This is horror that happened.
Head to Amazon to get your copy!
John Skipp, the head of Fungasm Press, has put together a trailer for Autumn Christian’s book, Ecstatic Inferno. And just like the book, it’s a trip.