Excerpt: ‘The Church of Latter Day Eugenics’ by Chris Kelso and Tom Bradley (illustrated by Nick Paterson).
Coming soon from Bizarro Pulp Press is THE CHURCH OF LATTER DAY EUGENICS, written by Chris Kelso and Tom Bradley with illustrations by Nick Paterson. It’s weird, it’s literary, and according to John Skipp, “Kelso and Bradley make it rain, sluicing bodily fluids and god down the drain”
A Blue Egyptian goddess. I hear the pulsing of her labia. I see her silhouette. A dense vapour of red smog swirls around us both, fingers the air, forks and laps at the flesh, fills the surrounding atmosphere with transfused gender plasma. I feel something like grill bars beneath my feet, baking my heels like two big slabs of smoked sausage. Through the cloud of crimson I see her true form–at least what I presume to be. Her legs are spread like the Thames, revealing the violet petals of her full, budding vulva. I can’t believe I’m standing before the Big Girl herself. I feel as though I could slip through the open wire grid at any time–but there she is.
“Hello,” I utter in awe. “Permit me to introdu–”
“Empy-ton. Your name is Empty-ton.”
“If you say so, ma’am.”
Her voice emerges like a choir of military wives. Must be the Blue Lotus talking.
“Are you here to feed me, or to be fed to me?”
Quite a question, that. Enough to make the initial rush of the sky-colored herb sort of level out and bring me to cruising altitude. As this creature lies back awaiting her answer, I can feel me going from a more or less chaotic oscillation to what feels like my proper innate vibe.
It resembles one of those moments of extreme clarity, surpassing any induced by psychedelic or amphetamine, that sometimes come in the earliest stages of a catastrophic drunken binge, when you’re lying flat on your back in the piss and puke at the foot of the stage in a live-music pub, staring straight up into the cosmos. The lead guitar’s neck is protruding like a dick in a fist between your peepers and the ceiling full of strobes and kinky-colored stage lights. The Pete Townsend-wannabe slams all his meager weight behind a power chord, which he lets resound for a few eternities. The strings wobble and writhe chaotically in a chaos of backlit, or toplit, squiggles, but gradually resolve, along with their sound, after the principal attack, to six perfect arrays of crests and troughs, textbook wave forms, as they achieve their resonant frequencies.
“I’ll ask again. Are you here to feed or be fed?”
I use the old journalistic trick of feigning complete, instead of just partial, ignorance. “That depends on who–”
“I am She.”
Just as that guitar chord, so does this She resolve. She, with an upper-case Ess, slowly morphing into the literal Blue Lotus, the vegetative form, the botantical aspect. Then She blossoms further, from petals to skin. The sultry, slim Egyptian lineaments of the blue goddess inflate beautifully to WWI zeppelin shapes (full-scale). Only once before this moment has your mere slob of a narrator-protagonist been considered worthy to see She‘s true condition. The illustration in the pamphlet must have been drawn from life. The She-God is, indeed, a titanically fat middle aged naked lady, who happens to be long and broad as several dozen Titanics.
Her blue skin resolves to the white of a native Anglo Saxonette–made even whiter by the long-legged whole-body garment of raw see-through cotton gauze, precisely as per the pamphlet’s illustration. Her boobs and other naughty bits are clearly visible through the stretched-out material. There are the holes for her nipples to peek through, and the magickal symbols are embroidered here and there in red and blue colored threads, gauged like ship’s cables.
The woo-woo talk dissolves with her Blue Goddess guise, like Isis’ veil lifting off the nude cosmos, like the curtain being drawn back from the Wizard in the Hollywood production that rounded up every midget in the world, recruited them as extras, and left them to sleep among the urinal mints at MGM’s back lot. That’s something like the way I feel, in comparison to my hostess: a pissy dwarf. Fortunately, pissoirs are my element, so I am not knocked off my journalistic stride. A true professional is this –ton, Full or Empty.
Girl in the Glass Planet is an aural cyberpunk fantasy where the Pied Piper meets Franz Kafka in a labyrinth of glass tunnels and grotesque alien insects. Follow Cyberia (the girl in the glass planet) as she joins Darko, Basho, and the Shinkai in hunting down Zatoichi (a god-like creature known as “the speaker-man) after he destroyed their homes and left a swarm of insectoid cyborites in his wake. His sound drives them beyond the point of madness. They’re hunting for revenge, hoping they can reach the silence at the end of the tunnel. A fast-paced surreal sci-fi thriller from the author of The Orphanarium.
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Bizarro Pulp Press presents… A showcase of the written word that represents the best of the weird and the grotesque; More Bizarro Than Bizarro is a gallery of the strange and unusual, including possibly-dead detectives, a beer-head invasion, some especially delicious cookies, the dream of Jackie Kennedy, and of course, the best story of a talking penis ever written in the history of classical literature.
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Available on Amazon: the latest from Jordan Krall!
Find yourself on a starship as it lumbers across the desert. Find yourself on a train looking out at the stars, the earth a blue marble in the infinite black abyss behind you. Find yourself overdosing on narcotics in a bathtub at home. The Red Planet. Pharmaceuticals. The Demiurge. Assassins. Suicide bombers. Underground railroads between worlds. What mysteries link them? Pull back the veil and see.
In Beyond the Great, Bloody, Bruised and Silent Veil of this World author Jordan Krall creates a wholly unique experience; all at once revelatory, hypnotic, and hallucinatory. All literal, all parable, all a twisted drug-trip. So read on and know this; it’s all true, and it’s all in your head.
More bizarro books are dropping for the Christmas season, brought to you by Atlatl Press, Strangehouse, and Bizarro Pulp Press. Click the titles to head over to the book’s Amazon page.
Abraham Koyfman is a widower of nine months. He works from home selling subliminal self-help tapes for a questionable doctor he found in an ad in the back of a magazine. His meager retirement is enough now that he’s alone and Abraham is ready to quit his job—a task proving to be difficult due to the company’s tactics. The combination of grief and the lack of empathy from his adult children have him ready to quit life, also. On the day he reaches the breaking point his friend Horace pays an unexpected visit with his new girlfriend. Horace’s remedy for Abraham’s plight is to party hard, act juvenile, and take a road trip to confront the doctor in charge of the work from home scam. But will an insufferable friend, a bad case of misanthropy, and the absurdity of modern technology and its sociocultural impact make Abraham’s situation better?
It’s Corpse Bride meets Eraserhead despite Gonzalo’s best efforts to live a life like Leave It to Beaver’s. Gonzalo grew up in the cemetery under the care of his monstrous parents and in the company of decaying corpses. As a result, he only desired one thing throughout his childhood: To be normal enough to join society. But despite his attempts at running away from his family, he has never been able to leave the mortuary. Now, as an adult, Gonzalo manages the cemetery. His family has died yet he is still unable to leave. Then, on the night of the annual Cadaver Tea party, something impossible happens—he impregnates the corpse Fiona. In an attempt to normalize the cemetery before his child’s birth, Gonzalo begins to close all the coffins, forever locking the dead inside. Without the intercession of corpses like Henry, the voluntary babysitter of abused children, Lionel, the life-long explorer, Victoria, the world’s first professional deep-sea water ski champion, and Vincent, Victoria’s long-time lover and trainer, Gonzalo believes he and Fiona will be able to raise their child to join the rest of the world. But in the throes of terminal calcium deficiency, Fiona’s bones deteriorate to dust immediately after she gives birth. Can Gonzalo make the young Frank, his now motherless, half-corpse son, normal enough for society? Can he raise his son without becoming like his own parents? Will Gonzalo become the Mortuary Monster he has spent his whole life trying to escape?
It’s one of those days again: you discover tiny Egyptian pyramids and slaves in your stool, and soon, you give birth to a Fecal-Pharaoh, that is cursed… Yeah, it’s one of those days again. Heroine addict babies crawl onto your body, and you become a superhero – sure, the girls dig your new infant-muscles, but you must keep up with the little crying bastards drug hunger. Yup, that shitty day again, when your wife calls for the police and the operator tells her that an officer will arrive in 9 months, and a few weeks later, your woman discovers that she is pregnant with a tiny police man that beats your stick with a baton every time you wanna get intimate with her.
Action, drama and holy fucking fecal matter! Join Turdmummy, the Foreskin-Golem, Craphouse Christ, the fat Christmas-tree mermaid, Prostate-Yeti and Tampon-Steed in a messy, surreal fight against good taste.
It’s going to be a long, hellish day on Utica Ave. The employees of Brooklyn’s seediest soul food joint, Clayvon’s King Prawn Chicken N’ Biscuit, have a mysterious new patron: Edgerin. Called a “vagrant” and a “beggar”, he’s got a thing or two to learn them in the delicate art of begging… Within twenty four tense, bloody hours, all the filthy secrets buried under the nail beds of the Clayvon staff are revealed in this darkly comic urban crime story from author Bob Freville.
Starting in the fall of 1896, something very strange was going on in the night skies of the western United States. Newspapers and law enforcement were inundated with reports of bizarre machines flying over cities and towns, mostly in Texas. There are thousands of accounts in the newspapers from that time; no one knew what to make of them then, and today in the 21st century, we still don’t. There were also numerous reports of odd people or figures manning the airships of unknown origin and speaking in unfamiliar languages. What was going on? Were people on the ground just making up these stories or do we have a case of multiple witnesses to a major secret event occurring years before the Wright Brothers?
Matt Bialer, poet of the weird and unexplained, grapples with the mystery in his epic poem, WONDER WEAVERS. The narrator of the poem is writing a book on the subject while at the same time helping his extremely shy teenage son prepare a book report on HG Wells’ INVISIBLE MAN. He is also continuing his never-ending search for his long lost missing brother who loved airplanes and who first told him about the Wonder Weavers.
Then the key to the mystery of the airships is possibly found: A series of large old scrap books of esoteric drawings, collages and watercolors of these unreal flying machines are found at a garbage dump. The books are from another time and possibly even another realm. They turn out to be the creation of a reclusive old Prussian butcher who lived in Texas in the 1890s named Charles Dellschau. The drawings have German and some sort of code in them and many references to a “Sonora Aero Club.” The object here is to crack the code; the code of human ingenuity. And to soar to the heights of exhilaration and imagination and maybe something even well beyond.
Bizarro Pulp Press brings you Cucumber Punk, by P. A. Douglas.
On the fringe of an acceptable society, Pete’s a cucumber-headed punk whose thoughts of rebellion against the social order frustrate him to no end. Sometimes, there’s a shortage of tomato sauce. But there’s no shortage of fear for the Veg-heads, as they’re hunted down to satisfy the Norms and their consumer culture…
Praise for Cucumber Punk
“Vaguely reminiscent of Jarman’s Jubilee, a surprisingly raw Bizarro fable about exploitation. Wholeheartedly recommended.” – Garrett Cook, author of Jimmy Plush, Teddy Bear Detective and Time Pimp
“P. A. Douglas delivers a fast, brutal, and oddly sweet tale of vegetable repression and exploitation. But don’t take my word for it. Pick it up and read it now!” – Erik Williams, author of Bigfoot Crank Stomp
“Beneath the gonzo punk sheen of ‘Cucumber Punk’ lives a scathing social commentary about the myopia of discrimination and the corrosion of social order. P. A. Douglas conveys this heavy message with a sense of pure joy and insanity, ensuring a reading experience that never fails to exhilarate. Try eating a vegetable afterward without feeling even a tiny bit guilty.” – Matthew Revert, author of The Tumors made me Interesting
Coming soon in paperback and audio!
For more details about submissions and where to send them, click here.