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Posts tagged “Danger_Slater

Podcastlandia, featuring Unreasonably Handsome

We here at Bizarro Central like to keep up with all the weird podcasts out there (especially the ones that are OUT THERE), and now we’re happy to present you with a new podcast created by bizarro alums Michael Allen Rose and Danger Slater. It is very humbly called UNREASONABLY HANDSOME…


…and you can check it out here!

Enter the Bizarro Multi-media-verse

Here at Bizarro Central we like to keep you up to date on what our weirdos are doing out in the internet. Casting their Pods and Tubing their Yous, if you will.


First up is Michael Allen Rose’s REVIEW ME PLEASE, the latest episode of which stars MAR and PJ (who is not the cat pictured above… or is he?) discussing the Gorillaz album “Demon Days” along with green tea and generalized insanity.


And for podcast listeners, you can’t do much better than THE DANGER AND LISA SHOW, an ongoing display of utter ridiculousness from one of bizarro’s most interesting couples. Catch up with them and hear their thoughts on Copyright Infringement, then check out all of their previous episodes and some from the future as well. Danger Slater is one of my favorite bizarro writers, and Lisa ain’t bad, either.


Flash Fiction Friday: An Alphabetical List of Every Woman I’ve Ever Slept With

by Danger Slater


(Actually, before I get started on this list, I just wanted to make it clear that I in no way mean any disrespect to the women on it.)


(Really, though. I mean that. I am an affectionate man with a gentle touch and a sensitive artist’s soul. I love women in a totally non-predatory way. And I understand that you’re probably skeptical of that, considering the title and premise of this piece, but I will prove it to you. Here is a sentence to illustrate just how sensitive I am:

Love betwixt thine burning ember, O flame forlorn effulgent passion, expound aloof conflagrant fanning, she dances lithe upon thine mind…

HOLYFUCKDIDYOUJUSTREADTHATSHIT? My prose is so emotional! It’s poetic as CRAP! My point is that this list is not about being flippant or rude to all the beautiful women of my past who had, at some point, decided to bed down with me. Rather, I would like this list to serve as a celebration. These women make up the narrative of my life as an artist. From them I draw my inspiration. And inside these women are where I have left little bits and pieces of my heart. My sensitive, sensitive artist’s heart.)


(Oh, and one more thing before I get started. I want everyone to know I specifically chose to write this list alphabetically and not chronologically, even though chronologically would seem like the more obvious choice. I just happen to firmly believe that alphabetalism is much more respectful to women than chronologicality.)


(And listen, I am aware that in that last little parenthetical aside I used the words ‘alphabetalism’ and ‘chronologicality’ and that those aren’t “real” words, per se, but are you really going to get hung up on such a minor triviality? Especially right before we we’re about to get down to the good stuff here? (And furthermore, I do like to think of myself as somewhat of a professional writer, and I’m not going to just make some sort of dumb mistake, okay? Perhaps I’m making up words as some kind of “ironic statement.” Ever think of that, SMART GUY? Whatever. Art is like, nebulous, or something like that. Literature is only half done when the writer says it’s done. The other half of the story happens in the mind of the reader. It’s up to YOU to rebuild the world from these words. Are you rebuilding the world with these words right now? In that case, I want you to build a skyscraper out of chinchilla dicks. Haha! Gross. You freak. You’re thinking about animal dicks like some sort of animal-dick-loving dick-lover. But I just proved my point, didn’t I? It’s all in your head. (I suppose, on the macrocosmic scale, whether I chose to make up words or not, you are the reader, and the ultimate judge as to the validity of my art. (You are the judge, jury, and executioner. (Just like Judge Dredd!)))))


(Hey, speaking of Judge Dredd, did you see that Dredd movie that came out a few years ago? Not the Sylvester Stallone one. The one with Karl Urban. It was pretty cool, even though it was kind of a rip off of The Raid: Redemption. I wonder sometimes if I should be writing sweet kung-fu stories like that instead of the kind of sensitive artist bullshit you’re reading right now. The dilemma is, of course, you HAVE to be a sensitive artist in order to get girls to want to have sex with you. You’ve been to parties. That annoying hippy guy who won’t stop playing the guitar is always knee-deep in chicks. That’s what women want. Hippies and weak girly dudes. Not ass-kickers like Judge Dredd and whoever that guy is who stared in The Raid: Redemption. If you act like Judge Dredd they just call you an ‘agro-male chauvinist’ and her and her friends say things like “Um….we’re fine” when you try to buy them drinks at the bar. Like, what the hell is that? It’s just a drink. I’m just trying to be nice. What’s the matter, you don’t like nice guys? Stop acting like I’m the goddamn Hunchback of Notre Dame. This hunch on my back isn’t nearly as big as his was. You know what, lady? I don’t even WANT you on my alphabetic list ANYWAY! You UGLY! You FUGLY! You a big, dumb DUMBO! I bet you suck at sex. I’m an artist and I have important things to say; statements to make concerning the human condition and whatnot. I don’t have time for you or your mind games. WHY DON’T YOU JUST FUCK THE FUCK OFF A MILLION FUCKING TIMES YOU CHINCHILLA-LOOKING MOTHERFUCKER!)






(Are you still here?)


(Okay look, I’m going to level with you. I’ve never actually had sex before. I was just going to make up a bunch of names so you guys would think I was cool. The truth is, I just want someone to hold me. To make the world not seem so cold. I am so alone. So terribly, terribly alone.)



Danger_Slater is a person who writes books. You are a person who is reading this sentence. Read Danger_Slater’s books instead. Go here:

Flash Fiction Friday: The Version of “Pinocchio” Where Pinocchio Has a Dick for a Nose

by Danger_Slater

Back in middle school I had this idea for a short story that was just like ‘Pinocchio’ except in my version Pinocchio’s nose was a giant dick. When he would lie, he’d get a boner on his face. He’d tell the girls they were beautiful, but he didn’t really mean it. He was just trying to sleep with them. Thing is, it would work. The girls would sleep with him. The girls would sit on his dick-nose and he would tell them how much he loved them and his dick-nose would get thicker, harder. It was confusing for the girls. I mean, why would he say one thing and have his body do another?

Back in middle school I had the idea to do a whole series of short stories just like the Pinocchio one. I’d replace crucial elements of these classic fairy tales with dicks. Snow White and the Seven Penises. Beauty and the Beastly Boner. Uncircumcised Robin’s Hood. It was a dumb idea, I know that now. I was just an immature little kid then. I didn’t know anything about being a writer.

Nowadays I rarely ever talk about my penis. And when I have sex in real life, my massive rod doesn’t rip through the body of the girl I’m fucking. Not even when I tell how beautiful I think she is. I can make empty promises all goddamn day and my cock will never be too big for her to handle. And if I tell her I love her, she is not going to split in two. My giant manhood isn’t going to worm its way completely through her insides, bisect her brain and erupt out the top of her skull. My prick isn’t going to smash through the ceiling of my bedroom. It’s not going to stick up taller than the trees. Taller than the Eiffel Tower. Taller than Mt. Everest. And then, from the tip of my monstrous and triumphant dong, arching ribbons of white cum aren’t going to flow out me in glorious galactic swirls, and that cum will not replace all the atoms in your body and it will not blend together with the dark night sky and turn the black into gray and turn the entire universe into nothing more than a puddle of my cosmic, post-coital splooge.

I don’t talk my penis like that anymore. That would be crass. And this is art.


Danger_Slater is a person who writes books. You are a person who is reading this sentence. Read Danger_Slater’s books instead. Go here: