Friday, September 3, 2010

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Five Hundred and Forty Eight

The nude rapper liked to end his shows by yelling “Piece out!”

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Five Hundred and Forty Seven

“It there's one thing I've learned it's never to trust a funeral parlor with a free buffet.”

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Five Hundred and Forty Six

“Old super heroes never die,” Amoeba Man said, “they just keep getting revived in increasingly improbable ways.”

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Five Hundred and Forty Five

It wasn't until her fifth marriage in six years that she realized she was addicted to wedding cakes.


This madness courtesy of GEEKOLOGIE

And in honor of my crappy week - FULL METAL DISNEY!

There, now I feel better...

Thursday, September 2, 2010

CORPSE WARS: The Fandom Menaced episode four

Corpse Wars by Jorge Prieto

Corpse Wars:

The Fandom Menaced

episode four


Al Bruno III

The front door of the house crashed open, Mark let the rake go so he could glare at Alec, “Well I hope you’re happy because –”

Except it wasn’t Alec standing there, it was a dead woman with blood all over her and one of her eyes dangling loosely from the socket. Snarling she shambled towards Mark. The zombie in the car was gnawing eagerly on the rake.

“Alec?” Mark said, “Alec?”

A cluster of ten of the things rounded the corner, their voices a mumble of misery and hunger.

Mark thought, Oh fuck. Fuck this!

Mark dove for the ten speed bicycle and started pedaling. In less then a minute he was back on the deserted street, he angled the bicycle so he was heading for Central Avenue and let himself coast for a moment. He couldn’t stop wondering what had happened to Alec in that house.

Mark felt a twinge of remorse at the thought. What if Alec wasn’t dead? What if he was trapped and waiting for rescue?

Then he would have shouted. He would have said something. The man can… The man could scream.

Central Avenue was a maze of wrecked cars and shattered storefronts, there was broken glass everywhere. Mark steer the bicycle onto the sidewalk.

A minivan lay toppled on its side, its empty window frames gaped, the child protective seats lying tattered and broken nearby. The internal DVD player was still something shifted inside the minivan.

Mark said to himself, “It looks like they’re all heading in the same direction, northeast.They’re going deeper into the suburban neighborhoods, by now they might have reached… home.”

Mark started pedaling faster. In his mind's eye he could already see his parents’ house. The front door battered down, his parents retreating against the scores of hungry dead. He imagined them blundering further and further back into the house until finally they found themselves cornered in his room. Mark flinched away from the vision of his parents being torn limb from limb, their precious lifeblood forever staining his Star Wars collector plates and action figures.


The edge of his Jedi robe snagged in the spokes of the bicycle's rear wheels dragging him backwards off the seat. The bicycle flipped over. Mark's head hit the pavement with a resounding crack, stars flashed before his eyes.

Then the bicycle landed on his crotch and the stars made the leap to hyperspace.

Blinking back tears Mark tried to stand but everything hurt too much. This would never had happened if he had worn his Storm Trooper outfit. If only he could have found that damn codpiece! Hissing with pain he brought himself to his knees and realized he had an audience.

There were at least ten of the zombies, milling characteristically around the entrance of a pet store, their hands dripping with the remains of gerbils and wiener dogs. They watched Mark gasping and struggling to his feet with detached fascination.

He started trying to back away only to spy a trio of zombies flanking him. The fat fanboy in Leia’s metal bikini was among the walking dead; his flesh was scored with lacerations, bite marks and electrical burns. When it raised its arms and shambled forward the bottom half of its costume fell away.

“Oh God. Oh my God...” Mark tried to break into a run but only ended up tripping over the bicycle again.

The zombies standing in front of the pet store let their half-eaten meals slip from their hands and moved as one towards him.

A thought stopped Mark in mid-cringe.

Why not? What do I have to lose?

Mark tried to calm himself, tried to become one with the mysterious, germ-carried universal power that bound and controlled the all living things. He raised his hand and tried to push the zombies away with the very force of his will.

The zombies were drawing closer. Mark closed his eyes and tried to let go of his feelings.

A spark seemed to flare inside him, a sensation that even in the midst of this nightmare there was something more, there was someone watching over him.

I think I can really feel it. And I can almost hear Alec’s voice.

“-I said what the Hell are you doing? Get your head down!”

“What?” Mark opened his eyes to see a red escort parked nearby, Alec was leaning out the driver’s side window with a shotgun. Mark ducked. Alec fired again and again. Zombies toppled like dominoes. Blood and splinters of bone filled the air.

“Ok. All clear.”

Slowly, Mark stood on wobbly legs. He tried to flick the gore off his clothes and out of his hair but there was too much of it. “And I thought these things smelled bad on the outside.”

Alec got out of the car, reloading and watching the alleyways, “And I thought I told you to stay put.”

“The basement to that house was the mother-freaking-load my boy. Foodstuffs, weaponry and enough porno to choke a horse.” Alec opened the door for him, “We’re all set.”

“So what now?” Mark sat down, he couldn’t stop shaking.

“The radio says the army has a refugee center set up at the Watervliet Arsenal, we could head there.” Alec got behind the steering wheel, handed the shotgun to Mark and started fiddling with the seat, “I can never get these things right…”

“Let’s just get out of here.”

“Sure. Sure.” Alec put the car in drive.

The red escort started moving down the street, weaving between the wrecked cars and upended garbage bins.

“So…” Alec asked, “What were you doing back there when I showed up?”

“I was just- I panicked… I don’t know what I was doing.”

The older man cracked a wicked grin, “It looked to me like you were trying to use the Force. Didn’t work did it? You’re damn lucky I saved you, damn lucky.”

Mark turned to glare at him, “What do you want? A medal?”

Click Here To Read The Next Story 'Attack Of The Crones'

And now a look at David Tennant from the FRIGHT NIGHT remake!


Peter Vincent is a magician in this version?

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Five Hundred and Forty Four

He read the memos from the central office religiously but never took them as gospel because it was one damned thing after another.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Five Hundred and Forty Three

In his later years Lord Greystoke left the jungle to start a vineyard. That was how he came to be known as Tarzan the Grape Man.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

In The Shadow Of His Nemesis chapter seventy nine

In The Shadow Of His Nemesis

Chapter Seventy Nine


Saturday, December 4th 1996

Angie died without a whimper, without a death rattle. One moment she was struggling for life, the next she was gone. Kneeling at her side John Sig watched her passing. There was no way he could have missed it. The only thing he had ever known more intimately than the red haired girl was death.

The darkened room seemed to grow darker still as grief settled into him, taking root in his gut and spreading from his heart to his head and settling into his very bones. He had no strength left, no strength to weep or rage. To Sig it seemed as though he was aging with every breath.

I loved you so... He thought ...but it wasn’t enough. Love is never enough.

Sig knew he should have felt grateful. Hadn’t he known more happiness than he ever thought he deserved? There had been joy in her arms. Couldn’t he just take comfort in that?

No, no he couldn’t, not when he knew that even now those arms were growing cold. Sig closed his eyes, trying to imagine her alive, trying to will it so.

There were men that could have done such things, Sig had known them, wizards, lunatics and sometimes a little of both. They could fold space and cheat time, they could kill with a gesture and resurrect with a prayer. Bodivar had been one of them but he had sworn off such powers as a kind of penance.

But he lived on when his Penelope died... Sig forced himself to stand, ...I will do no such thing.

It took him a few minutes of rooting around in the bureau drawers for him to find it. It was wrapped in an old shirt. Sig unraveled the knot of cloth and let the blade fall into his hands. The knife had a thin silver blade and a handle of yellowed bone. He ran his thumb along the edge, it was sharp and inviting.

It would cut through his throat in a single stroke.

He felt no fear at the thought of ending it this way. His only regret was the mess it would leave, but his Vlodek body would fight any poisons.

Fingers tightening around the blade Sig walked to the foot of the bed. There was no way he could imagine that she might be sleeping; death had left her features too relaxed, almost deflated.

Sig put the blade to his throat, dimpling the flesh. He remembered the first time they had made love. It had been almost two weeks since their escape, until then they had shared a room but never a bed. He had always slept in a chair watching over her until exhaustion pulled him down. That night, that sweet night she had come out of the shower and called him to her.

When they had kissed he had whispered to her that she was the first woman he had ever loved.

And Angie had whispered back that he would be the last man she ever loved.

He held on tight to that memory as he readied his arm for that one fatal cut. His aching despair began to fade, replaced by relief.

Suddenly there was a crash. The blade fell from Sig’s hand.

Laurel House shook. Laurel House screamed.

Click Here To Continue

Monday, August 30, 2010

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Five Hundred and Forty Two

At first she was excited that her milkshake brought all the boys to the yard, then she discovered they were all lactose intolerant.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Five Hundred and Forty One

It turned out the members of the Black Robed Regiment dressed that way to hide their frilly lingere.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Five Hundred and Forty

Of all the members of Abner Deggent's rogues gallery the ex Nazi Wilhelm Screame had the most distinctive battle cry.

5 Second Fiction One Thousand Five Hundred and Thirty Nine

He wanted to be a gigolo but wasn't sure if he could satisfy an older woman, so that first time was something of a dry run.

PLAID STALLIONS brings us 'Style 4472'