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Wednesday, June 12, 2013


This Kid’s Not All Right   by Awol Nation  

The naked punk rocker sat atop the hill under the bright, hot sun and clamped his big fat hands over his eyes.  He was angry.  He screamed.  He said, “Who the fuck woke me up?!”

The Glinty turned to us from halfway up the hill and waved his arms like he was trying to get us to line up for a photo op.  We crowded up and he placed himself between the angry baby and us.  Then he turned back and climbed up a bit higher to Fat Jerry. 

He looked up and said, “You done had yourself a long enough slumber.  Time to rise and shine, lazy bones.  You and me got us some bidness awaitin’ us.” 

Jerry wiped his face with his palms and squinted at the old man who stood just below him near the top of the hill.  He said, “Not long enough.  Never too long before having to see the likes of you again.”

Glinty said, “Well, Good Morning to you as well, creepy dude.  You see, them boys need our help now.”

Jerry shook his head.  “They always need help.  Last time, the crying one ran me over with my own fucking hearse.  Can you believe that shit?  A man run over by his own damned car.  That shit don’t cut it.  Nope, it don’t cut it at all, you old fucker.”

I looked up at Tellesco beside me.  His cheeks were flushed, and he just shrugged back down at me.  Huh.  How about that.  Dude had some balls after all, I figured.

The Glinty shook his head.  He said, “None of this is fair.  Never has been.  You were going a bit below and beyond the call of duty.  That’s what you get when you go fall to temptation.  You might get run over.”

Jerry got up on one knee and then stood up on the hill.  He stretched his arms to the sky, inhaled deep, leaned his head back and yawned real big.  He let his breath out with a howl.  He looked back down at the preacher and said, “Someone comes to save your ass: you don’t fucking run him over with his car, and then steal it!”  

Then he looked over the preacher’s hat. 

He pointed his finger at us. 

He said, “YOU!”

That was our cue to head back to the cabin and make a pot of tea and a plate of crumpets for a nice little chat by the hearth.  What the hell is a crumpet, anyway?

All we heard behind us was some huffing and puffing as we ran up the hillside.  I don’t think anyone took the time to look back.  I know I didn’t.  I just wanted to keep ahead of Tellesco. 

The Glinty shouted from where he stood on that frigging well-hill.  He said, “Come back and grab your damn clothes!  Get your fucking boots on ya damned clown!”


We’d dug up a huge naked punk rocker who was now chasing us with murder in his eyes.

All before lunch.

Sweet Mountain River   by Monster Truck 

An army of the Walkin was loose upon the nether regions of Fuckno.

No one was safe from them.

At all.

One Walkin felt right at home. 

It was the first time for the likes of a Walkin.


“She knelt down to look at the tiny spark.  It winked out a bit and was gone.  Then it came back again.  She grabbed it and brought it up to her face.  She could see someone inside it.  It was like a tiny window.  She was looking through this tiny spark into another place.”  ---From The Fuckno WarsCh 31   Interview

The streets in the much maligned and desolate trail of sludge left behind the ugly King of the desert were alive with hunger.

Fuckno devoured farmland to the north and regurgitated gated communities up there, and shit out despair and horror in its wake, and this was before the infection of the cannibal Walkin had come to town.

Seen drove in his stolen Jeep with a rumble in his belly.  He scouted for his next meal.  He passed houses on fire, car wrecks, and bodies lying in the street.  Thank goodness for the chunky treads on them fat tires.  He didn’t mind a bump now and then.  The bodies of the dead were speedbumps for him.

Whump-a-bump…  Whump-a-bump..

He looked in his rearview mirror and saw bodies rolling around behind him, spilling entrails from their asses, their middle parts, and their mouths.

Them crooked vultures would have a feast in the hot sun.  He chuckled. They were kindred to him.

Already the air quality was bad in the slums.  The stink of fetid death simmered on the hot tar and there was no breeze.

A sane person would not be hungry, but sanity had left this area without its boots.

Always mind your leather.

Seen saw a man with one arm, holding what appeared to be a skeletal arm in the other, and he was chasing a woman.   It was Lenny Sustenuto. 

Seen did not know who the man was, nor what it meant.

He pulled the Jeep up onto the sidewalk, sped up and ran the woman over, then backed up over her again.

He hopped out, and Lenny swung his skeletal arm at him, screaming.  Seen stepped back as the arm swung by, and then hopped forward and kicked Lenny down to the ground.

Lenny rolled around on the ground, clambering for his bony weapon.  He said, “That’s my meal!  Fucking thief!”

Seen put his foot on the man’s neck and bent down low.  He looked right into Lenny’s eyes and said, “You look like a meal yourself, you know.”

You recall,  Lenny had opened the Gates of Hell, and he did not know that he had.

But do you know, these two would come to make an alliance.

One that would matter.

Only one thing.

Lenny was in dire need of a new body to inhabit, for the gangrene was infecting his whole body.

Seen would help him with that, without knowing that he would.

He knelt down and pulled Lenny's face up to his own.  He whispered into Lenny's face.

He said, "You smell pretty bad, bud.  Wanna go for a ride?"

Then he took a bite.

Big Log   by Robert Plant  


Sven stopped his stolen purple BMW and looked over at the mansion.  He was home.  Nobody there would know that he wasn’t the prodigal son, done returned home, if he could figure his way.  As you know, Sven was very intelligent.

He simply had to make his way.

Debruilliage, baby.

See you this weekend.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.


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