Happy Birthday Tim Curry!!!
TODAY IS THE BIRTHDAY OF MY MOST FAVORITE ACTOR OF ALL TIME….TIM CURRY!!!!
I remember the first time I saw Tim Curry on the big screen. It was in a now defunct movie theater in Windsor, Connecticut with my best friend (yes, Quinn I’m talking about you) who dragged me kicking and screaming to see the movie ANNIE. I remember everyone HATING the character of Rooster but I was absolutely smitten. I loved his voice, the way he moved, his eyes, EVERYTHING about him.

It was just a few years later that I was dragged to another movie theater (yes, Quinn this was you again) in nothing but my bra and panties to see Tim Curry in the ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW. Let me digress for a moment here…
Have you ever had an experience as a kid that forever changed your life? That molded and shaped how you saw the world and yourself in it for years to come? Yes, that was what Tim Curry’s FRANK-N-FURTER character did for me. Since then I’ve made a point to either see or hear everything he’s ever done in his career (even Pennywise the
clown. That’s how deep my love goes).
Now, I’m not one to go all gushy when meeting celebrities (my life spent as a somewhat groupie kept my Starstruck meter in check) but if I were to meet Tim Curry in the flesh I’d fucking cum in colors, I shit you not (suck on that sentence, Freshly Pressed). So here’s to you, Tim Curry, for another glorious year with you in it!
Hellis In Love – A Romantic Monday Offering
Hello Everyone, it’s me, Hellis, live and in person. Well, in spirit. I’ve been away from our little corner of this virtual Utopia we call Blogworld because I’ve been spending time with the new love of my life. Yes, people I am in love, and have decided to use Edward Hotspur’s ROMANTIC MONDAY post as an opportunity to introduce him to my world.
The latest object of my affection is a man like no other; he is fun-loving, free-spirited and young at heart. His childlike innocence attracted me immediately and before I knew it I was hooked. Today I’d like to introduce you to the man who captured my heart and is sure to steal yours. Without further ado I give you…Randy Pan.
Now, before some of you start sending emails to a certain tall, SciFi-loving Cowboy let me explain. Randy isn’t your ordinary, everyday Pan-fan. He’s living his dream everyday in a way that shames me as a writer. It took me a year to work up the testicular fortitude to query agents with my GOA novel while this guy was laying it all out there for the world to see. There was no fear of judgment or harassment on his part. He exposed his life and his soul in an act of bravery that humbles me. And while I will admit that it is taking every bit of self-control to not mock the living shit out of this guy; I have decided a better use of my time would be to honor him here.
So here’s to you, Randy Pan. May your tights not chafe, may your loafers be light, and may every jock who beat you down in high school scratch himself to death because of a raging, unchecked venereal disease.
For more Romantic Monday Posts visit Edward Hotspur
New England Dissected
I’m sure I’ve mentioned somewhere in previous posts that I’m a New Englander, but unless you’re from here you can’t really comprehend the significance of that statement. New Englanders wear their citizenship like a badge of honor, defining ourselves not by our individual states but by our geographical region, much the same way someone from Scotland or Ireland would define themselves by their family, or clan.
So to help all of you southern, inland and west coasters out there understand the Clan New England, I’m going to break it down with a metaphorical example. Imagine a Thanksgiving day dinner table, and at one end you have:
MAINE
This is grandpa. He doesn’t do or say much, and he’s been around so long you almost forget he’s there. Oh, and he doesn’t have teeth. Next to him is:
NEW HAMPSHIRE
This is the oldest son, the one who went off all gung-ho to Vietnam and came back disillusioned and pissed. He rides a Harley and defends his right to not pay taxes. He’ll school you on the history of any firearm known to man, whether you ask him to or not. When he’s not at Laconia for bike week he’s at a Knights of Columbus meeting. He earns his money either by being a trucker, mechanic or working construction. And his wife is Asian. Always. Next to him is:
VERMONT
No one gets under New Hampshire’s tough leather skin quite like Vermont. Part hippie poser, part Phish fan, all organic NPR listening Vermont. He’s college educated, usually earning a degree in either history or philosophy, which makes him an expert on EVERYTHING. He’ll chastise you for driving anything other than a Prius and is forever preaching the evils of pop culture. The only reason he owns a television is to watch PBS, and he’s married to a girl from:
CONNECTICUT
The oldest daughter of a respectable family, make no mistake she is Vassar bound. When she’s not out shopping for argyle socks she’s sticking a finger down her throat or sneaking out to heavy metal concerts to bang tattooed pretty boys on motorcycles. I’m guessing. Next to her is:
RHODE ISLAND
He’s the red-headed step child; New England’s own version of Oliver from the Brady Bunch. Our own personal small ball of “why?” And that leads us to the twins. I say twins because this next state is geographically bipolar. Divided by the city of Worcester (pronounced WOOS-tuh), their personalities are as oppositional as any two children could ever be. And that state is:
MASSACHUSETTS
The child west of Worcester is the girl twin. She’s well-adjusted and lacking in any definable accent. She knows what she wants and that is to GET THE HELL OUT OF NEW ENGLAND. The twin east of Worcester is the boy twin, the one who calls you at 2 a.m. to come bail him out of jail because he:
A. Gave a Yankees fan a beat down.
B. Defended his position that Manhattan clam chowder is, by definition, not a chowder.
C. Beat someone who said something disparaging about Aerosmith or Godsmack or Denis Leary.
He’s the guy who doesn’t actually live anywhere; he just floats from couch to couch to couch. He borrows your car without your permission, drinks all your beer and steals your stuff. And even though you know he’s going to sleep with your girlfriend you let him in your house anyway because he’s just so damned awesome.
Just like any family we fight and spat amongst ourselves, but heaven help the punk who steps to one of us, because then he steps to all of us. Whitey Bulger wouldn’t be Whitey Bulger if he were from the midwest. Well, maybe Kansas. That place is like the friggin’ Twilight Zone. So the next time you cross the border into New England, roll down your windows and listen carefully; you just might hear our siren song:
Romantic Monday – The Road Trip
Imagine you and I in my car driving down a dark, desert highway on one of our spontaneous adventures. I sing Oh! Darling in a gravelly voice just to make you laugh. I take off my shoes and then stretch across the seat, swinging my feet up into your lap. You play with my toes, tickling me. You tell me it’s my turn to laugh.
I lay my head against the window and look up at the stars, asking you questions I know you will answer.You speak eloquently about the stars and the sky, and although I am listening I am very aware of the wonder that is you.
Sleep overtaking me, I grab your jacket and throw it over top of me like a blanket. I snuggle my nose into its collar, breathing in your scent as I drift off to sleep. You steal glances at me while you drive, loving me in silence.
FOR MORE ROMANTIC MONDAYS VISIT EDWARD HOTSPUR
GeminiWords – Fallen
Renee – Blue Sapphires and Salt of the Sea Part II
Sheila Pierson – A Little Thing Called Love
Suzy Blue – This Morning
Subterranean Librarian – Flowers That Smell Of Shit And Spoil Your Senses While Maiming Your Thoughts With Foolish Pretenses
Pam Kelso – Just The Two Of Us
The Bangali Angle – Falling In Love Once, Falling In Love Twice, Falling In Love Thrice
Gin And Tulips – The Present
GeminiWords – Tight
Sage Doyle – More
Suzy Blue – Fluff and Prickles
Lyrical Anarchy – Melting Winter Snows
Alphabet Soup Miniscule – Wings And Parts
Tom Elias – Advice http://tomeliaswriter.wordpress.com/my-work/advice/
Welcome To My Desktop
Anyone who knows me knows that I am an extremely restless individual, and that every now and then I’ve got to switch things up. It could be something as easy as driving a different car for a while, or something as epic as painting my bedroom hot pink.
Since I’ve taken on more hours at work, the switching up has been happening at my desk, or more specifically, my desktop, to the amusement of my many co-workers. So for the amusement of you all, I share with you today a gallery of my ever-changing desktop wallpaper.
Ah…yes. The General Lee. My first love.
Mmm…The Metallicar. My present love.
Next we have two pics that are the perfect marriage of humor and music, Tenacious D. and Dethklok. If you don’t know who they are, I suggest hitting the Google immediately. If you don’t like them, well…we can’t be friends.
Now we have the two greatest bands I’ve ever had the good fortune of hanging out with backstage. Lit and Godsmack. Boys and their tattoos. Dreamy.
Why Lemmy? Because Lemmy is God, that’s why.
Next we have two of the greatest influences of my life: Roller Derby and Charles Bukowski. Bukowski touched me deeply on the inside, and Roller Derby smacked the crap out of me on the outside.
Because I can’t download porn.
Next are two pics of my seldom seen daughter, Babygirl. The one above was taken on Halloween when she was two years-old. Her father wanted her to be a princess, but she wanted to be a “basketball boy.” You see who won. (Yes, that is a regulation sized basketball. She was, and still is, very tiny). The one below was taken in our backyard with my nephew. I plan on writing a story just so I can use that pic as a book cover.
Last but not least, for reasons that I cannot begin to comprehend, my all time favorite desktop wallpaper pic ever!!!!!
Doesn’t this pic just say it all?
NaNoWriMo Versus The Queen Of Self-Distraction
This time last year I put up a post entitled Why No NaNoWriMo which chronicled my need for self-distraction whenever I sit down to write. How I accomplish writing a blog at all I’ll never know. Needless to say, this year has been no different and I’ve yet to finish the second novella in my REAPERS WITH ISSUES series. What’s got me blocked this year is:
The Oakland Raiders – Walking Dead – Firefly’s 10th anniversary re-release – Coconut Rum – my promotion – Tom Elias – raising a daughter as stubborn as me – learning to love Scifi – wristsaroundtheworld – Junior’s shenanigans – Frank Stallone’s faulty brakes – Prince Charming’s charm – and this little ditty right here:
The Ant and the Grasshopper
Today I’d like to welcome a newbie to our little corner of blogworld, g00dg33kranting with his timely take on the classic THE ANT AND THE GRASSHOPPER. Not only is our new friend a contributor to our F*cked Up Fairy Tale project, but he is also a novelist in his own right. You can pick up a copy of his book, RISE OF THE DRAGONS through a link at the bottom of the post.
KID! Yeah you… get over here. Put that stupid video game down for a few minutes and come listen to me. I have a story to tell you. You and your lazy generation playing video games and texting on your phones and facebooking on everything; it’s SICKENING.
Listen to this story and you will rethink how you act. I’m going to tell you about the Ant and the Grasshopper.
DON’T GIVE ME THAT LOOK! This is more exciting than your Twilights and your Spidermans and your Thors with their actors who are too good looking to be real people.
So you see, there was this Ant and a Grasshopper and they were married as any good Grasshopper will end up married to an Ant at some point in his life. Now the Grasshopper went to work but he mostly slacked off a lot when he was there and then said he was too tired to help out when he got home.
This made his Ant wife very mad since she had to take care of their 437 children all day. Then had to cook dinner, get all 437 children to get their baths before getting them to bed. As you can imagine it is very challenging to get 437 children to bed by 8:30 P.M.
The Grasshopper would drink a lot of beer and watch football. This infuriated the Ant even more. Eventually the weather got cold at the end of the year and the Grasshopper wanted to get intimate with his Ant wife.
But she just ignored him and went to sleep. In the middle of the night she cut off his Grasshopper junk and threw it in a field, leaving the Grasshopper, and took her 437 children to LA and married Matt Damon just to dump him and take half his money.
And I miss your father every day… NOT, now go clean your room or I’ll cut yours off too.
PICK UP A COPY OF HIS BOOK AT AMAZON:
RISE OF THE DRAGONS (The Seth Stories)
I Confess…I Killed Vincent Price
The date was October 25, 1993. At the time I was watching television, indulging in fistful after fistful of candy corn (yes, I actually like those). I was nearly three months into my first pregnancy so the reality of dressing my swollen belly up for Halloween and partying the night away was out of the question. Well, it was for me anyway.
Enter Mikhail Vlakfeld, my future ex-husband, heading toward the door dressed as- you guessed it, a Vampire. With all the wisdom of an eighteen year old only four months into marriage, he opted to leave me home to go party with his friends.
Relegated to a night of sulking over my Uterine Bastille, I began flipping through channels until I stumbled upon a Vincent Price movie marathon. It was in that moment that I uttered the phrase that would come to haunt me for the next nineteen years:
“My God, isn’t that guy dead yet?”
Seems like a harmless enough phrase, right? Jump to the next morning and me opening the front door to find my future ex-husband passed out face down on the front step, drooling onto a newspaper with a headline that read:
Vincent Price- dead at 82 years old.
That’s right. Apparently at the exact moment I uttered the above phrase, the great Vincent Price keeled over dead. You better believe my family never lets me forget this happened. I wish they would because let me tell you, Vincent Price is NOT the guy you want to kill with the power of an ill-spoken phrase. I expect the afterlife will not be a pleasant place for me.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!
Reapers With Fangs
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, the day is nearly here when we will unveil Book Two of the four book compilation series called REAPERS WITH FANGS. The sequel to Reapers With Issues follows the Grim Reaper on his journey through middle management Hell.
For those of you who have not read Book One of the series entitled, REAPERS WITH ISSUES but would like to purchase a copy visit www.wristsaroundtheworld.com where every purchase donates 100% of the profit to a great cause that you too can be a part of. Don’t forget to visit the REAPERS WITH ISSUES website and sign Grim’s DEATH BOOK. Now onto a preview of:
REAPERS WITH FANGS
Death’s bag landed with a thud, dumping its coconut scented contents and nearly a pound of beach sand onto the cold, office floor. “When was someone going to tell me about this?” Grim asked the three Horsemen scrambling to form a line in front of him.
“What ‘this’ are you referring to?” Famine asked, backing away slowly.
Grim stepped forward and shoved a pink, bubble gum scented memo into Famine’s bony hand. “THIS is what I’m referring to. This memo that’s nearly two weeks old. I count on you three to cue me into this kind of thing when I’m gone. I shouldn’t have had to hear this from Lucifer.”
Pestilence flinched at the word “Lucifer,” but said nothing. War looked to Famine who, after returning a stony glare, reluctantly answered. “No one wanted to bother you. We all agreed you needed the break.”
“So you thought waiting until I got back from vacation to walk into this mess was the better idea?” Grim asked as he snatched the memo from Famine’s hand and tossed it atop a monstrous stack of waiting paperwork.
“No, that’s not what we thought at all,” Famine explained. “We agreed we’d do some recon first and get a handle on who this Ashli person was before we decided whether or not you should worry.”
Grim startled. “Worry? Why? Who is she?”
Without saying a word Pestilence slowly lifted Grim’s mug off his desk and then went for coffee just as Famine produced a silver flask from deep inside his cloak.
“That good, huh?” Grim asked, not convinced he wanted to know.
“I’m not sure “good” is the word you want here,” Famine said as he poured a stream of red, viscous liquid into the steaming cup of coffee. Pestilence blew the billowing smoke away before handing the mug to Grim who promptly set it on the desk behind him.
“I’m not a Cherub, Fam. You don’t have to pussy foot around me. Just tell me straight out who this Ashli person is.”
Famine took a quick sip from the flask, steeling his courage before he spoke. “From what we’ve been able to gather Ashli is…well, let’s just say word around the Cloud is that the boss has got himself a new girlfriend.”
Grim stood frozen for a moment before he snatched the flask from Famine’s hand, tipped it back and sucked it dry.
“We’re still not sure what this is, so I see no reason to assume the worst,” Pestilence said in an attempt to put Grim at ease.
“Bunch of bullshit is what it is,” War blasted. “Give me five– no, four thousand real Reapers and we’ll take care of business no problem I guaran-fucking-tee it. We don’t need no Bible bitch tellin’ us how to do our jobs. We–”
Famine backhanded War into silence just as Grim dropped the flask to the floor. “Wait–what’s he talking about?” Grim asked, wide eyed. “What did he mean by, ‘telling us how to do our jobs?’”
Famine hung his head and sighed. “Yeah…I hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”
“So what are you saying?” Grim asked. “That I finally got Skippy and his shih-tzu out of my department and now….now I’ve got the girlfriend setting up shop here? Are you telling me she is actually in command of the OHD??” Grim’s shocked reaction forced his eyeballs to pop out of his skull and roll along the floor.
Famine picked the eyes and his flask up and set them all on the desk. “I’m afraid that’s the way it looks,” he reluctantly replied.
“Well that’s just fucking great,” Grim said as he ripped off his best tanned meat suit, stopping short of revealing a heart-shaped tattoo with the words Fran Forever emblazoned across the bicep. A tattoo that for the life of him Grim could not recall getting. “I need to sort this shit out so give me a few minutes alone, please. Pronto.”
Famine nodded and then led the Horsemen out of the office. As soon as he was alone Grim headed straight to the closet to change into his regular uniform. His official cloak, Grim decided, would put him in the right frame of mind to deal with the fact that once again, God pulled the rug out from under him.
As Grim slid on the heavy, black robe he set to putting this new dilemma into perspective. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. Anything had to be better than Jesus and his Reaper disaster. After all, the Big Guy never kept a woman for long, and he was sure it would only be a matter of time before this new one grew tired of his continued absence. Running the Universe for an eternity isn’t the nine to five job most women think it is.
Still, there was reason for concern. Even though this wasn’t the first time God took a mate, it was the first time in at least two thousand years he’d been this public about it. As Grim could recall, Lucifer was the reason behind God’s last romantic debacle. Grim wondered just how deep into Ashli’s pie his demon colleague’s fingers were, and just how bad the blowback to the OHD might be if God found out.
His mind racing with new concerns, Grim threw open the office doors and called for his Horsemen. “Have any of you spoken to Lucifer yet?” Grim asked once they arrived. “He’s the one who forwarded the memo. He’s got to know how this happened.”
“We…didn’t think it was such a good idea,” Famine tentatively began. “We didn’t know how much of this action originated from the Southern offices, you know, considering how Jesus’ Reaper solution went down.”
Grim ran a bony hand back and forth along his spinal column. “I do know what you mean, but it seems like a lot of risk, even for Lucifer. This isn’t Jesus and his shih-tzu we’re talking about, this is the Big Man and his woman. Anyone remember Lilith?”
“Come on, Boss,” War interjected around a wad of chew. “You know you can’t trust ol’ whistle britches, especially when there’s a female involved. Don’t matter who she is. He nails ‘em faster than Jesus to a cross.”
Hearing his Horseman echo his thoughts reinforced Grim’s suspicion of Lucifer’s role in Ashli’s sudden appearance at the OHD. Determined to get answers, Grim reached for a phone that rang as he grabbed it. “Hello?”
“Why Grim! You’re back!” Lucifer announced with mock cheerfulness. “What’s the good news?”
“You tell me. I’ve been skull deep in sand for the past two weeks.”
“Hmm…how very odd. I’d have thought your ponies would have alerted you to the magnitude of the situation by now.”
Grim shot his Horsemen a look of death as he spoke. “Never mind all that and just answer a question for me. Did you have something to do with this Ashli bullshit or not?”
“Hold your Horses,” Lucifer snickered. “The answer’s no, I had nothing to do with this. Although I wish I had, because this is more glorious than any plan I could have concocted.”
“Plan? What fucking plan are you talking about?”
A sudden, thunderous crash resonated throughout the office followed by a sulfurous puff of smoke. Lucifer appeared at Grim’s side. “Sorry about the theatrics Grimmie old boy, but I just had to be here when you got the news.”
Grim rubbed his skinless temples in exasperation. “Fuck the news and just get to the plan.”
An expression that was both gleeful and menacing at once took hold of Lucifer’s face as he stared into Grim’s and said, “I can sum up the plan in one word-
Vampires…”
FOR MORE REAPERS VISIT:
http://www.reaperswithissues.com
TO BE PART OF A GLOBAL PROJECT AND GOOD CAUSE VISIT:
http://www.wristsaroundtheworld.com
The Passion of Suspiria and Mister Dead
Ladies and Gentlemen- I have no words. Let’s let today’s F*cked up Fairy Tale speak for itself.
The Passion of Suspiria and Mister Dead
(extremely loosely based on The Elves and the Shoemaker)
There was a time when everyone believed in freedom and happiness, long before societies and matrimony came along and made everything boring. The couple in this story certainly believed! And this couple truly lived that belief.
This couple, though not mortally or morally tied to one another like they would be today, ran a sexccesories shop called Master and Servant just outside the stodgy town of Stuffingham, founded just as the freedom of sensuality began its sticky end. Their shop was nondescript from the outside, by design. Regular Stuffingham citizens passing by wouldn’t have thought anything of the storefront – but irregular folks knew all about the place, and they frequented the shop in droves.
To keep up appearances, and because they really had nothing else to wear, nor would they want to, Jack and Sarah nearly always dressed in their ‘work’ clothes. The man wore a pin-striped suit dark blue pins on light blue, impeccably pressed and perfect in every way including being perfectly accessorized, with the exception of two holes cut out for the cheeks of his rosy ass, and two holes in the shirt for his nipples, both of which were pierced and connected by a chain. The woman wore an all-leather ensemble of high-heeled stiletto boots with glittered toes, pants that were as tight as a second skin and showed off her curves and crevices quite nicely, a leather eye mask and luscious red lipstick, and a corset of black with red trim that pushed up and proudly displayed her breasts, with holes for the nipples which were clamped – the whole thing leaving little to the imagination, save the belly button piercing complete with chain that fell down into her pants, linking to lower and hotter regions. While the two of them were not hunting eggs or opening gifts with their extended familes, they were known as Mister Dead and Suspiria, respectively.
On one fine day, the shop door opened and a couple entered. The ‘gentleman’ of the couple was wearing a leather cap, a leather vest, leather bikini bottoms and thigh-high boots. The ‘lady’ of the couple had a hot mess of tiny flowers throughout her hair, a powder blue prom dress with corsage, and some dainty white mary janes with powder blue polka dots on them. They make just a smashing couple, thought the shopkeepers, and Suspiria stepped up to assist them.
“Hello, my lovelies. How can I be helping you today?”
The gentleman stopped to admire Suspiria’s outfit, though he was not of a proclivity to necessarily admire Suspiria herself. “That is stunning! How would I come by an outfit like that?”
“I do it by pulling on this chain ever so slightly for about three or four minutes,” Suspiria said slyly. The couple giggled, and the prom queen looked back and forth for a moment.
“Honey, I would love to see you in that outfit – though it would need some adjustments in some places.”
“We can make something similar for you,” said Mister Dead. “I have a picture of it right here.”
Mister Dead showed them the picture of the male version of the outfit. The bustier of the corset was reduced and came below the nipples, while the front of the skin tight pants had a special attachment for placement and display of the penis, that flexed depending on the area needed.
“OH my GOD! That is perfect! We will take two of them.”
“Honey! Two of them!”
“Yes, dear. It’s so fucking hot that I want to see you in one too!”
“I worship you.” The happy couple waited as Mister Dead worked his bare ass off to make the outfits, and left arm in arm, hands all over each other.
Suspiria smiled as they left, until she saw the look on Mister Dead’s face.
“What troubles you, my love?”
“I didn’t want you to worry, my goddess, but all is not well.”
“My love? You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
“Yes, mistress. You see, this season has been much colder, and fewer people have been coming by, and…well, to be honest, after the happy couple, we only have enough leather for one outfit. Just one. I shall have to leave the leather on the workbench. In fact, I fear crafting anything until the next guest commissions an outfit. I have nothing to do.”
“Oh, my. That is terrible, my lord, but I can think of a way to save some money on heat and give you something to do.”
“Is that so? I would love to listen to you tell me about it, and then perhaps attempt to save money all evening.”
“First, we need to get together, very close, like this.”
“Yes, mistress?”
“And if my lord would kindly undo my corset, we might get closer and share body warmth under yon blankets.”
“Precious, if you would turn around, I could help you do just that.” He gave a gentle tug on her chain, sending thrills through her body.
“You will pay for that later, my lord. I can promise you that.”
Suspiria turned around, and Mister Dead slowly loosened her corset, laying it gently on the floor by the bed, which was a medieval rack with a mattress on it. Mister Dead knelt before Suspiria and closed his eyes as she teased him with her nipples, brushing them across his lips. She reached for a blindfold that lay on the nightstand and put it on him, which brought a smile to his face. She put one finger under his chin and raised it, kissing him passionately, and then nudged him up gently until he stood, kneeling herself. She turned him around and kissed and nibbled each cheek of his rounded ass, and then around again as she slowly unfastened his leather belt and slid off his pants. He gasped as she brushed her lips against his penis, and a shiver ran through his body as she slid up against him slowly. She sensuously removed the rest of his clothes, fastening his nipple clamps back on and pushing him onto the rack, cuffing him and tightening the wheel just enough.
“Are you feeling warm, my love?” Mister Dead just nodded and smiled in bliss.
“I do not believe you are warm enough yet, lord.”
Suspiria took a candle from the window, pulling the drapes down as she did, and walked back to the rack. She took her left hand, starting at his feet, and gently brushed his skin with her fingertips, slowly, sensuously towards his manhood, coming closer but never quite touching. His body tensed with anticipation, but the touch never came. She kept moving up his chest, slowly, until she reached his lips. He took her fingers into his mouth as she whispered into his ear.
“For you, my love.”
Suspiria pulled back, and with the candle in her right hand she dripped hot wax over the lips of Mister Dead. He gasped in delight as she dripped the wax down his chest, over both nipples, across his stomach and down his thighs. She took his cock into her mouth just once, and then replaced it with the steaming wax from the candle as Mister Dead shivered with pleasure.
Suspiria removed the rest of her clothing except her boots, and climbed onto the bed, standing over Mister Dead. She slowly lowered herself down to the wax-covered lips of Mister Dead and rocked back and forth as he moaned and hummed for her. She slid her clit back and forth over the still-hot wax, becoming wetter and wetter until she climaxed in a shivering bodystorm. She collapsed onto Mister Dead’s chest, sliding down and breaking the wax with her fingers and tasting the juices that remained there, and letting Mister Dead taste them.
A noise! Suspiria whispered into Mister Dead’s ear.
“My lord, did you hear that?”
“I did hear something, but fear not, goddess. It is likely the sexual electricity crackling between us. Do you not feel it?”
“I think you are right, my love. I shall not stop!”
Suspiria had her suspicions, though. She slid down until Mister Dead was right at her slit, and then slid down even further, making them both cry out in pleasure.
Suspiria was right, for there was indeed a noise. Out in the shop proper, two eyes watched the couple make passionate love. The eyes belonged to a truly unusual creature – a being made of sexual energy and passion, given shape and form. This creature watched the couple with wide eyes and excitement, touching herself (for such a being could only be female) as the couple played out their games of submission and sex, bringing herself to climax ater climax, nearly to the point she could take no more, until the couple themselves grew blissfully satisfied, weary, and warm after all. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, and she was somewhat of a mess, but she certainly looked happy. This was the most passionate, sensuous and sexual event she had ever witnessed since her creation – and she hadn’t remembered until this very moment, but it was here that her energy first coalesced, her mind filled with passion and love, and she had sprung fully formed from the love between Mister Dead and Suspiria.
She sat on the workbench, recovering from her countless orgasms, when she looked over and saw the leather. And an idea formed in her head as surely as she had formed from sexual energy: she would repay Mister Dead and Suspiria for granting her life and giving her sustenance. She began crafting as the idea took life just as she had. Sharp heels, six inches. Soles of obsidian and mahogany. Leather fasteners. Cold iron eyelets. Diamond and pearl inlays. Obsidian and sapphire shards. Leather up to the thighs, and beyond. She finished, admiring her work, and left the most stunning and incredible leather boots ever made upon that workbench, before disappearing, exhausted from the evening’s events.
The next morning, Mister Dead woke up tangled in the wet sheets, and tangled in Suspiria’s chain. He gently tugged it, and Suspiria woke up with a smile. She pulled Mister Dead in for a kiss, and he moved on top of her, but just as he was about to plunge deep inside her, her eyes went wide and she pointed behind him. And then, thinking better of it, she dropped her hand to his back and her eyes went wide for an entirely different reason.
Several minutes later, their morning fast broken, Suspiria finally told Mister Dead what she had pointed at earlier.
“My love, I would never interrupt a morning of lovemaking such as this, but look what lies on yonder table!”
“There is nothing I would rather look at than your body, from head to toe, stopping at all the naughty bits, of course. But for you, goddess, I will.”
Mister Dead looked – and gasped! He could not believe such a pair of boots could exist in this mortal world. He leapt from the rack, Suspiria close behind, each wrapped in sheet and blanket, and together they looked upon this marvelous pair of boots. They were multifaceted, like gemstones, each one glimmering brighter than the other.
“My love! How did such a pair of boots as this come to be on our very workbench?”
“I know not, my lord. We were quite busy last night, and my attention was all on you. But it occurs to me, my love, that this may have something to do with that noise we heard last night.”
“My lady, that was the heat and sparks from our very bodies, surely – but still, perhaps you are right. Perhaps someone was here last night, watching us!”
“Oh my lord, how exciting! I am getting wet just at the possibility. Then, shall we consider this a gift?”
“I would not have chosen to make just a pair of boots out of our last leather, but this is not just a pair of boots. They are the finest boots I have ever seen in my entire life! I would love to see you in them, even if for just a moment, but in our current state, I feel that we should perhaps place them in the window and see what we can get for them.”
“Aie! It pains me to do so, but I must admit you are right. I will try them on, though, just for you, my lord.”
Suspiria, wearing nothing but a smile, put the boots on. Suddenly, as if by magic, leather tassels covered her nipples, a leather bikini bottom covered her sexy ass, and a whip appeared in her hand! These were some magical boots indeed! Mister Dead immediately became more aroused than he had ever been, but with no small amount of difficulty, he managed, barely, to decline.
“We must put them in the window, my love. Should we experience the full onslaught of these boots, I fear we could not bear to part with them.”
“Again, with great pain and sadness, I know you are right. I will take them off, but promise me you will remember this moment for later.”
“There is no doubt in my mind that I will remember this always, goddess.”
Suspiria took them off and placed them in the window, and the two of them reluctantly dressed themselves to receive guests. Just as they had finished their makeup, the door to the shop opened, and in walked the most alluring and sexual woman either of them had ever seen. She was completely nude except for the tattoos covering her entire torso, some fishnet stockings and ballet slippers. She glanced at the couple, raising her eyebrows slightly, and then turned to admire the boots up close. She looked at them from above and from below, bending over and arching her back as she did. She placed the boots on the floor with approval from Mister Dead, and walked around them like a succubus circling her prey. She reached behind herself and absentmindedly slid a finger inside, aroused by the look and feel and smell of the boots. Mister Dead and Suspiria looked at each other and smiled as the woman stopped circling the boots and walked up to them.
“Don’t you look luscious, dears. Those boots are incredible – the best I have ever seen. Which one of you made them?”
Mister Dead looked at Suspiria, and said “We are both responsible for them, together. Just as the pair could not be separated, neither could we. We belong together, the two of us, and the two of them.”
“Could you be separated for brief periods of time? Seconds, or minutes, perhaps?”
“That depends on many things, but we are not opposed to it, Miss…”
“Sushevane. I would love to come between you for a moment. But first, I would love to come between those two boots. May I try them on?”
“Of course, Sushevane. Let us help you.”
Mister Dead reached around Suchevane and lifted her up into a tight embrace, as Suspiria pulled one boot on, caressing her thigh gently, and then the other, giving her other thigh equal time, and then slowly standing up, kissing her silky white ass and blowing warm breath into her crevice. Mister Dead and Suspiria pressed Sushevane between them, holding her up with just their bodies and covering her with kisses. But as her skin became wet with excitement, she slid down until the boots touched the ground. A cold fire overcame Mister Dead and Suspiria, and they dropped to their knees as Sushevane grabbed their faces and pushed them over her wet clit. They lapped up the wetness, happy to serve her pleasure as the fire gently burned that part of their minds that made sensuality grow. Sushevane felt herself losing control of her body even as she had total control of the inseparable couple, and she came over and over, mindlessly and blissfully.
After some time, the couple opened their eyes, unaware of having closed them, to find Sushevane slyly staring at them. Sushevane kissed each of them passionately, and then reached deep within her box and produced a large glittering diamond. She presented it to them happily.
“This should be sufficient, don’t you think?”
“Oh, certainly, Miss Sushevane,” said Suspiria. “More than sufficient, as we are happy to see a lovely woman such as you wearing these boots. You were made for each other, as we are.”
“Then it is yours, and I thank you for not just this day, but all the glorious days to come. You have given me fulfillment beyond my dreams, and I only hope some of them come true. I misspeak – some more of them.” She winked at the couple, and then turned and left the shop.
Mister Dead smelled Sushevane’s scent on the diamond and was aroused all over again. Suspiria took advantage of Mister Dead’s state, gracefully and magically.
As they had nothing else to sell, they closed the shop for the rest of the day, but they still had to acquire more leather. But Suspiria, being an exquisite gemcutter, cleaned, carved and cut the diamond into a glittering masterpiece, taking care to save the shards, for an idea had formed in her head. She and Mister Dead went out into the world, and dined, danced and enjoyed each other’s company and the company of those around them. On the way back home, they stopped at the tanner’s and purchased another supply of leather, enough for three complete outfits complete with accessories, and more. They carried their purchases home and placed the leather once again on the workbench.
As exhausted as they were from the day’s activities as well as those of the previous night, Suspiria had some surprises. She had purchased a bolt of silk and some lace and silver buttons, and she set about making an outfit from them. Mister Dead watched her for a moment, but with a kiss and a caress, he understood his role in this outfit, and he began making a pair of silk and leather slippers suitable for an elegant night out. By the time he had completed the slippers, Suspiria was finished with the outfit. She lay the outfit on the workbench and placed the leather over it.
“My love, allow me to admire your handiwork, if you would.”
“I cannot let you see it until the moment is right. Trust me, my lord. But there is handiwork I can show you.”
“Your words are difficult to counter, goddess. I would see this handiwork.” Mister Dead smiled wolfishly.
Suspiria led Mister Dead to the rack, gently tugging on his nipple chains as he sighed. She placed the blindfold on again, and bent him over the rack, kissing his cheeks and thighs. Suspiria reached up and undid the buckle of his pants, and with a swift motion she had Mister Dead stripped from the waist down. She returned to his ass cheeks, running her tongue from cheek to cheek and pausing to tongue his crack. She reached around and stroked his cock as she licked between his cheeks, and then moved to his balls. She twisted around until she faced his cock as he leaned against the bed, and took him in her mouth. He thrust into her mouth again and again, but she stopped him and flipped him over, lifting him onto the bed. She stripped until she was also naked from the waist down and placed a strawberry-flavored candy just inside her opening. She climbed onto the bed facing his stiff cock, licking the shaft up and down. He smelled her pussy, smiled and began to lick her clit, tasting the strawberry mixed with her juices. She responded by moaning, and with his cock in her mouth, the vibration of the hum sent a tingle down his spine. She thrust her wetness against his lips and tongue, and he happily licked and sucked her clit, making her shake.
The same noise from the night before! Suspiria spun around and whispered in the ear of Mister Dead.
“My lord, did you hear that?”
“I did, indeed. That time it was unmistakeable. Whatever shall we do, goddess?”
“I believe we should peek into the workshop, my love. I do so want to finish with you, but my curiosity is tingling.”
“As is mine, my lady. Shall we look?”
Mister Dead and Suspiria stood up from the rack, not bothering to put any clothing on. They touched each other and kissed in a passionate embrace, making promises their bodies would keep later, and crept towards the curtain separating the bedroom from the workshop. What they saw was amazing! A being aglow lay on the workbench wearing the outfit Suspiria had sewn just an hour before. It was a brilliant red silk kimono with cutouts for the breasts, and silk stockings with lace garter ties to hold everything together – plus the gorgeous leather and silk slippers. This glowing female with pointed ears and long flowing honey brown hair was furiously pleasuring herself with one hand, and pinching her nipples with the other hand, first one, then the other, eyes closed tight. Occasionally, blue energy would arc off her hot and gorgeous body and dissipate into the air.
Mister Dead and Suspiria could barely take their eyes off her, but for their love for one another. With a look, they made a wordless plan. Suspiria took the blindfold from the nightstand and a strip of lace, and Mister Dead sneaked around the workbench, patiently. They looked at each other once more, and as Mister Dead held the creature’s hands, Suspiria tied on the blindfold, and then tied the beauty’s arms to the workbench above her head. She reacted in surprise, but not with fear. She struggled by reflex, but not to get away. She cried out, but wordlessly. Suspiria and Mister Dead started with her dainty feet, kissing them and smelling the lavender and jasmine scents coming from them, and indeed from her whole body. The couple moved up her legs, licking, nibbling and kissing them, and she relaxed and tensed at the same time.
She knew her captors. She was borne of them. As they neared her luscious wet mound, she had never felt such peace and tranquility, and yet such excitement. Mister Dead and Suspiria each reached up a hand and pinched her nipples, sending chills and sparks through the lot of them. The couple was surprised, but not slowed. They began taking turns licking her clit and her wet opening, sliding in fingers, stopping to kiss each other, and managing a three-way kiss.
The energy and tension built, and when she felt she would explode with wetness and pleasure, the blindfold flew off, and her hands became unbound. As she climaxed, she placed her hands on Mister Dead and Suspiria, one each in the middle of their chests, and then drew them to her by some mysterious force. As they all joined in embrace, the crackling blue energy filled the air and their bodies with a pleasure like none of them had ever known. They came over and over, orgasm after orgasm, tingling with pure pleasure at every touch, until the beauty took all the energy into herself and Mister Dead and Suspiria regained awareness.
They held each other with tears of happiness at what they had just experienced. They thought they had captured her, but she had truly captured them. They included her in their embrace for several minutes, until Suspiria found the strength to whisper.
“Who are you?”
“Suspiria, I am you. And I am you as well, Mister Dead. My name is Evanine.”
“What do you mean, you are me?”
“I was borne of the love, the passion, the intense sexual energy between you. Every look you shared, every touch, every glance, every embrace, all went towards my creation. I am the manifestation of your love.”
Mister Dead was moved to tears. “I do feel nothing but love for you, yet I love Suspiria no less. She is my goddess, my one true love, my passion. How can this be?”
“To love me and to love her is the same thing. And for you, Suspiria. The best way to explain it is that your love for one another was so great, your passion so immense, that it could not be contained within your mortal bodies.”
“I am in awe, Evanine. We would welcome you into our homes and our lives forever – but we do not possess others, we only control or submit with trust, passion and love. We would not presume to possess even you, who are borne of our love.”
“My lord means to ask whether you will leave now. Whether you will make your own way in the world. Our hearts would now break, but we cannot ask you to do something against your will.”
“Mister Dead, Suspiria – I am yours forever. I know I am free, and with that freedom I choose to belong to you, to touch both of your hearts, for all time.”
They embraced with tears of joy, but as they were all emotional and passionate creatures, these soon turned to tears of passion, if indeed there are such things. There were many more nights, many more passionate embraces, and many, many more outfits created. Soon after their lovely union, the ensembles created by their passion and skill were the envy of all who did not possess them, and the Master and Servant became the most popular shop of any kind in the land. Even the townsfolk of Stuffingham loosened up with a few parades every now and then.
And there were many more stories made, dreams fulfilled, romances romanced – but that is for another time.
They lived happily every after. VERY happily.
Checking In
Hellis here with some good news and some bad news. The good news is that I recently received a promotion that is quite a big deal in my world. The bad news is that it leaves me less time to spend in blogworld. Once my schedule settles down I’ll be more available to post, but until then I’ll be checking in as often as I can.
So in the spirit of Halloween I’ll leave you with the most horrific thing I’ve seen all day.
CITIZENS OF BLOGWORLD – I BESEECH YOU
I’d like to take a moment to step outside of the humor box and use my blog post today as an opportunity to spread awareness for a cause I truly believe in.
There comes a time in the lives of all bloggers when we find a need to step back and reflect on our journey through the virtual utopia that is Blogworld. Some of us have come here to broaden our horizons and to find inspiration within the photo or travel blogs that pepper the Freshly Pressed page. Many of us find comfort and community amongst the animal lover or mommy blogs of WordPress. Still others use their blog to extract humor from the banality of the workday life and to share their plight with the blog world around them.
But once in a great while there comes a blogger who stands out among the rest- a blogger who effortlessly straddles the line between tragedy and comedy. A blogger who bucks convention with his often times controversial opinions on the validity of religion or the sanctity of marriage or the awesomeness of Star Trek. A blogger who challenges the status quo, strives to enlighten both men and women alike, and who boldly laughs in the face of clowns.
It is this singular blogger who I believe can deliver us all into an era of change and lead us down a path of righteousness and light. That is why I, Hellis of Bloggerland, am asking its citizens for their support and their vote for EDWARD HOTSPUR as champion of the BLOGGER IDOL contest.
“Amongst the weeds of the world, a flower grows…”
CAST YOUR VOTE FOR EDWARD HOTSPUR HERE:
The Three Little Pigs
Here is another offering to the F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES list brought to you by our very own A.H. Browne, better known as the POURINGMYARTOUT guy. Enjoy his jazzed up take on the childhood classic The Three Little Pigs.
****
Tusker felt the sweat running down his face under the coarse, bristly hair. His snout was glistening under the hot, bright spotlights, and his tusks gleamed. He gripped the drumsticks tightly between his stubby hoof pads to keep them from slipping as he pounded frantically on the drums. He could feel the shuddering, jarring shock run up his arms and pound through his body as he set the rhythm. He loved the sound of the drums. He knew that most drummers were using new synthetic skins, but he loved the classic human skin. It just sounded right.
He had never felt more alive. The drug was coursing through his veins like liquid fire. Even past the glare of the spotlights he could see the crowd surging like a storm-tossed sea. And out in that vast, heaving ocean, he could see the glint of thousands of pairs of eyes riveted on him as he pounded the heartbeat of life into the music. Thousands of eyes belonging to sweet little porkers who were burning with desire for him. Oh, he was going to sow town after the show tonight.
He wished he could get the guys to try this drug just once. But they were on a new clean-trip after years on the road, struggling to make a name for the band, to break into the big time. All those nights of playing little dive bars in little crap towns. Tusker knew if he could just have discovered this drug back in the day, then they would have made the big time a whole lot sooner. He never wanted this night to end.
But end the night did, as nights will, and after the last encore the band stumbled backstage, followed by the screaming adoration of the crowd. As soon as they got into the dressing room, Tusker’s two band mates turned on him.
“What the hell is up with you, Tusker?” The Snout growled at him. “You were burning through the songs. You just kept playing faster and faster. You’re supposed to keep the beat, not see how fast you can push it.”
“We sounded like a recording played at the wrong speed,” added Porseus.
Tusker was genuinely surprised by this attack. “What are you talking about? We sounded great. We never sounded better than we did tonight.”
“We aren’t a speedthrash band. We don’t do walls of noise. We are known for our subtlety and complexity. We do real music.” The Snout was trying hard to be reasonable.
But Tusker wasn’t in the mood to reasonable. He was feeling like they were ganging up on him unfairly. And he was feeling his anger rising up inside him, the flames licking at the dry tinder of his raging soul.
“Real music?” he sneered. “Is that what you call it? Is that why I never get to help write any of the songs? You think I am just some farm boy from the sticks?”
His two friends could feel the argument slipping into dangerous territory. The Snout hastened to reassure his friend. “Nobody said that, Tusker. You never showed any interest in writing songs. That isn’t our fault.”
“You never asked me,” Tusker responded coldly.
“We are getting way off topic here,” commented Porseus calmly.
“So now I can’t talk as good as you, is that it?” demanded Tusker. “You got some nerve, putting on airs with me. I have known both of you since we were in grade school together.” He pointed a cloven hoof at The Snout. “Do you remember those days, Mr. big shot? Because I sure do. I remember you before you were ‘The Snout’. I remember you when you were just Grismold Terris, a piglet from a crap town in the middle of nowhere. Before you could play the guitar. Before anyone ever heard you sing. And you,” he began, turning on Porseus with eyes blazing, “before you became the bass player for the biggest band in history, you weren’t so hot. Porseus Gowl, who couldn’t even get onto the hoofball team because you were too fat.”
“Look, Franzis, just calm down,” said Porseus evenly.
“Don’t call me that,” yelled Tusker. “I am Tusker Barns now. Drummer for The Three Little Pigs. The band that sells out more stadiums than any band in history. The band we all put together to get out of that little crap town.”
“Okay, Tusker, we don’t want to fight with you. You just seemed to be a little out of control tonight.” The Snout sounded vaguely disappointed.
“Maybe we just need to pick up the pace of some of those dirges you two write.” Tusker was almost screaming now.
Porseus lowered his eyes and bit back a reply. He knew it would only make matters worse. He didn’t know what his friend was on, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. They had all experimented with drugs when they were younger. And those first years on the road playing small dive bars was mostly a hazy memory. But he did remember their lives together when they were growing up in Stockyard. Franzis had lived on a human farm outside of town. Grismold’s dad was the town’s only dentist. His own father was the janitor at the high school they had all attended, a constant source of embarrassment to him. It was partly the way that Franzis had always remained proud of his own dirt-poor father despite the fact that he raised filthy human livestock on a rundown little ranch that had made his own situation seem bearable. He hated to see his friend like this.
But Tusker had had enough. He made a sloppy waving motion with his arms and turned away, hurrying out of the dressing room and off down the corridor leading out from under the Rocket Stadium.
Porseus started to go after him, but The Snout put out a hoof and stopped him. “Let him cool off. We can talk to him tomorrow when he has come down off whatever he is on.”
Tusker jumped into his brand new Roadhog parked in the private underground parking lot and started the engine. The ferocious roar filled the cavern around him in a most satisfying manner. He tore out of there going much too fast and before long was ripping through the Honeywood hills. The lights of Angel City spread below him like a field of stars reflected in a huge lake. But the sight did not calm him, did not slow his racing heart or bank the fires inside of him.
He pulled up in front of his mansion, and the sight of the sprawling building did go a little way towards making him feel better. This ostentatious display of his own success did make him feel powerful and in control. That was all he wanted. A little control.
The mansion was made of bound bundles of rushes imported from Eegiptt. The roof was fake thatch made from some kind of plastic. His highly overpaid architect had convinced him that he would be the first to own such a home in the United Confederacy. He had also assured Tusker that this style of building was all the rage amongst the fabulously wealthy in The Old Countries, and that soon all the glittering, beautiful swine would be clamoring to copy the new trend. The rushes were just for show anyway. They were bundled around hardened steel cores, but Tusker did think the place had a certain elegant charm, like a cottage from some old fairytale. A really big cottage.
He turned on the giant screen telemonitor and watched some hoofball. The Wild Warthogs were playing the Badass Boars, and he tried to pay attention to the game, but his mind kept wandering. At about three in the morning he tried to get some sleep. He lay tossing and turning in the huge, canopied bed. His heart was still thudding away in his chest like one of his own drum solos, and he was sweating like a human. In the darkest hour of the morning he finally fell asleep.
And then he saw the face. A hairy, ferocious face, with a long, tooth-filled muzzle and two pointy ears. He woke up yelling, but the nightmare didn’t end. In the corners of the room he saw wispy shadow shapes and heard claws scraping at the tile floor. He leaped from the bed and ran to the closet, grabbing the blastgun he kept handy. He turned without aiming and fired a spray of pebbleshot into the window where he thought he saw something moving. He felt hot breath on the back of his head and heard ragged breathing. He screamed and spun around, letting go with another blast right into the closet, right into the clothes hanging there. The clothing began to smolder but he didn’t notice. He was too busy being frightened out of his wits by the terrifying howling coming from all around the outside of his house.
He raced from the bedroom and bounded down the curved stairway to the bottom floor. The howling grew in volume. And the bloodthirsty and mournful baying was taken up by more of the shadow creatures. He stood in the middle of the living room, shaking and trying to aim the gun in all directions at once. He heard scratching and pounding at his front door and at all the large windows surrounding the huge room. The creatures were coming in.
He let out one last scream and raced to the door leading to his garage. He jumped into the car and grabbed the spare key he hid in the little compartment in the dashboard. He didn’t have his regular set of keys. He didn’t even have any clothes on. He couldn’t take the time to open the garage door. He drove straight through it. As he peeled away, if he had bothered to look, he would have seen the upper floor of his fine new house engulfed in flames.
Porseus threw a robe on and stumbled down the stairs to find out who was pounding on his door at this unseemly hour of the night. He was too mad to be worried that it might be someone more dangerous than himself. He was a very large pig. That was part of what made the name of their band such a funny, tusk-in-cheek joke. He threw the door open and was shocked to see his friend Tusker standing there stark naked and holding a gun. As soon as the door opened, Tusker charged in and slammed it shut once again.
“They are after me. They are trying to kill me.” Tusker was ranting as he bolted around the room, peering out windows and aiming the gun in all directions.
“Who is trying to kill you?” Porseus kept asking, but all he got in return were the ravings of a mad pig.
Suddenly Tusker screamed something about the howling and sent a blast of pellets through one of the windows.
“Hey, what are you doing?” yelled Porseus. “This place isn’t even paid for yet.”
Tusker answered by shooting a hole through the front door.
“This place is made from rare hardwoods imported from all over the planet. Do you have any idea what that door cost?” Porseus was more than a little angry by this point. He was also more than a little frightened. Something had obviously scared his friend badly.
Tusker went into a long, rambling speech about the creatures that had surrounded his house and his desperate flight for his life. Porseus was almost convinced that his friend was just having a bad trip, when he heard the sirens in the distance. He went to the front door, opened it, and peered toward Tuskers house only a few blocks away. He was startled to see a somber red glow in the sky and a pillar of dark smoke obscuring the setting moon.
Tusker joined him on the porch. He was wild-eyed and rambling, but Porseus couldn’t deny that something bad had happened at his friend’s house. And then it came to him. Tusker must owe some bad pigs money. Bad pigs who sold bad drugs. These would be dangerous individuals. He grabbed Tusker by the arm and led him to his own car, a classic Hock Roadster parked in the driveway. Together they took off, headed for The Snout’s place.
Five minutes later they pulled up in front of the imposing stone estate owned by their friend.
THE ANGEL CITY CHRONICLE
Police this morning found the bodies of The Snout, Porseus Gowl, and Tusker Barns, members of the famed hard-steel band ‘The Three Little Pigs’, at the residence owned by the Snout in the Honeywood Hills. All three of the famous musicians were killed by gunfire. Preliminary investigation has led the police to believe that the gun belonged to Tusker Barns. Evidence points to the fact that Tusker shot his two band mates before turning the gun on himself.
The medical examiner says it is too early to do anything but speculate, but that he was willing to bet that Tusker was under the influence of the new street drug called Big Bad Wolf.
Holy Jayne It’s Firefly!
Attention all you shiny folks from the ‘Verse! Today is the tenth anniversary of the first episode of the uber series that hardly was, FIREFLY. You don’t have to be a Joss Whedon fan to appreciate his dystopian western turned cult-classic.
For anyone who’s read my novella REAPERS WITH ISSUES and enjoyed the antics of a horseman named War, you may want to pay close attention to a character named Jayne Cobb.
Here’s a big thank you to a young uber fan-friend of mine for her awesome video below.
Dear Hellis – A Letter To My Fifteen Year-Old Self
I got this idea from fellow rockin’ chick Darlene at THE DAILY WOMAN. Make sure you check out her post which is witty and insightful as opposed to mine which is…well, you’ll see.
Dear Hellis,
You know how you are absolutely certain that you are going to take off to New York and become a dancer/artist/photographer after high school? Or how you are NEVER going to get married or have children, ever? Well here’s some advice I’d like to give you from the future to make your impending reality bearable.
1. Get off your high horse and date a nerd. Trust me on this.
2. Start studying for the S.A.T.s NOW.
3. Yeah, don’t get attached to all the awesome. Or to your ass, because in twenty years it is going to expand into epic proportions.
4. Your English Lit teacher is NOT correct. What you write will not forever be considered, “the sub-moronic ramblings of a semi-functioning illiterate.”
5. Teenaged boys lie. Even the nice ones.
6. Don’t listen to your father.
7. No, your hair does NOT look cool like that.
8. George Michael is gay. Don’t waste your time.
9. What makes you popular at fifteen doesn’t mean shit when you’re forty. Grow a personality now.
10. DO NOT MARRY THE HOT ROMANIAN GUY BECAUSE HE LOOKS LIKE ONE OF THE LOST BOYS!!!!!
For more “Dear Me” letters visit CHATTING AT THE SKY.
Interview With…Lucifer
Today’s REAPER WITH ISSUES interview comes to you live from scenic downtown Hell, because today we sit down with none other than the Devil himself, Lucifer.
HE: Good morning, Lucifer. You look nice today.
LUCIFER: *runs hands over Italian silk suit* Yes, yes I do. And might I say that you look lovely as well. I cannot remember the last time I saw polyester blend worn so tastefully.
***
HE: *sighs* How was your trip to Earth? I noticed you didn’t travel by bus the way the Horsemen did.
LUCIFER: I will admit there are certain perks to being an Archangel. The ability to apparate is one of them.
***
HE: That’s right…I almost forgot. You are an Angel. So does that mean you are lacking in the… “meat department” or is that just a rumor?
LUCIFER: Let me be clear- I am an Archangel and as a rule we do not have “junk” as it were. Sadly, when my Father reassigned me to Hell he equipped me with said apparatus as a punishment. His plan worked beautifully, as this particular appendage is more work than it’s worth.
***
HE: You’ve stated that you were “reassigned” to Hell by your Father. Is there any truth to the rumor that this demotion came from a falling out over a woman?
LUCIFER: Oh how little birds love to chirp.
HE: So, I take it you aren’t going to answer the question?
LUCIFER: My lips are sealed.
***
HE: Alright, moving on. What confounds you most about mortals?
LUCIFER: Your overwhelming desire to know the sexual predilections of others. The mind boggles at the effort put toward investigating the bedroom habits of your would be politicians. These same politicians then refuse to represent the rights of their constituents based on their sexual predilections. How you mortals manage to accomplish anything is beyond my comprehension.
***
HE: On that note, if you were mortal, what job would you want to have?
LUCIFER: Literary Agent.
***
HE: No explanation necessary. Tell me, is it hard working for God?
LUCIFER: Working for my Father? Oh what to say, what to say… I suppose when inspected in the proper light the idea of working for God may seem appealing, but I haven’t found that to be necessarily true.
HE: Really? In what way?
LUCIFER: The man lacks vision, for starters. The first thing I would do if I were to take over Heaven is rewrite the Bible. Too many contradictions. No wonder mortals are confused as to what is expected of them.
***
HE: Rewrite the Bible. Interesting. So now tell me- what do you think of the Horsemen?
LUCIFER: Ugh. You want to talk about the ponies. *sighs* So be it. Where do I begin? Pestilence is an insufferable know it all, Famine is a stickler for standards, War is a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen and Grim, well…Grim has his moments.
***
HE: Your dream date is?
LUCIFER: Bjork. There’s a lot of pent up hostility in that frigid little body. I’d love to melt her-
***
HE: Got it. Pick one- Beatles or Elvis?
LUCIFER: Why the Beatles, of course. The late great Mr. Lennon sent Jesus off the deep end with one simple statement. I’ve always admired him for that.
***
HE: Favorite sports team?
LUCIFER: I am sad to say that I am a former fan of Tampa Bay Rays baseball. They disappointed me a few years ago. I haven’t forgotten.
***
HE: Where do you see yourself in five years?
LUCIFER: North Korea.
***
HE: What would mortals be most surprised to learn about you?
LUCIFER: I refute the claim the a fore mentioned politicians have made that I, indeed, am the entity to blame for their succumbing to their baser instincts. No such whispering into ears was committed by me or any of my demon henchmen. We simply do not have the time.
That concludes our interview with the Lord of the Underworld, Lucifer. Stay tuned tomorrow for back to back interviews with God and his golden boy, Jesus!
Interview With…War
HE: Today we sit down with everyone’s favorite Horseman, War. Good morning, War. How was your trip to Earth?
WAR: Freakin’ awesome! I missed the bus transfer in Purgatory, so I had to walk a some, but then this carful of female rodeo clowns gave me a ride in. Say…do I have white makeup anywhere fun?
***
HE: *struggling not to look* What confounds you most about mortals?
WAR: Uh…nothin’. Well, I guess sometimes I wonder why they go and hack and bludgeon the shit outta one another. Y’all are so fucking good at it, I almost don’t need to try.
***
HE: Where is your favorite place to reap?
WAR: Battlefields, hands-down, and the bloodier the better. Your inner cities aren’t bad these days either, on a small scale.
***
HE: If you were mortal, what job would you want to have?
WAR: Shoot, do we have time for my list? Porn star – that’s an obvious one. I was thinkin’ doctor since I ain’t scared a blood. But the good kinda doctor like one of them Gyno…cogo-ologists, you know, the kind that looks at lady parts. Not one of them human butthole doctors. That shit ain’t right. I was also thinking a vet might be awesome but only because I think the idea of having your entire arm up an elephant’s ass is fucking hilarious… [actually rolls on floor laughing]
***
HE: Has a mortal ever escaped you?
WAR: Just one. Fucking Lazarus. I’ve had some reclassified out of my reach, like Caesar. He got too big for his Rubicon-wading britches, so he got moved from my domain over to Grim’s. Same with Napoleon, that little Frog pantywaist. You might think Saddam Hussein escaped me by livin’ all up in his own asshole there, but in the end, that was MY noose.
***
HE: What’s the most negative aspect of wearing a meat suit?
WAR: There ain’t no downside, Sugar Britches (winks). Uh, they’re kind of fragile. Do you know how fucking painful bending your boner is? [shudders] Maybe the random need to back out a stinker.
***
HE: Is it hard working for God?
WAR: Fuck yes! Think about it: “Now War, you’re supposed to go and reap souls lost to conflict… but don’t be too messy… and don’t break shit… and don’t be too noisy, I’m resting… and that blood will stain, so don’t get it on you!” Seriously, I’d rather be married to a Human woman with control issues.
***
HE: Is Lucifer as bad as they say?
WAR: Lucifer is a card-carrying dickwad. If he weren’t one of them special creations of God, I’dve pummeled the piss out of his silk-suit-wearing panzie ass millennia ago. What I hate about Lu is that he won’t just come out and fuck with you like a man. He’s got to be all passive-aggressive and shit, so you’re just cruising along thinking the everything is cool and BAM! You’re asking yourself, “Hey, how’d this dick get all the way up my ass?”
***
HE: What do you have to say about the Mayans?
WAR: Oooooh! Those are so good with cheese! Or fried! I once had them barbecued and then smothered with pilates. Fuck, I’m hungry. Is there a taco place close?
***
HE: Your dream date is?
WAR: You. Those puppies real?
HE: [ahem] Can you just answer the question?
WAR: Guess I shoulda worn the tattooed rocker meatsuit. I’ll say my dream date was Catherine the Great. You think that story about her dying underneath her horse was true? The only thing close to being horse-like in that rumor was my epic fuckin’ …
***
HE: Alright, alright, moving on. Beatles or Elvis?
WAR: Fuck that hippy shit. I’m straight up old school metal dude, er, dudette. I do my best reapin’ to Disturbed. They ain’t metal but I love that shit. Makes me want to go hack something with a dull blade. Or bone them in half…
***
HE: Favorite sports team?
WAR: You know the Mongols used to have this brutal sport played on horseback… I don’t know. I have to admire teams that suck ass but have loyal fans. The Red Sox come to mind. I hang out with fans mainly for the fun, and of course cheerleaders.
***
HE: Where do you see yourself in five years?
WAR: Kicking ass and taking names, baby. Humans are always coming up with new reasons to go schwack each other, and yours truly will be there to enjoy the fuckery.
***
HE: What would mortals be most surprised to learn about you?
WAR: I have a sensitive side… no shit. One time, I was out reaping and there was this little kid who got shot. So I was all, like, “Aww, that’s sad,” and then I jerked his little soul out – *ssschwaap* – just like that. Sensitive an’ shit.
***
This concludes our sit down with War, the last of our interviews with The Four Horsemen. Stay tuned tomorrow for our exclusive on site interview in Hell with the ever stylish, ever evil, Lucifer. Then we’ll round out our weekend with an interview with the Big Man himself, God and his favorite son, Jesus! Stay tuned…
Interview With…Pestilence
HE: Today’s interview has us sitting down with Creeping Death himself, Pestilence. Good morning, Pestilence. How was your trip to Earth?
PEST: Good morning, Miss Ellis. Considering I had to get a bus transfer, it wasn’t bad. Once you make the transdimensional leap from Purgatory to the mortal realm several times, it’s old-hat. Little known fact: Purgatory started as a sort of safe zone for travel from Earth to and from either Heaven or Hell. It’s a sort of pressurization chamber, like divers use.
***
HE: What confounds you most about mortals?
PEST: Body odor [makes face]. I have no idea how God managed to create Humans in his image yet chose to have them excrete smelly substances. And this is coming from me, the Bacteria and Virus King. Eew [shudders].
***
HE: Where is your favorite place to reap?
PEST: Tropical climates are by far the best for reaping within my domain. I mean really, I almost don’t have to do anything except follow the molds and fungi around and pick up after them.
***
HE: If you were mortal, what job would you want to have?
PEST: Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure I could be mortal and sit in my own cloud of stench all day. In fact I need a shower now. But I’ll be fair and answer your question. I guess perhaps a lab technician at the CDC. That or a postal worker.
***
HE: Has a mortal ever escaped you?
PEST: Yes and fiddlesticks! Those Humans are so goshdarned clever that sometimes I think they’d do a better job than I would at reaping a la Pestilence. Do you know why viruses mutate? [waits for answer]
HE: Oh, you’re actually asking me [rolls eyes] – why do viruses mutate?
PEST: They mutate because I’m constantly having to make new strains to keep ahead of your best efforts to counter me.
***
HE: What’s the most negative aspect of wearing a meat suit?
PEST: Body odor. I’m sorry, am I obsessive here? A little Freudy-Doidy? Haaa ha hah ha… ahem. But seriously, body odor. I also tend to be very disturbed by no-reason boners.
***
HE: Is it hard working for God?
PEST: I’d like to say yes, and I’d like to say no. The sad truth is, he tends to come up with awesome creations but then inserts middle managers between him and his creation when he finds it too difficult to manage. So for in-the-trenches marks of performance, I have to give him an ‘F.’ However, for his strategic vision, nobody beats him.
***
HE: Is Lucifer as bad as they say?
PEST: He’s a doodie head. He does wear nice clothes though.
***
HE: What do you have to say about the Mayans?
PEST: I’d say they were pretty susceptible to infection just like everyone else.
***
HE: Your dream date is?
PEST: Hmm… so many to choose from. I think the day the Black Death started in Europe has to be number one, and the Spanish Flu thing there I did wasn’t bad either…
What? Oh THAT kind of date… uhm, well… I’ve never been on a date [hangs head].
***
HE: Beatles or Elvis?
PEST: Oh, I’m sorry. Neither? Okay, truth is I love classical music. You Humans got that right. I like most of what your composers created, and I am particularly taken by the Baroque artists. Rock and roll sounds like… sweaty Humans.
***
HE: Favorite sports team?
PEST: I’m not really into sports so much. I like watching Kasparov play chess – now that is exciting!
***
HE: Where do you see yourself in five years?
PEST: Reaping, of course, but can I sort of qualify that? Okay. I want to be better at what I do in five years, you know. Like perhaps I’ll make a better form of Ebola. It just kills me that after all that time and effort, that virus is only about 95% lethal. I think I can get it up into the high 98% range. Sometimes I secretly dream of creating some whole new type of pandemic… I mean, there’s bacteria and there are viruses… what if there was a whole new thing out there. I have dreams too!
***
HE: What would mortals be most surprised to learn about you?
PEST: I like to collect stamps, and macramé.
***
Thanks for stopping by and visiting with the Reaper better known as Pestilence. Tune in tomorrow when we sit down with everyone’s favorite Horseman, War. Stick around this weekend when we’ll be sitting down to chat with some of the upper (and lower) members of the Office of Heavenly Affairs. Until then, stay well and avoid the Reaper!
Interview With…Famine
HE: We continue our interviews with the mysterious Horseman known as Famine. Good morning, Famine. How was your trip to Earth?
FAMINE: You assume I left, ha, that’s… that’s funny. I haven’t gotten away from Earth in what seems like eons. Just when I think I might get away, some jack-hole gets me involved in another bunch of crap that I can’t delegate out and I can’t pass on higher up the chain. Story of my fucking life… uh, death… existence.
***
HE: What confounds you most about mortals?
FAMINE: Toy dogs. Fucking ‘Toy’ dog breeds. The women and gay guys carrying these things around are the same ones freaking out and jumping up on chairs when they see rats and mice. What the hell, man? And cocaine. Why the hell would anyone want to do ANYTHING faster and with more sweating?
***
HE: Where is your favorite place to reap?
FAMINE: Depends, easiest or most fun? Easiest: L.A. Just ask a broad if she’s expecting or if she just had a baby, *BAM*, job is done for you! Not only will she stop eating, she’ll puke up Thanksgiving dinner from three years ago! Most fun? Suburbs of Atlanta. Have you ever watched a 350 pound guy looking at a plate of ribs or chicken and waffles and suddenly realize he isn’t hungry? Funny as shit! They get mad. Rumplestiltskin mad. I could do that all day!
***
HE: If you were mortal, what job would you want to have?
FAMINE: Sales associate at Abercrombie. Every time some skinny bitch walked out of the dressing room I could say, “Uhm, Honey, you want me to get you the next size up?” I think I could be pretty happy with that.
***
HE: Has a mortal ever escaped you?
FAMINE: Victoria Beckham. But the game ain’t over yet.
***
HE: What’s the most negative aspect of wearing a meat suit?
FAMINE: Grooming. I mean, the showering, the cleaning, the de-stinking. Really a lot of work.
***
HE: Is it hard working for God?
FAMINE: A boss is a boss is a boss, you know? They give you bottom lines and you’re just supposed to run with them. My budget barely not-feeds the westernized world! Don’t get me started on trying to juggle maternity leave rotations for those slutty Succubi!
***
HE: Is Lucifer as bad as they say?
FAMINE: No. We get each other. He’s got a job to do, he’s got to get it done on time and under budget just like the rest of us.
***
HE: What do you have to say about the Mayans?
FAMINE: Fucking nutty. I mean, I like a good party, but, to quote a well known space cowboy, “Eating people alive? Where’s that get fun?”
***
HE: Your dream date is?
FAMINE: Tina Majorino. Freaking adorable, I love her. She’d finally notice me, in the bushes, with the camera and be all like, “Hey! Are you the one sending me those letters? You wanna hit the Olive Garden with me?”. And I’d be like, “Olive Garden? Really?”. And there would be this split second of us looking at each other and we’d both screech out “UNLIMITED BREAD STICKS, SUCKER!” It would be awesome, you know? Magic…
***
HE: Beatles or Elvis?
FAMINE: Uhg. Uhm, Elvis, if I had to choose. If I got to pick, Cheap Trick. I’ll take Elvis because Zander kicked ass on Don’t Be Cruel. Why always Beatles or Elvis? Beatles or Stones? What about The Clash or Abba? Iron Maiden or Prince?
***
HE: Favorite sports team?
FAMINE: The Eagles.
***
HE: Where do you see yourself in five years?
FAMINE: Probably doing the same fucking job, but with a three and a half percent increase in pay, those cheap mother-fuckers…
***
HE: What would mortals be most surprised to learn about you?
FAMINE: Hmm. Not sure… Oh! Okay, I got one! No one ever believes me, but I had nothing to do with Karen Carpenter. Seriously, that was all just fucked up psyche and shit. Hell, do you have any idea what I went through over that? Jesus loved her. I swear, that’s the reason I haven’t even been considered for a promotion! Hell! I was sending her fruitcakes and candy grams just to save my own ass! And I do I ever get the credit for Mama Cass?
***
That concludes our interview with the Horsemen known as Famine. Tune in tomorrow when we sit down with Creeping Death himself, Pestilence, followed by War on Thursday and a special mystery guest on Friday. We round out the weekend with back to back interviews with the Big Man himself, God on Saturday and a one on one exclusive with Jesus on Sunday. Stay tuned!
Interview With…Death
In an effort to promote my latest work entitled REAPERS WITH ISSUES I’ve decided to devote the next four days to interviewing my favorite middle management employees, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
We’ll begin the first of our interviews with the man beneath the cloak. We’ll discuss what it’s like working for God, his views on intra-office politics and yes, even his love life.
Today I sit down with none other than Death himself, THE GRIM REAPER.
***
HE: Good morning, Grim. How was your trip to Earth?
GRIM: Fine, I suppose, considering I traveled here by bus. Wouldn’t you know I sat next to a guy who had just come from an Oktoberfest somewhere. Nothing like sitting next to a fat man with bratwurst farts.
HE: Bus?? But I thought you were one of the Four HORSEmen?
GRIM: You’re right; I am, but since God promoted Gabriel to Head of the Archangel Board our department’s equine budget has been “reallocated” south, if you know what I mean.
HE: South? Are you talking about Hell?
GRIM: Look, I don’t want to be the guy who trash talks other department heads, but between you and me let’s just say that Lucifer’s productivity doesn’t jive with the funds flowing his way. It’s good to have a big brother in high places is all I’ve got to say on the matter.
HE: Alright, moving on. What confounds you most about mortals?
GRIM: I’d have to say it’s your obsession with your appearance. A mortal’s lifespan is over in a flash, and yet you feel the need to spend your money on useless beauty procedures. If you only knew what you looked like without your skin, you wouldn’t bother. Trust me.
HE: Where is your favorite place to reap?
GRIM: Canada. The friendliest mortals come from there. The beer’s not bad either, eh?
HE: If you were mortal, what job would you want to have?
GRIM: Gloucesterman, hands down. Nothing sounds better to me than a solitary life of peace and tranquility on the sea. Plus all you can eat lobster. Hmm…pass the buttah.
HE: Has a mortal ever escaped you?
GRIM: Never. Although over the years Dick Clark has given me the slip a couple of times.
HE: What’s the most negative aspect of wearing a meat suit?
GRIM: Meat suits are extremely high maintenance. I’ve yet to find one that didn’t have something wrong with it. They’re hot, they leak and they fall apart easily. And did I mention the smell?
HE: Is it hard working for God?
GRIM: God? Uh…no, not really. I’d say the biggest problem is working for the idiots he puts in charge; namely his sons. They bicker constantly; spend money on themselves, barely show up to work and help themselves to the Heavenly budget just to name a few things. Not to mention that each one thinks he’s the boss when the Big Man’s not around. Typical family business horseshit. Oops! Sorry…horse-puckies.
HE: Is Lucifer as bad as they say?
GRIM: Only if you are a mortal. I was reaping amoebas while he was still in his Father’s good graces, so he’s not too intimidating to me. He’s sort of like a splinter, not lethal- but irritating.
HE: What do you have to say about the Mayans?
GRIM: One of Lucifer’s practical jokes. Just ignore him or he’ll keep it up.
HE: Your dream date is?
GRIM: A certain special lady, a certain Latin meat suit, and a month in the Bahamas. In fact I’m leaving on a trip there as soon as I’m finished with this interview.
HE: Beatles or Elvis?
GRIM: Coltrane.
HE: Favorite sports team?
GRIM: Anyone but the Raiders. Those a-holes don’t know when to die.
HE: Where do you see yourself in five years?
GRIM: If all goes to plan, running my department. I recently managed to cut loose some dead weight so I think things should be running smoothly once I get back from the Bahamas.
HE: What would mortals be most surprised to learn about you?
GRIM: That I have feelings just like everyone else. Being Death isn’t easy, you know. Please don’t fear me.
***
Thanks for stopping by and visiting with the Grim Reaper. Tune in Tuesday when we sit down with the Horseman better known as Famine, followed by Pestilence on Wednesday and War on Thursday. Stick around this weekend when we’ll be sitting down to chat with some of the upper (and lower) members of the Office of Heavenly Affairs. Until then, stay well avoid the Reaper!
Interview With…ME?!?
The enigmatic Tom Elias has insisted on doing an interview with me, of all people, in tandem with the release of our book, REAPERS WITH ISSUES. I’ll warn you, this interview is not one of the usual freaktastic Adventures in Bloggerland that I usually like to take. For once I decided to act like a grown-up and answer his questions like a professional. But never fear, because tomorrow my blog returns to its regularly scheduled blog absurdity with an INTERVIEW WITH THE GRIM REAPER.
1. Your first book, Gods of Asphalt, was told in a First Person format. How difficult was it to shift into Third Person to pen Reapers With Issues, and what was your motivation to do this?
Switching gears was extremely difficult, which is the reason why I did it. I attempted to write GODS OF ASPHALT – BOOK TWO in the third person but struggled to make progress since I’d never tackled that POV before. I had also planned on writing REAPERS in the third-person because as much as the story is about the Grim Reaper, I was committed to the idea that it should revolve around the odd cast of characters. I suppose in the end I decided it would be better to write REAPERS first since it is a novella and I could use the practice before tackling the novel that is to be GOA2.
2. You’re a self-described 40-something mother of three. What techniques do you use when crafting your writing day to day that keeps you so well focused on the plot and storyline?
I find it difficult to focus on anything in my day to day life whether I write or not, so I whenever I do I put on my headphones and listen to music. It’s why GODS OF ASPHALT has its own soundtrack written into it. I listened to a lot of Wagner, Mussorgsky and Metallica while I wrote REAPERS.
Another thing I like to do is to carry a Sharpie around with me wherever I go. As soon as I am out and about an idea will hit me that I need to jot down quickly, so I write it on my forearm. I will just misplace scrap paper so I don’t bother bringing any. I’ve tried texting myself, but most of the walks I take are deep into the New Hampshire forests, and I rarely get cell reception there. Not to mention that I am a Gen X’er, so the art of texting is lost on me.
3. Many readers will probably be offended by the Reapers Series. What is your message behind the irreverence?
I never doubted I would write REAPERS, but I did debate over whether or not I would publish it. I was afraid that if people only read snippets or heard what it was about they might think that I set out to slam Christianity, namely Jesus. Nothing could be further from the truth. I took great care in portraying Jesus as who he was purported to be- kind, compassionate, and tolerant. It’s the rest of the world who uses his good name to lend credence to their own sinning. REAPERS blasts the Hell out of those people, and I couldn’t care less how they feel about it.
Another misgiving I had was that REAPERS WITH ISSUES is as close to a written manifestation of my sense of humor as you could possibly get. Since I don’t take myself too seriously, I am hoping readers don’t find anything remotely serious about my book or the message behind it.
4. You favor using dialogue over exposition to advance your stories. What makes this your favored technique and what do you feel you sacrifice?
I am an extrovert, so I find comfort and familiarity in the voices of others. I do live in my head at times, but when I do I am always eager to share what goes on in there with others, whether they want to know about it or not. Case in point, REAPERS WITH ISSUES.
I suppose what suffers most is either action or plot. Maybe both. The largest obstacle I face when I write is ensuring that my books are more than just a bunch of comedy skits strung together.
5. What is the most challenging aspect of the mechanics of writing for you, and how do you overcome it?
DIALOGUE TAGS!!!! I hate them with every fiber of my being. If I thought for a moment that I could get away with writing a novel that existed as nothing more than an overheard telephone conversation I’d be the happiest little writer in the world.
The other obstacle of mechanics I faced with REAPERS was writing an inverse of what I normally consider my comfort zone. As anyone who has read my blog will tell you; I am a writer who takes something commonplace and mocks it, pointing out the hidden absurd. What I worked to accomplish in REAPERS was to take something fantastic, and transform it into something that resembled the everyday in order to make it absurd. To quote my cohort Tom Elias, “That’s about as natural as a quarterback throwing off his back foot.”
6. There is art and science involved in writing. What is your favorite aspect of writing in the context of its art?
As a writer in the twenty-first century, it is impossible to come up with anything new, plot-wise. That leaves us with the challenge of conceiving of something new. All any writer can do is take a spent storyline and put a new spin on it to make it their own. If a writer can bring their own perspective to their writing they will create something no one has ever read before.
7. Ten years from now, what is H.E. Ellis writing?
Children’s books. I find that the older I get, the more enamored I become with all things innocent. I’m slowly beginning to abandon the angst of teendom while I am fast embracing the playground. Yes, I am a literary Benjamin Button. Although I imagine I will always take time out to write something completely out there like REAPERS WITH ISSUES, because if I have to know about it, then so do all of you.
And The Super Secret Project Is…
The story behind my Super Secret Project begins like any good story begins; with lobster and beer. Or as they say in Portland, Maine where my good friend and partner in crime Tom Elias lives, “Lobstah and a rack a pounders.”
It was during this fateful drunken weekend spent at his beach house with my best friend Quinn and the infamous HR Nightmare that my latest writing project was born. That project, ladies and gentlemen, is a four novella collaborative series entitled:
LOCATION: Earth
YEAR: 2012, mainly
POPULATION: 7 billion Human souls and counting…
From Purgatory –
The Grim Reaper and other three Horsemen of the Apocalypse are stretched to their limits reaping souls, and more drop dead every day. With his department near the breaking point, Grim requests a team of five thousand Lesser Angels to serve as Deputy Reapers.
To Hell –
Lucifer is faced with overcrowded prisons and work camps. He petitions the Board for permission to break ground on the 667th level of Hell.
To Heaven –
Gabriel, president of the Board of Archangels, denies both requests, citing budget restrictions. Grim, determined to get what he wants, goes over the Board to the Office of Heavenly Affairs, otherwise known as God. God denies Grim’s request but assigns a Heavenly Liaison to assist Grim, a liaison with a singular solution to the issues facing both Grim and Lucifer.
And back again -
The liaison’s name: Jesus.
REAPERS WITH ISSUES is the first in a four book novella series that chronicles the Grim Reaper’s struggles in middle-management. Click on Grim at the end of this post to visit our companion blog to learn more about the authors and the sequels to be released over the next few months. Don’t forget to sign Grim’s “Death Book” before leaving.
***DISCLAIMER***
This series is meant to poke good-natured fun at the topics of Chrisitanity, homosexuality, recreational drug abuse and office politics. If you are at all easily offended, we, the authors, will not be offended if you choose not to read our work. Please do not chuck hate bricks through our windows.
Thank you,
Tom Elias, H.E. Ellis, S. Quinn Shaw, Mikhail Vlakfeld
Please to enjoy the following opening of Reapers With Issues:
REAPERS WITH ISSUES
Death killed time rereading God’s memo while he waited for his dealer to show. Semi-baked, he decided, would be the condition necessary to inform his staff that their department would not be receiving the help they so desperately needed and that someone else, an outsider, would be put in place to oversee their operation. As far as Heaven and the Archangels were concerned, the Horsemen were officially on their own.
There had been a time when Death, Grim to those who knew him, could singlehandedly reap his entire department’s quota of souls and still have time left over to indulge in some high quality herbal recreation. The reality of reaping a population closing in on seven billion left Grim no choice but to seek his recreation locally. It didn’t take long for him to discover that local weed, like local Purgatory, was mediocre at best.
Lack of free time and quality pot were merely symptoms of a larger, growing problem. Reaping while short-staffed had robbed his Horsemen of any kind of life outside of the job, and lately Grim had noticed cracks beginning to show.
Pestilence developed a nasty habit of calling in sick with a new exotic illness at least once a week, and an incident over a cage dancer forced War into court-ordered anger management classes. Only Famine had been able to withstand the pressures of the job, although Grim did notice that he’d been shedding copious amounts of hair lately.
It was on behalf of his Horsemen that Grim requisitioned the Archangel Board to reassign five thousand Angels to his department for Reaping duty. A requisition that Gabriel, Head of the Archangel Board, repeatedly denied. Grim’s decision to go over the Board’s head to the office of Heavenly Affairs yielded nothing but a Heavenly Liaison, and God only knew who the Hell that was.
Unable to make sense of God’s decree, Grim stuffed the memo back into his pocket as he scoped out his surroundings which were, at the moment, in the alleyway behind his office building and the home of the Office of Human Death (OHD for short).
Talk about shitting where you eat, Grim thought to himself as he checked for souls milling about. The last thing he needed was for word to get out that the once great Reaper of Death had been reduced to buying sub-par pot behind his office building in the lamest ‘burb of the Universe.
Paranoia getting the better of him, he walked to the end of the alleyway which emptied into Purgatory’s corporate district, a massive office complex comprised of row after row of generic steel buildings, each one an exact replica of the one that came before.
Finding no one, Grim laughed to himself. Total waste of time, he thought. He couldn’t remember the last time anything bad happened in Purgatory. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time anything good did, either.
Just the same, Grim thought it best to cloak himself in a human disguise, namely the dead body that until an hour ago belonged to the organic hemp farmer that was his latest reaping assignment. “Meat suits,” as the Horsemen liked to call them, were a necessary evil now that the Archangel Board cut the OHD’s travel expense budget, forcing Grim and his staff to reap by bus instead of horse. All it took was one bad road trip on a bus bound for Newark to make him rethink wearing his cloak while on assignment. Mortals, he discovered, were a lot faster and stronger than they looked.
Grim listened as the clock tower in Purgatory Square chimed one o’clock. Pedro, his dealer, was late. Out of both time and patience, Grim walked back to the rear entrance of the OHD just as the door swung open.
“Jesus Christ, Pedro!” Grim shouted. “Scare me to death why don’t you?”
Pedro stepped out into the alleyway, his eyes darting up and down the length of it. “How’d I scare you?” Pedro asked. “You’re the one in the Jesus suit.”
“Jesus? Really?” Grim asked as he smoothed down the late farmer’s long, sandy locks. “I kinda thought he looked like Clapton.”
“Clapton or not that’s some scary shit, man,” Pedro said, looking Grim up and down. “Someone said they saw Jesus walking around here this morning. You know he’d tell my Pops if he caught me dealing again. My old man believes every word that fool says.”
Though he may have been known throughout the Universe as Saint Peter Junior, “Pedro” earned a reputation in underground circles as the prime procurer of black market merchandise. It didn’t hurt that having a Father who manned the Gates of Heaven gave him access to all the best incoming contraband.
“I don’t know what to tell you, kid. Apostles die hard. Now are we going to do this thing or not?” Grim asked, hoping to get back to work before he was missed.
Pedro stepped away from Grim, eying him suspiciously. “First tell me why you’re wearin’ a mortal in Bland Land. You ain’t reaping.”
Grim pointed to his chest and said, “Lungs.”
“Ah…makes sense,” Pedro said, relieved.
Lungs and pockets were two of the three attachments Grim thought made wearing a mortal’s meat suit bearable. The third attachment he hoped to utilize later on that night.
“Are you serious about Jesus being here in Purgatory?” Grim asked, peering over his shoulder. “Because he is the last person I need to deal with right now.”
“Hey man, all I know is what I heard,” Pedro said. “Why? You gonna kick his ass? Let me know now and I’ll give you odds.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve had enough run-ins with Skippy Christ to last an eternity,” Grim said, remembering a certain spring day two-thousand years ago that didn’t end well for either of them.
“Skippy Christ,” Pedro chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that one.” Once he was sure they were alone Pedro opened his robe, pulled out a baggie and handed it to Grim. “This stuff’s fresh from Mexico. Lucky for you my old man doesn’t shake down nuns. Mother Superior came in loaded.”
“I guess this is my lucky day after all,” Grim said as he dug the farmer’s wallet out of his back pocket. “How much for the bag?”
“For you? One-fifty. Cash.”
“One-fifty?” Grim asked as he thumbed through the thin wallet. “What can I get for…sixty-five dollars and a condom?”
“Sixty-five’ll get ya’ an ounce.”
“An ounce? That’s it? You do know I’m Death, right?” Grim punctuated his question by slashing the air with an invisible scythe.
Pedro laughed. “Yeah, you keep swinging,” he said. “Everyone knows you work a pen better than a blade now a days.”
“Is that so?” Grim asked, knowing all too well it was.
“Oh yeah it is,” Pedro snickered. “Hey, I got an idea- how ‘bout you write me up? Oh man, I can see it now, ‘Dear God, Pedro wouldn’t cut me a deal on weed, the stingy pendejo. Kisses, Death.’” Pedro doubled over laughing while Grim stood there and seethed.
“Just give me the ounce and shut your piehole,” Grim said, finally.
Struggling to catch his breath, Pedro handed Grim the entire bag. “Throw in the rubber and the bag’s yours. I’m heading down to Lucifer’s club tonight. I’ll put it to good use.”
Grim’s eyes flew open wide. “Are you shitting me? Lucifer’s got a club now?”
“Hell yeah, he does,” Pedro answered.
“Of course…” Grim said in a sigh.
Ever since God in his infinite wisdom promoted Gabriel to President of the Archangel Board, Grim’s budget had been sent to Hell, literally. While he and his Horsemen had to make due with meat suits and bus passes; Lucifer and his crew of demons enjoyed a new office complex with an onsite gym and spa, and apparently now, a club.
Nepotism ad infinitum.
“Hey man, you should come check it out,” Pedro said as pocketed the condom. “Music sucks but the women are hot. Bring a rubber or your pecker’ll burn like Hell for a week.” Pedro dug deep under his robe and scratched.
Grim opened the bag and inhaled. “Kid, if this shit smokes up as good as it smells I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well let’s find out,” Pedro said as he pulled out a lighter and let Grim sample the merchandise.
Grim took a hit and quickly put his lungs to work. In no time the smoke made its way to his brain, filling cracks that had become chasms created by supervisors with agendas and employees with complaints and a Universe dependent on him to hold shit together. Grim took another hit and released the stress of his middle-management Hell along with the sweet smoke he blew out in a slow, steady stream from his lungs. For one perfect moment, Death was happy.
A snapping sound by his ear pulled him back to reality.
“Hey, wake up. You’re vibrating,” Pedro said, pointing to Grim’s hip.
Grim reached down to his pager and saw that he had a message from his secretary. His absence had been noted. Grim paid Pedro in cash as promised, making a mental note to start reaping in more affluent neighborhoods in the future. “Let me know the next time you get another haul like this one,” Grim said, regaining focus.
“Hey no problem. I’ll even cut you a deal if you hook me up with your secretary. That is one fine lookin’ chica.”
“Fran? Sorry kid, but you’re not her type.”
Pedro rubbed his ample belly and asked, “Oh yeah? What’s her type, then?”
Grim stepped through the door and said, “Bony,” just as it closed behind him.
Another urgent page from Fran rolled in as Grim tore down the vacant hallway that led to his basement office. Stopping at the janitor’s closet, Grim pulled the memo from his pocket and then removed his meat suit, swapping it with the cloak he’d stashed there earlier.
Officially in uniform, Grim took a minute to compose himself before he opened the door to his office. Though he knew for a fact he was in Purgatory, Grim couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to open the door to Hell.
Happy Blogiversary To Me!
TODAY IS THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF MY BLOG! TO COMMEMORATE THIS AUSPICIOUS OCCASION I HAVE DECIDED TO RERUN MY VERY FIRST BLOG POST.
PLEASE TO ENJOY…
So yeah, I wrote a book.
I must have been high when I wrote it because there’s no other explanation I can give for my 120,000 word upper YA novel where the only noun I used more than “boner” was “blood.” It goes without saying that I’m self-published. I didn’t even try to submit it traditionally. Can you just imagine the poor agent who gets my query letter?
“My novel, THE GODS OF ASPHALT is complete at 120,000 words and is the first in a series of five books that for some reason I’ve decided to write out-of-order. Each one is told from the point of view of a teenage male protagonist who has exactly zero supernatural powers (unless you consider perpetual erections a superpower). Oh, and it also has Spanish subtitles.”
Yeah.
On the good side, if you’re like me and are just a little too into music, motorcycles and all around badassery this is the book for you. If you’re not, I’m sure Jodi Picoult’s got a blog somewhere. You can find the opening to chapter one at the top of the page under the tab GOA REVIEWS and you can find my book on line at:






























