Christmas Layaway Bluetooth Blues - Russell Holbrook

Jacob went to K-Mart to buy an antique daydream. Because it was so expensive, it had been on layaway for a century. His job sweeping bones out of the ballroom didn’t pay very well. He’d been saving for so long. Even now he knew he was two dollars short. He planned to use his charm on the cashier, hoping that she would let it slide, or let him perform some kind of immoral and indecent act to cover the rest. Anything, anything… he would do whatever she asked. Jacob was sure this would work out for him. It had to, it was Christmas.

And then, it was his turn and there she was, smiling. He paid what money he had and explained, telling his story in all its utterly sad, reprehensible, pathetic glory. And she smiled and said no. She was sorry but there was nothing that she could do. Jacob’s eyes fell to the floor, his hands went into his pockets, and then hundreds of tiny Chinese throwing stars were pelting the cashier and all the customers and screams and blood filled the layaway department and the manager shuffled out of the back and sighed. I knew this would happen one day, he said as a throwing star stabbed him in the eye.  

Book Review - Dead Bitch Army by Andre Duza

Let me start by saying that I really like the concept. I have read authors that are hit or miss. I have read books that are hit or miss. But I have never read chapters that are hit or miss...until I read Dead Bitch Army. There are parts that are so stimulating that I could not peel my eyes away, yet there were parts that were so dry that they repelled my eyes like a magnetic field of blah. The "interesting" thing is that the intriguing bits aren't always the same type of scene. At one point there is an interesting fight scene, at another point there is a suspenseful sit-and-wait scene, there is even an instance of a long conversation in a restaurant about a topic that I disagree should be in the book entirely; yet all of these were engaging scenes. Then, there were scenes that should have held my attention. The content was there, but the heart was not. It seemed as if he had a great story that wasn't quite long enough, so he wrote the same story again, this time dry. Then he shuffled the two together. Andre Duza can be (and possibly is) a great writer. I regret that this is the first of his books that I read, but I will definitely read more Duza. I wouldn't feel comfortable with this rating without giving him another try.

Another reason that I had to rate this book lower than I normally would is the editing. Their are misspellings, misuse of words, and even incomplete sentences. These are issues that aren't necessarily the author's fault. They are in the book nonetheless, and this is a book review, not an author review. I have been informed since originally reviewing this book that there are multiple versions; one more edited than the other. I evidently ended up with the original, less edited version, so you may end up with a better copy than I did. In all, the book itself was somewhat entertaining, but somewhat difficult to get through with the editorial mistakes.

2.5/5

Bobby Ratskin is the Most by Bob Freville

Bobby Ratskin had thirty siblings, everyone of them named Bobby Ratskin and all of them with identical features. Our Bobby Ratskin was the runt of the litter, the other Bobby Ratskins punted Bobby Ratskin around like a soccer ball and called him blue balls...even though soccer balls were rarely blue in color. But Bobby Ratskin wasn't a soccer ball or a pair of blue balls, he had an acid-washed denim jacket with a screen print of Gordon Lightfoot on the back and Bobby Ratskin had a blond rat's tail and spiky hair and wispy blond peach fuzz above his upper lip and he could finger blast your girlfriend well and good.

He knew this because, even though he'd never fingered a girl before, he'd practiced with the discipline of a dojo master and the dexterity of a concert pianist.

Bobby Ratskin's talent may have lied within his hands—he was an expert klepto who could get away with tucking a big screen Plasma TV under his shirt—but his passion, nay, his obsession was with feet. He worshiped toes, he was mad about heels and he gesticulated at the altar of a high arch. The very variety of shapes and sizes, of itty bitty cherry toes, rounded at their tips, and long bony skeleton toes and crooked gargoyle pretzel toes, gave him a spell.

Bobby was felled by feet, they were, to put it metaphorically, his very Achille's heel. When Taylor Isis moved to town he lost his shit. Taylor was the sauciest Hispanic porn star in the biz and the queen of “floor porn” fetish entertainment. She had the biggest feet Bobby Ratskin had ever seen on a girl and they were sexy as sin.

Throughout his sophomore year, Bobby Ratskin had regularly foregone opportunities to go out with his classmates to play Murder in the Dark or to go to the movies to see the latest Ninja Psychiatrist sequel in favor of stashing himself away in his bedroom with soiled g-strings he'd purchased from Taylor's web store “Taylor's Toe Tent.” He'd worn these ruined underoos over his nose and mouth while masturbating to her stocking videos with the aid of a tweezer. He'd dreamed of spiriting her away to a planet made of toes where he could apply polish in iridescent, galactic hues to her nails and sniff the balls of her tasty tootsies.

It got so incessant that the chafing landed Bobby in the emergency room with a degloved dong. When Taylor arrived in town with the intention of completing her longabandoned high school education, Bobby Ratskin's penis had only just healed, more or less, but immediately upon setting sight on her clear plastic stilettos, he'd felt the first of many new tweeter twinges.

He had to have her, but he didn't want to share her with the rest of the town. He wanted her all to himself. There was simply no way for this to occur on its own, he knew, for as the other Bobby Ratskins had reminded their rugrat brother, our Bobby Ratskin was as ugly as a bag of uncircumcised, disembodied dongs...if said dongs were covered in acne scars and pus pockets and topped with a ratty Merkin.

It would take some manual manipulation to make Taylor Isis Bobby Ratskin's BAE. He hatched a plan. He would wait until her night school class was dismissed and when she went to her car, he would slide out from under the chassis and jam a hypodermic needle into her slick, lovely labia. The paralytic agent from the shot would render her pliable and he'd swiftly stuff her into the trunk of his mother's station wagon before anyone else would notice.

He'd been careful to reserve himself a parking spot right beside Taylor's sports car and hidden in his mom's glove compartment until the bell rang. In no time at all, that is to say at the speed of light or at a rate physically impossible, Bobby Ratskin had Taylor Isis and her feet inside his mother's basement. It had gone so smoothly he hardly believed it was real.

Bobby was overcome with glee at first as he caressed her soft caramel flesh and sucked at her supple lips. But soon, in about the time it took to slip the peep toe slingbacks from her slinky feetsies, that is to say in more time than no time at all, Bobby Ratskin was overcome with grief. Although the plan had gone cracking well, he knew that he wouldn't be able to keep Taylor forever, for her disappearance would doubtlessly be noticed by one and all townsfolk, her being the only chick in town without cellulite, gut fungus and halitosis. No, he couldn't keep her, not all of her anyway. So Bobby Ratskin took only what he needed.

Brandishing his mom's hot pink table saw, he buzzed his way through his love's cinnamon skin and straight through her splintering Cream of Wheat bones and out the other end two times over until he held what he loved in his hairy palms as two perfect keepsakes.

But a strange thing happened as he held those two oozing footsies beneath his flaring nostrils. Taylor's legs stopped hosing the floor in Bosco blood and began growing, regenerating, resulting in the presence of two fresh feet with ten fresh toes, each as beautiful as the originals. Bobby was enraptured! He had to have them as he'd had the first.

He inched over to them with the saw at the ready, but as he approached the two new feet shot out with two more feet, a new pair growing out of the ankles. Although Bobby was taken aback, his math skills did not fail him, for any Bobby Ratskin would tell you that six is better than four.

His finger returned to the saw's trigger, but as he crept over to the four feet, a new pair sprouted on the spot and landed a swift kick to the strangled crotch of Bobby's corduroy pants. Before he could right himself from the force, four more footsies sprouted anew and then another four and still more and they kept multiplying just so until they filled the room.

Bobby could no longer see the rest of Taylor, her being completely camouflaged beneath the cluster of cute little toes and menacing heels, everyone of them coming down on Bobby, marching on his panicked, lust-flushed face, stomping him until all that was recognizable of Bobby Ratskin were his two soggy tube socks, the feet within them visibly docile through the web of Taylor's toes.

Bobby began to meld then, melting with his precious and her pretty pads, his soul married to her soles. Bobby Ratskin still loves feet, of course. How could he not? After all it's all he is anymore. Bobby Ratskin was and always will be legion.

Customer Service by Sean Kelly

Rhonda sat at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee. Her son came rushing in, clenching his iPad with an excited grin.

“Mommy! Mommy! The next big thing is out!”

“Again? Didn’t I buy you that thing last week?”

“No, mommy! This is the next next big thing! Look!” He turned the iPad around and showed her a picture. “See? Isn’t it awesome?! Everyone will have one!”

“Oh, Danny… It looks nice, but…”

“But? I have to have it too, mommy! Please!”

She sighed. “Well, how much is it?”

Danny shrugged.

She shook her head and finished her coffee. “Bring me my-”

He whipped out her cell phone and shook it in her face. She took it from him and dialed the local department store. It rang for over an hour as her son impatiently bounced around the kitchen. Finally, an annoyed-sounding girl picked up.

“What?” the girl groaned.

“Hi there! I was wondering if you had the next big thing in stock?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, good! And how much is it?”

“Dunno.”

“Oh. Uh, would you check?”

“Would you kiss my ass?” the line went dead.

Rhonda’s eyes widened. She sat motionless, stunned by the girl’s rudeness. Danny trembled excitedly in front of her, drool dripping from his maniacal smile.

“Mommy?”

His voice broke her from her daze. She arched her eyebrows and squinted at the phone as she slowly lowered it from her ear.

“Get your shoes on, Danny,” she said. “We’re going to the store.”

He squealed, reached in his pockets and threw confetti all over, then disappeared with the sound of a bullet. Before the dust had cleared, he was already back, shoes on and his mother’s car keys in hand. He pulled back and chucked the keys in her face. She opened her hand, the keys rolled down her face, dropped in her palm along with a couple teeth.

The car screeched from the driveway, taking out their mailbox, and barreled down the road.

***

Rhonda and Danny entered the department store. Danny was clenching her hand, hopping up and down. 

“Next big thing! Next big thing!” he chanted, before puking from excitement.

A greeter noticed them and smiled. “Welcome to-”

“Manager.” Her eyelid twitched. “Now.”

The greeter backed away slowly and pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Uh, Ms. Manager to the front please.”

Rhonda tapped her foot and peered around the store, angrily eyeballing every cashier. After a moment, a nicely-dressed woman approached with a security guard by her side. The greeter pointed to the mother and son with fear on his face.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” Ms. Manager asked with a fake smile.

Rhonda stepped forward, face to face with the manager, looked her up and down, then stared her in the eyes with rage. “I called earlier. Any idea why one of your employees told me to kiss their ass?”

The manager squinted and thought for a moment. “I think I know exactly who that was.” She turned to her security. “Carl, grab the vacuum and meet us in the electronics department.” She looked back at Rhonda. “Follow me.”

***

Rhonda and Danny followed the manager to electronics. Ms. Manager stepped up to the counter where a bored girl was sitting, smacking on gum and chatting with a friend on the phone. The manager crossed her arms and glared. The girl looked up with a raised eyebrow and sighed.

“I’m gonna have to call you back.” She hung up the phone and blew a gum bubble. “What?”

Ms. Manager turned to Rhonda. “Was this the voice you heard on the phone?”

“Yep.” Rhonda replied with a scowl.

Now they were both glaring at the girl. Danny continued hopping and chanting, completely oblivious to the tension.

“Another complaint, Madison.” Ms. Manager placed her palms on the counter, breathing heavily.

The girl looked over at Rhonda and rolled her eyes. Then squinted at the manager.

“Then fire me. I told you I don’t want to work here, mom.” She blew another gum bubble and tucked it back in her mouth. “Maybe you don’t mind being the man’s bitch. But I do. It’s humiliating.”

“So you tell a customer to kiss your ass?”

“Damn straight. I’m not sucking up to these rich assholes and their spoiled brats anymore. One more fucking call about that god damn next big thing and I swear-”

“Swear what?” Ms. Manager looked her in the eyes. “Your pupils are dilated again, Madison.”

“Uh-huh.” Madison smirked. “I’m high as a fucking kite.” She blew a gum bubble.

The manager quickly reached up and grabbed hold of the gum and yanked it back, slamming Madison’s face in to the counter with a thud. She placed her hand firmly on the back of the girl’s head as her body flailed around. Rhonda and Danny were both startled.

“Mom! Stop it! What the fuck are you doing?!” she screamed.

“I know what you’ve been doing, Madison!”

Carl, the security guard, showed up, gripping an old fashioned vacuum with a small black tube attached.

“For fuck’s sake, mom! Let me go!”

“Get behind her, Carl.” The manager demanded, pressing down harder on Madison’s head. 

He nodded and did as he was told. 

“What are they doing, mommy?!” Danny began crying.

Rhonda cleared her throat. “Ma’am! This really isn’t necessary! I was just-”

“Shut it, lady!” She shot a look of rage their way. “I’ve been dealing with this shit for far too long. Pull down her pants, Carl.”

“Mom, no! Please! You know you can’t-” The girl pleaded.

The manager bent down to her daughter’s ear. “I know you’ve been doing butt drugs. We’re gonna suck that shit right out.”

By now, all the customers and staff had taken notice of the commotion and had gathered around in horror. Carl looked down at Madison’s jeans, then back up at the manager. His eyes were asking if she was sure she wanted to do this.

“Mom! You can’t just suck it out! My body won’t be able to handle it! You know that!”

“You should of thought of that before you came in to work high. Do it, Carl.”

Rhonda covered her son’s eyes. Carl gulped as he sat the vacuum down and tightly gripped the hose in one hand. He yanked down the girl’s pants, revealing her quivering asshole. Everyone gasped. 

“Aaaaagh!” The girl screamed as he fed the tube up her ass. “Please! Don’t fucking do this!”

He waited a second, giving the girl’s mother one last chance to reconsider. She didn’t. He shrugged, bent down and hit the switch on the vacuum. It let out an airy sucking noise. Ms. Manager pressed down on the struggling girl’s head even harder to keep her place. The airy noise quickly became wet, sounding like a someone snorting through a snotty nose. The girl’s screams became silent gags and her eyes opened wide. She dug her nails dug in to her mother’s arms, but Ms. Manager was unfazed. 

“Just a few more seconds, honey.” The manager whispered. “Almost there.”

Madison’s eyes rolled back and bubbly white puke leaked from her mouth. The vacuum noise became muffled and the engine started rumbling. 

“That’s it, Carl! Pull it out!”

Carl yanked the tube out of the girl’s ass, gallons of dark red blood spewed from her anus. Ms. Manager released her daughter’s head. The girl stayed slumped across the counter, quivering and shitting blood.

“Lets see it.” The manager commanded.

Carl raised the sucking tube. A round golden ball was stuck to the end, dripping red sludge. He shut off the vacuum and the ball dropped into his hand. He rolled it across the counter to the manager. She picked it up and inspected it. The girl’s body slid off the counter and hit the floor in a puddle of her insides. She convulsed for a few more seconds, then went still.

After the event was clearly over, all the customers and staff lost interest and went back to their business. The manager motioned for Carl to leave, dropped the gold ball in the trash, then turned to Rhonda and Danny. Now that the girl’s body was hidden by the counter, Rhonda uncovered her son’s eyes.

“Now then,” the manager smiled at Danny to calm him then looked up at his mother. “I’m very sorry for the inconvenience. The problem has been rectified. We try to provide the best customer service here at your local department store.”

Rhonda wiped a tear from her face. “Uh, right… Thank you?”

“So, lets go get you that next big thing,” she smiled at Danny again. “Free of charge, of course.”

Danny threw his hands in the air. “Hooray!”

“Thank you.” Rhonda smiled.

Jeremy Robert Johnson Reviews

Jeremy Robert Johnson is amazing. He is one of the best authors I've ever read and a really nice guy. After having read three of Jeremy Robert Johnson's books, he has surpassed almost every other author on my favorites list. Which, until recently, had not changed in about seven years. He has gone above William S. Burroughs and Kurt Vonnegut. He has risen to the top, and he may very well stay there forever. He will be shelved among the greats. He is a literary genius. His words paint pictures that will make you laugh. They will make you cry. And they will make you want to tear your eyes out. And you will be glad you did, because you will know that the last thing you ever read was the pinnacle of literature.

We Live Inside You is a collection of short stories, some of which will make you want to crawl right out of your skin and watch from a distance. At once enthralling and grotesque. These stories will leave you wondering what is actually going on inside you. Just don't wonder too much late at night. You may not be able to sleep it off.

Angel Dust Apocalypse is another of Jeremy's collections. The imagery is sharp and beautiful. Some of these stories will leave you with a hole in your heart, others will leave you with a hole in your brain. Angel Dust Apocalypse is deeply original.

Extinction Journals is a Novella that is a continuation of The Sharp Dressed Man at the End of the Line, a short story from Angel Dust Apocalypse. The novella can stand alone, so The Sharp Dressed Man at the End of the Line does not need to be read first. Extinction Journals takes place in a post-apocalyptic world and the protagonist is a man named Dean who is wearing a suit made of live cockroaches.

Each of these books deserves five out of five stars, two thumbs up, and a large trophy. I can't wait to see what Skullcrack City has in store.

First Experience

Bizarro is a more than just a genre. It is often a group of people that can be labeled as a family. And like being a family, we don't choose who our bizarro brothers and sisters are. Unlike a family however, we haven't always been bizarros. We had to come from somewhere. So where did you come from? How did you get here? What was your first bizarro experience and why did you stick around? If you would like to tell us how you came to be, answer in the comments section. As for me:

I'm in the Air Force. Oklahoma City. 0730 hours. Ready for PT. Physical Training. Sun still low in the sky. I'm talking to Airman SomeDumbFuck and from ten feet behind me I hear, "...a labotomized torso. And he fucks her. Then he fucks all the other torsos once a month. He gets them pregnant, and every month there is a new baby. "

"Wait a second. What's this?" Is my piqued interest response. I knew that this kind of thing is the push that literature needed.

"Edward Lee," replies my NCOIC (Non-Commissioned Officer In Charge.)

"I have to read this," I'm sure I blurted this way too enthusiastically. I hadn't really noticed yet, but before I even arrived, the group surrounding the NCOIC was disgusted. Distraught even. The shock factor was what the NCOIC had in mind. The looks I got after my enthusiastic response were priceless.

Soon, smoke breaks with the NCOIC transform from Evaluation Performance Reports to tales and reviews of extreme horror (I prefer the term "splatterpunk") and the bizarre. We make new stories and story ideas as we in- and exhale. Weave new webs of malice and mayhem and what-ifs. Oh, the what-ifs... My mind, nay, my life, changed forever. For the better? Probably not.

I am forever indebted should forever shun this evil man that has perverted my mind with baby Jesuses that thrive inside assholes, people with fishbowls (including the fish) for heads, strippers that strip off their skin, clowns that give away coupons to fighters, vaginas that are haunted. It's all in there. I can never get it out. And that makes me happy.