The Doomed ...

Dark, mad, crazy as a fuckin' bed-bug shit from the Most Depraved Writer in Print. Recognize.

The Place in Between:

When Del is sent pictures of his wife’s latest affair, he reasons a .45 caliber bullet will answer his problems. To Del’s dismay, that’s only the beginning of his time spent wedged in the place in between. Luci’s lover tortures Del relentlessly. Del wants to recover just enough to seek revenge on them both. Sure enough a demon shows up with her silky-sweet promises. Then the ambiance twists dark and cruel beyond anything any one of them could’ve imagined.

  Blood and Bubblegum:

It’s colder than frozen shit down here in the dangerous tunnels of The Harbor in the post-cataclysmic world (ACE). Juan and I find ourselves here, in this horrible place because of The Good Doctor. His organic narcotics trade is booming. Juan, Mary and I want in. We have to find TGD and the nocturne, see if they will let us. We are down. We are hungry. And we are bringing Blood and Bubblegum to sweeten the pot. All of our dreams will come true. The only uncertainty is Mary and Juan living long enough to reap the rewards.

Bad Notion, Traveling Potion:

The second day of the fifth waxing moon, in the 24th year, ACE. The frozen earth of The Harbor is in the grips of a new Little Ice Age. The human populace is down to just one-third. They are forced to exist in long, dank tunnels and cramped domiciles underground with The Good Doctor and his creations of Halflings and other freaks and geeks. TGD’s latest organic narcotic discovery goes LIVE and becomes self-aware. The bad notion traveling potion makes meat puppet users do its unholy bidding. Then the monster decides to turn on TGD, the Creator. Not the best idea, this. But it sure is going to be fun to watch.



Two days ago:

Juan went back to the same dark shoddy bar, again.
And, again, he went without Mary. She stayed
away to tend to Bubblegum, keeping her stoned
and happy. The comely coop-chick still thought they
both had a sex crush on her. They let that cluck-fuck
fantasy remain intact. We decided that it would be
prudent and to our advantage to keep from telling
her the whole truth. At least not until our hand was
called. None of us ever mentioned me.
Morbid is not everyone’s favorite late-night radio
talk show host. Of this I am quite aware.
“I want to shove it up her tiny stink-hole,” I say,
by way of example. “Please tell me I can.” I am not
the politest of company. I don’t really know of any
unholy shit monsters that are. I guess that it kind of
goes with the territory.
“Maybe,” Juan told me, “we’ll have to see how this
whole thing plays out.”
Yes, we will,” I agree. It’s not easy being green.
“Let’s not talk about that shit right now, Morbid,”
Juan replied, and rightly so. “Game faces, bro.”
“Yeah,” I say with all the forced bravado I could
muster, “Let’s bag us a vampire!”
Juan and I needed to find the nocturne in a bad
way. Juan and Mary were in hock up to their eyeballs
keeping the hen high on Plata. This shit is crazy
If we didn’t rustle us up a steady source
of income soon, the goon squad would find us.
That’s bad, real bad. They will send more than
enough knuckle draggers to see us that even I, the
unholy shit monster, won’t be able to save Juan and
Mary. Motherfuckers are as serious as a heart attack
when it comes to their wet, sticky cash money. And
without Juan, I would be lost. The nocturne must be
This time we needed a face-to-face meeting. It’s
frustrating because we hadn’t been able to locate the
elusive blood drinker. We could hardly believe it. All
this time and work and we can’t even find the nocturne.
And once we do (heaven help us) the real
work will begin. No wonder Juan was so edgy.
Other than this crap-awful bar down here
amongst the dregs, we had no real clue of how to
find him. Nobody knew the vampire, or where he
cribbed or even how to contact him. It didn’t matter,
however. Juan wanted no-one but his Mary, him and
me in on this plan.
The Harbor may be seen as nothing more than
a dystopian ghetto shit hole, and it most certainly
is, but we knew small town rules still applied. Everybody
knew everybody’s business down here in
the great stinky half-frozen tunnels. Everyone knew
who was zooming who. It’s just like old Mayberry, but
with a much higher body count.
Except in Mayberry, Andy and Barney wouldn’t
let you get the skin flayed off your body while fucking
a dead dog for a 5K NewRupee auto-deduct.
Fucking squares!”