But When I Do, It's Always Goddamn Awesome, Each And Every Time

So! Been working as a janitor in a factory for five weeks or so. It's fucking gross, dude, seriously.Factory workers can be seriously disgusting creatures. Sometimes, the horrors that I encounter when I go into the men's room toilets is almost enough to crack my sanity in two. I'm totally going to get a story out of this, though. Fucking right I will - anything this disgusting/creepy is horror writer gold.

It's not all bad, though; I'm pretty much under the radar in this place. As long as I'm getting my shit done, at any time I can jump in my van, get a Timmie's large double-double  (for my Russian and German readers, Tim Horton's is a coffee shop chain: a "large double-double" is a large coffee with two creamers and two sugars) and just fuckin' cruise around for a while. Have a smoke, see the countryside a bit, and decompress. I'm not fond of scrubbing toilets. Everything else I can handle just fine, but the goddamned toilets ... Jesus, even the women are sometimes capable of completely painting the interior of an industrial-strength toilet entirely fucking brown. What are these people eating!?

On a more pleasant note, I finally got around to having a book release party for my debut novel, 99 Brief Scenes From the End of the World. My old friend/band mate and his wife hosted the party for me (thanks, guys!). We got a bit loaded and had a game of infection tag, ate lots of food, got more loaded, and then it was time for this aging man to get home and let the dog out to take a much-needed piss.

Here's me, awarding the winner of the game of infection tag with a zombie trophy (made by my friend's wife) and a copy of my book (which he can't read for a few more years yet, aha). We're making zombie faces. Don't worry, he was sequestered inside the whole night, playing the XBox whilst the grown-ups were indulging in booze and debauchery (except for his Dad, who was driving. We're responsible, seriously.)

Finally, here's a link to the third installment of my hideously disgusting, raunchy-as-fuck parody of 50 Shades of Grey. I urge you to not read it if you're a wussy little punk who gets offended easily.

Fifty Shades of Decay: Part Three

Man up and read this shit

I just posted part 2 of my disgusting-yet-hilarious parody of E.L. James' stinking pile of shit erotica series. I've said this before, but motherfucker you shoulda stuck with Twilight fan fiction. Now you've forced my hand into creating this nasty little thing. Look what you've made me do! You should be ashamed.

Fifty Shades of Decay, Part 2

Well, It Was Bound To Happen At Some Point, Right?

There it was - the horror! - sitting there on the Internets for all to see ... a bad review of my novel, 99 Brief Scenes From the End of  the World. Here's what this fucking motherfucking fuck had to say:

"This is more or less a typical dystopian/zombie apocalypse story, although the cause of the infection, and they way it manifests itself is somewhat unique. In general the writing is pretty good, but there are a lot of typos that should have been corrected in the editing process. Despite a quick start, the story was slow in developing, getting lost in too many stories of people getting mauled, and not enough time developing the characters. By the time the storylines gained some clarity my ability to care had all ready started to flag. Adding to my frustration was the inconclusive end. I suppose the author may have been keeping his options open for a sequal. God, I hope not." - 2/5 stars

You hated it so heartily that you hope to God Almighty that I might somehow be prevented from writing a sequel? For real? Like, you want Him to strike me blind, or take my fingers in a freak accident? Sheesh ...

Actually, it's not that bad a review. He gives his honest opinion, and that's what internet strangers will usually do. As an artist of any kind, you need to accept the differing views of others and FUCK THAT SHIT, I'LL DESTROY HIM, I'LL RAPE HIS FUCKING FACE hahaha just kidding, seriously. Anyway, he spelled "sequel" wrong, therefore his opinion in invalid. (MY typos are acceptable, however.)

Well, here's another story for this guy to hate on. Go ahead, dude, call upon the celestial powers-that-be to stop me from writing a sequel to this one, too:

In Dreams

To whoever finds this note: I know what I have to do now. The gun is loaded and ready. I'm so, so sorry - but it wasn't me who did this, you have to understand that. I'm not a monster. It was the dreams! For months now, at night I dream that I'm loping down the road and through the woods on all fours, fast and powerful. On the hunt. I feel so incredibly, ferociously alive, invincible ... I wake up naked and covered in the sweat of exertion, with the coppery taste of blood in my mouth - and dirt on my palms and feet.





Pretty soon, the neighbors began losing their pets. Sometimes, they'd find shreds of fur and bits of bone nearby. They blamed a rogue fox, and many of them repeatedly called animal control, demanding action. I tried to avoid talking to them about it, because I didn't want them to see the guilt on my face.





I've tried to live with this oddity in my life for as long as possible, and now ... now I dearly wish that I hadn't. You see, when I woke up very early this morning, there was blood on my teeth and under my nails, and my next door neighbor's truck was still in his driveway. He hadn't left for his midnight shift last night. The driver-side door was hanging open, and there was blood splattered all over the inside of the cab. I found his boot on his driveway, and followed the drag marks from there back into his house. I went in with my heart in my throat, and I saw what happened to them all. I'm so sorry. You must understand, it wasn't me who did this horrible thing ... it was the dreams.