Sunday, December 18, 2016

CUT'M UP TALES

Been a while since I said anything on here so I figured it was about time to get back at it. I stay pretty consistent at the fiction writing part but I severely lack on the regular blog posting. Which I should get on here from time to time and let you know what's going on,

So, what's going on?

Lots of stuff really. First off I have a story in an awesome anthology brought to you by JEA Publications called Rejected For Content #5 Edited by Jim Goforth called 'Dead End Job' These are all stories that are of course rejected on the sole basis of their content. As I've been told all the stories are well written but tend to sit a little heavy for some people. Here is what that one looks like.


https://www.amazon.com/Rejected-Content-Sanitarium-Essel-Pratt-ebook/dp/B01N0OSRV1/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1482062339&sr=1-1&keywords=rejected+for+content+5

Rejected for Content 5: Sanitarium by [Pratt, Essel, Eyenot, Toneye, Sgalambro, David, Romero, Evan, Carlyle, Howard, Leney, Mark, Hughes, David Owain, Cervo, RD, Lane, J.L.]




Another thing. If you've been following my short story writing challenge of a story a day for a year based on Micheal Arnzen's book of  Instigation prompts. Well, that didn't go away. I'm still working through them I just no longer post them. Some of these have been submitted. In fact, the story in the anthology above was written from one of his prompts. I get great fun out of taking a prompt and twisting it like a pretzel then I pile it up with more of the horrific. Anything can be done this way.  I started the challenge out with a story a day and got about to number 50 when I realized my writing was taking off to a whole new direction. Some wanted to be longer. Some shorter. When I write I let the story be what it wants to be and don't force it. It is what it is. But I'll be making more posts about them as well.

Also I have a small three story collection of Cut'm up Tales available on amazon for 0.99. And soon will be on Barnes and Noble and some others distributors as well.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MXZHG98/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1482062530&sr=1-1&keywords=christopher+ridge

CUT'M  UP TALES by [Ridge, Christopher]

Till then be sure to read a lot of sick stuff.  Happy reading



Sunday, September 18, 2016

UPDATE

For anybody following my short story writing challenge in my year of writing short stories have probably noticed I hadn't posted anything for a few days. I did have a bad couple of weeks, there are some things involved in that but mostly due to the fact that I have to make a few adjustments to my schedule. I am so far back logged in stories and it happened fast. And being an exterminator this time of year requires a lot of hours. We're getting a ton of calls now for spiders and on Monday there is a complaint about somebody seeing very large spiders in their yard and house. I love those kind of calls. It's what makes the job exciting though I know in, Indiana, our spiders are pretty harmless with the exception of the Brown Recluse which is probably the most mis-diagnosed spider in history.

Hmmm.... that gives me an idea. maybe I should include a few exterminating tips in my posts. Being a horror writer and an exterminator is a blast. It's no wonder I'm a sucker for BIG BUG stories.

 I'm still a few stories behind from where I should be. I can't keep all these stories short, When I'm writing these I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to write other than the prompt. I have struggled with the fact that though I am trying to keep these really short, like blog short, I realized that not all the stories want to be that short. Some are longer. Some are short that wanted to become longer but I cut them short, if you get what I'm saying and as I sit down to write when I start thinking too much about the length it just seems to block the whole process. So, I've decided to free myself up and let the story be what it wants to be and don't force it. My goal is to still have 365 stories by next July. That's the goal I started out with and that's what I'm going to finish. If I fail at that, it's like my friend, Harvey Stanbourgh said, I will have failed to success. It is because of this goal I've written more than I ever have and I will have finished with more than I would've if I hadn't had this goal. Some of these stories I've submitted to magazines, and some have been rejected for their content alone. Seems some of my stories tend to be a little extreme and gory. When I'm writing these I'm laughing my butt off cause they seem so silly to me, but I've been told they can be gory and not humorous. A sick sense of dark humor I s'pose. But, people are reading it cause I'm getting a whole lot traffic and it's a ton of fun.

I've also linked up this stuff to my facebook fan page which I just created as a way to keep things some what organized with the focus on all things extreme creatures.

I want to thank anybody and everybody who is silly enough to read this blog.

Till then,

HAPPY READING and if you're a writer. HAPPY WRITING

Monday, September 5, 2016

STORY #39 THE FOOT

One of my favorite types of short stories are surreal stores. Stories that push the boundries of reality. Surreal stories have a mysterious feel to them. In other words, they're magical would proably be the best way to put it.  Lately, I've stumbled across one of these types of writers. They're out there and you have to search for them but one in particular is on the bestseller list. And that would be Aimee Bender. She has become one of my favorites. Bruce taylor would be another.  So while I was writing this I thought what in the world am I writing? I was about ready to hit the delete button and start over but I promised myself I would never do that. That is an extremely bad habit a writer can get into and often times is hard to pull yourself out of. A writer can spend years down this hole and some never get out. I've been fortunate to have came across a professional writer (Harvey Stanbourgh) who warned me about being my own judge and just let it roll. Trust the creative part of your brain. He has helped me out tremendously.

As you can see some time passed between my last post. I had a rough week last week, work schedule changed and I was thinking way too much about what I was going to write which ended up in not writing. Thinking about what your writing tends to clog up the creative ports.

So, anyway, enough rambling.

Back on track.

This prompt was to write about a foot.

 THE FOOT

When Johnny woke his wife's foot was missing. He looked under the covers. Under the bed. Still they couldn't find it. All that remained was a stitched up stub and she couldn't even remember how that happened.
Outside it was still dark and the clock showed it was only one in the morning.
He helped her out of bed. And it wasn't one of them short ones either. It was one of those you had to get a small step ladder to climb up on. Her other good foot hit the floor with a soft thud. She wrapped her arm around his neck and he guided her to the couch.
She saw her other foot was crying. Tears between the toes.
“I have no idea where it went,” she said. Not really knowing what else to really say because neither one of them knew that body parts could just walk off like that. Her foot didn't tell her it was leaving. Didn't even say good-bye. Or will be back soon.
She scratched her chin as she tried to figure out her next move.
Her husband grabbed the phone. “I'm calling the doctor.”
“I wouldn't.”
He waved his arms as he paced frantically back and forth.”Why? Something has to be wrong.”
“I know. I think I'm probably beyond help at this point.”
“I wouldn't say that. Maybe the doctor knows something about this.”
She laughed. “I don't think so. This would be one of those strange and unusual illnesses that would go down in history if that were the case.”
“Yeah, but to have an entire body part just walk off like that.”
“I know it's insane.”
But by now it was of course way too late to even try to go out and fine it. It was no use she thought and would only make things worse.
Her other foot kicked uncontrollably and was sobbing.
She patted it and told it that everything was going to be okay and that if the other foot wanted to leave then they were better off without it.
The other foot stopped sobbing and seemed to be okay with it. While at the same moment she was thinking that yes, it was going to be extremely difficult trying to live without her other foot. It sure wasn't going to be easy hopping around on the other and it wasn't fair to make the other pick up the slack.
To assist it she and her husband built a peg and attacked it onto the stub. It was uncomfortable to walk on at first but it would do the trick. She felt like Long John Silver in Treasure Island.
In the mean time she wrote the other foot letters and in the letters she told it how much she loved it and wanted for it to come back.
Still there was no reply.
A year passed by then ten then twenty. But by now she figured there was no way of ever seeing her other foot again and gave up all hopes.
Also by then her husband had passed away from cancer. Then she lost her mother just months before that. She was so stricken with such grief she never thought once about her runaway foot.
Earlier, she'd went behind her husband's back and spoke with a doctor and asked him if it was possible for a body part runaway like that while keeping her own experience a secret. The doctor asked her what would possibly make her ask such a question and she just played it all off as being foolish and said she was just reading about something like that in a story and he laughed.
Late at night she lays in bed and reads her other foot a story just before tucking it under the covers and turning in for the night.
When she wakes she washes it, making sure the water ain't too hot, and sings to it like she were taking care of a plant. She trimmed its nails properly doing everything she could to make sure it didn't get sad and run away.
There isn't a day that doesn't go by that she didn't think about her runaway foot.
Once, while trimming the nails she clipped too close and pinched the skin at the tip of the middle toe.
The toe screamed. Wiggled. Squirmed.
“I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.” She couldn't apologize enough for what she'd done.
A rivulet of blood oozed out from under the small nail. She thought for sure she'd done ticked it off.
Two days later a fungus developed on the nail of the big toe. A thick yellow film. It was ugly and disgusting.
Immediately she hit the home remedies like soaking it in vinegar and applying the Vicks chest rub which she'd heard worked really well.
After a couple of days it cleared up and everything was okay with it.
She thought, wow that sure was a close call.
One night while she was lying in bed she heard something knocked on her door. It was Mid-night as she stumbled down the stairs. There had been a lot of break ins in the area lately and whoever could be at her door at this hour couldn't possibly be up to any good. But then again, a thief wouldn't knock.
She peeked out the hole.
It was her foot.
It stood on the front step. Toes wiggling as if it were all excited.
It jumped in her arms as if it were a cat. Gray hairs lined the top of the toes and the bottom of the foot was covered with callouses and cuts. It had been through a lot on its journey.
“You've come back,” she said.
The other foot bounced and screamed.



Thursday, August 25, 2016

STORY #38 Why you should vote Cthulhu for president

This prompt was to write about Cthulhu. There is a ton of good stuff going on about Cthulhu for president. And I came across Cthulhu's campaign. The link to that is here. So I wrote this little flash about why you should vote for Cthulhu. This is a special message by H.P. Lovecraft and he approves it.

https://youtu.be/NFfjoPDfdzk


WHY YOU SHOULD VOTE CTHULU FOR PRESIDENT



First off, you work too hard to put up with all that crab crawling crap. All they is a bunch of liars and thieves, murderers and crooks and God knows what else. Do you really think those Fart Monkeys running today are really going to change things? How bout that chick, ha? I think she needs a check from the neck up if you ask me.
And rich dude in the suit, well as far as I can tell the dude's out to lunch and from the looks of it, he's gonna be a while.
Second. I'm the lesser of the two evils, At least with me you know what you're gonna get and I sure ain't gonna lie to ya. Cause I don't have to. I'm Cthulhu. The greatest deity of them all. Though I do prefer meat I ain't gonna eat you out of house and home either.
The next thing which is one of the most important of all is that I'm not gonna make you pay taxes. Your government has been taking advantage of you since Moby Dick was a minnow or even since Paul and all those other disciples were fishermen. Time somethin' be done bout it.
Cause I'm the entity that will set things straight.
I'm Cthulhu.
Also I possess the great powers to alter the minds of your so called leaders of this nation. Their minds will become mine.
I will change them.
I will have them.
I'm Cthulhu.
I've been trying to do this since the way back of the good ole George Washington days or Honest Abe Lincoln.
Was he really that honest?
Seriously.
He was a politician. They don't call it politics for nothing.
I'm Cthulhu.
I call it Cthulhu politics ran by Cthulhu policies.
It is no secret your health care system is in great jeopardy.
I can fix that for you.
I have the ability,
It's no secret your education system reeks like rotten plankton under the control of educated idiots that think testing is the key to success. I will bring books back to school, children will do book reports and they won't know how to use computers till they learn to read and write, And they will read HP Lovecraft books.
You will be under Cthulhu's education system and I will make you successful.
Cause I'm Cthulhu. And I've been watching and have seen it all from my great depths. For I have been created by the greatest creator of all time. HP Lovecraft. Yes, he dwells inside of me and still lives on to this day.
Bring me your liars. Your haters. Thieves and dishonest souls.
Give them to me.
Feed me and I will take care of you.
I'm Cthulhu.
I know. I know. Voting is hard work these days and it's extremely frustrating trying to figure out who to vote for. It's confusing.
The one on the left is too far out to sea
While the one on the right
Thinks he's just like me.
There can only be one me.
And HP.
I can fix this,
I'm Cthulhu.
I will eat anyone who does not support my policies. But, hey, aren't things bad enough already?
Upon being elected I promise to destroy all fast food restaurants like McDonald's, Burger King and Wendy's and especially all Taco Bells. And I will give my full support to all sea food restaurants cause sea food is good for you.
As far as one nation?
I don't believe in one nation. Cthulhu believes in the entire world as one nation. No more prejudice, no more race wars or hate crimes. Cthulhu hates everybody equally and believes in one nation under Cthulhu.
If you don't believe this, Cthulhu will find out and eat you.
One world. One nation.
Under Cthulhu.
This is H.P. Lovecraft and I approve this message


Wednesday, August 24, 2016

STORY #37

In this prompt a character must stumble across a secret passageway.

THE PASSAGEWAY
Garland was irritated at the price of gas, he couldn't figure out how it could be 2.85 a gallon and jump up $3.15 in a half hour. Nor, could he figure out why cars were parked in front of the pumps and nobody in them.
He was getting a headache from the odor and coupled with the July heat wasn't making it any better.
On the corner stood a man dressed in worn torn jeans, scrappy tennis shoes, no shirt and long greasy hair. He held a sign will work for food. He felt Garland watching him, smiled a missing front tooth yellow smile and waved. They used not be allowed to stand on this corner, usually they were escorted off by the police. Pan handlers seem to be growing in numbers these days and you can find them on practically every corner.
This irritated him cause they're always in the way and there was always a little part of him that felt guilty for not giving like he used to, Used to because he'd heard that most of them have more money than he does.
It reminded him of a story he saw where somebody followed one home one night, followed him to his BMW and watched him put his pan handler outfit in the trunk. He'd heard they made more money doing that than he did busting his rump as an exterminator.
The pumps still going and he watched as the dollar signs grew.
His pump clicked off, he set the nozzle inside its spot and watched as the pump on the other side of him clicked away as if it were filling the bottomless pit of the BMW. The price box showed $500.00 and still pumping away.
This was odd.
No way could that tank take so much gas.
Where is everybody?
He wiped his hands glancing at all the cars as he walked to the door. Nobody was inside. Not behind the the cash register, not by the coolers or stocking shelves.
But the place looked to be in full operation.
A box of cornflakes flew off the shelf smacking him in the face. The box landed at his feet scattering cornflakes all over the floor,
The cooler door opened and a can of Pepsi jumped off the shelf and shot straight at him which he managed to dodge.
His first thought was he needed to get out of here. The station was possessed or something. His second thought was he wasn't so sure that getting out was going to be so easy,
While he was busy looking around a can of Cocoa Cola smacked him in the eye, He felt the sting from the cold can couple with the burning sensation of his eyeball. He felt his the area around his eyebrow and could already feel a lump form. That was sure going to be a doosey. How was he going to explain the black eye to his wife?
Say that a can of Cocoa Cola jumped off the shelf and smacked him in the face at the gas station?
They'd have him committed for sure. She already thought he was El- Nutso.
It was too bad she wasn't here to witness this one. She cold write this story up as one of the articles she wrote for fate magazine.
He could smell the hotdogs from the roller grill and somebody had left a slice of pizza in the microwave.
While outside the black hoses on the nozzles moved in short rapid successions they continued to fuel the cars. He could hear the rhythmic sounds of the nozzles gulping,
Chug-a-lug-lug... Chug-a-lug-lug. Chug-a-lug-lug.
Another Pepsi can flew off the shelf and smacked him in the back of the head.
More can shot after him. One by one at a time all in short rapid fire. Then came the Cocoa Cola cans, bottles, and two litters. It was like there was some sort of all out war between Pepsi and Coca Cola.
He ducked behind the junk food aisle where all the Little Debbie snack are. His son Johnny's favorite. He used to love it coming here to this station and this was the first place he came to.
He could see him standing here beside him now. Holding out his tiny hand. “Daddy, can I have one of these?” The Star crispy ones that have Rice Krispies was his favorite. Then he'd always ask to take another for the road,
Then he used to follow that up with a slushy and he always wanted to be the one that operated the lever that he was barely just able to reach but still insisted on doing it himself,
It was two years ago to this day that Johnny ran out the door and across the lot. Tires squealed followed by a thunk and a thump.
People screaming and gathered around.
He remembered screaming the words no at the top of his lungs and still knowing that it was too late.
Johnny lay there in a small puddle of blood. A tiny man dressed in a green suit stood in Johnny's chest saying, “Satan gets what h wants when he wants and there ain't a thing you can do bout it.”
The other driver saying how he didn't see him in time.
The ambulance siren screaming along the highway and Johnny was not moving.
Every once in a while Garland comes to this station and tortures himself over and over as he tries to replay that moment in his mind trying to figure out if there was something he could've done different.
If only I had been paying attention and hadn't been admiring that woman's butt, a secret he kept to himself.
He always felt guilty when he looked. Even with that old adage look but don't touch, still, it didn't seem appropriate and it always made him feel guilty. It also didn't help, his wife, Janet had put on several pounds since they'd been married making her far less attractive, not to mention she'd gotten pretty comfortable lately with making all the decisions herself, things he didn't agree with.
In only a couple months later, their marriage was on the rocks and the tide was coming in quick flooding all their plans and hopes and all the other things they'd dreamed about doing and talked excitedly about was being washed away and carried out to sea.
A month after that, Janet filed for a divorce because she'd met someone else. A doctor, she says. Go figure. There was no competing with a doctor. Doctor in left hand, exterminator on the right. What should I do? He imagined her flipping back and forth. Doctor. Exterminator. Doctor. Exterminator.
Nope. Score for the doctor. Ditch the exterminator.
He told himself that it was all for the best. She always seemed to be the one who always wanted the larger things in life. Live the ore extravagant. Have the best of everything.
Garland was more into living life. Not every day was about work and tomorrow was always another day. Why bury yourself with work just so you can afford overly high priced material garbage that you don't have the time to use anyway? He never understood that. No, he didn't have a lot as far as people like her were concerned but he also didn't struggle getting out of bed and didn't dread going to work. And sitting at home on the front porch drinking ice, listening to the birds and watching the squirrels run up the tree was far better than spending time at a fancy restaurant pretending to have fun with people you don't even like. There was no getting through to Janet about any of it and finally he just stopped.
Have your mid-life crisis and just move on if that's what you feel you need to do. And good luck with life.
The tiny little man in a green suit was perched on his shoulder. “It's not your fault, Buddy. It's all part of Satan's plan. He gets what he wants when he wants it and there's nothing you can do bout it. He's not through with you yet.
Satan's plan. That tiny green man always said that. He'd been coming around at least once a week to torment him and vanished whenever his wife walked in the room or when out in public.
The station shook and thundered as if stricken by a huge earthquake.
\Boxes falling off the shelves.
Cans tumbling over.
While outside all was still.
A door appeared on the wall. At first it seemed like it was an apparition. That door had never been there before.
He wondered what it went to. They'd done some remodeling in the past and had this area taped off for a month while getting the modern building makeover. A lot of buildings had been getting makeover these days.
McDonald's started the trend with updating their entire building, making the larger with more seating. Lining the d├ęcor with glossy ceramic tile and stainless steel handrails. And they are always so clean, you'd think eating at McDonald's was a healthy food choice.
Next the Burger King joined in and made themselves over. Then came along the Dairy Queen and then Wendy's.
All the fast food joints and gas stations were getting makeovers. It was almost as if threw was some kind of silent war going on between them that happened at night when they were all closed up and nobody around.
Except for the gas stations that remain open twenty-four hours.
The building shook and rumbled more furiously and garland was getting the impression that the building was mad at him. It was like it hated him being inside here. He wasn't sure what it was but he didn't feel right.
He turned to charge out the main door but it was gone. Shelves stocked full was now in its place.
Had the door moved?
He heard an echo, a soft grumbling sound like an irritated old man stricken with arthritis trying to get up from his wheel chair and nobody is around to help him.
He had no choice. He had to walk through the ghost door.
He put his hand on the knob and wrapped his fingers around it. He couldn't feel anything but his fingers were on it.
He turned it and the door opened.
A crowd of applause greeted him. A group of McDonald's buildings, Burger Kings and Wendy's and all the other fast food restaurants you can imagine greeted him with open door.
Various types of lolly pops rained down.
He walked into this own special world. A world where fast food restaurants ruled.
In the center of all this he could see his son running among the lolly pop rains, splashing in chocolate puddles. Grabbing lolly pops from the sky.
Climbing in gummy bear trees.
He didn't get to speak to him. The images were ghostly apparitions but somehow it managed to give him comfort that even though his son was no longer with him everything was still okay.




Saturday, August 20, 2016

STORY #36 BREAST CTHULHU

This was a different prompt. This one was to write about a woman discovering a lump on her breast. What is it?


 BREAST CTHULHU


Sue just checked her beast out yesterday. Now, something is there.
Inside her breast.
She could feel it go thump and felt the bump inside just on the underneath.
“Feel this,” she told her one night stand named Andy. At least she thought his name was Andy. It was late and almost closing time and he seemed to be the most desperate. She was exceptionally horny. Andy was a big boy but she liked'm that way.
Andy smiled. Always up for that kind of challenge. “Of course.”
“Squeeze right here.”
“You know this is starting to get me excited.”
“Not today. We have other issues.” She guided his hand on the lower part of her breasts. “Feel that?”
Giving it another honk honk this time a foul odor emitted from the nipple. It smelt like boiled eggs left out in the July summer heat which reminded him of his grandfather's farts.
She felt it go thump. Saw the expression his face and could tell he felt it too.
“What do you think that is?”
“I don't know. Should get it checked out.”
She felt it move inside her. Next the whole left breasts jiggled, throbbed like a beating heart. She could hear it go.. Thump Thump... Thump Thump... Thump Thump....
The one thing she was afraid of the most was cancer. Her mother died of breasts cancer two years ago and always warned her about it running in the family. She wouldn't have thought that much of it but her grandmother died of the same thing and so did her mother and so on and so forth.
The breast jiggled even more as if it were a bowl of jelly.
It screamed.
Andrew jumped back. “What the...?”
“Told you somthin's wrong.”
“Definitely need to get that checked out.”
The breast moved and shook violently. “Something's in there.”
Veins popped out from the top of the breast as if she were stricken with a bad case of varicose veins.
It grew and grew.
She had cantaloupe breasts before now they're watermelon shape. It reminded Andrew of some old school aunt Jemima looking woman.
Pulsating in short rapid successions.
The things looked like they were about to explode and he pictured the new sofas coated with rotten thick sludgy milk.
“We're gig to have to get you to a doctor.”
The pulsing grew louder.
Wiggling.
Squirming.
Veins popping out of the breast, breaking through the skin. Long tendrils elongated from the pores busting through the walls of the breasts.
Tendrils waving in the air.
“What is that thing?”
Sue tried to cover her breast as if she were attempting to stop them. There was no stopping them.
They were like snakes slivering out of their cave for the first time. Hissing. Spraying breast milk at him.
He covered his face.
Crying cause the milk burned. Pussy blisters formed on his face. They wrapped themselves around his neck.
Squeezing with the grips of a boa constrictor,
Tighter.
His face turning red, grabbing at the slimy tendril trying to tear it away.
Sue screaming for it to stop.
The tendrils squeezed tighter.
His fingers fumbled for the pocket knife in his pocket, found it, had it in his hand then dropped it on the floor,
By then the tendrils had him swinging in the air, slapping him against the wall as if he were a rag doll.
Blood splattering on the wall as it, swinging him back and forth slamming him on the floor with a thunderous splat.
They wrapped themselves around his face like a octopus.
Sucking. Snorting.
The sound of twigs snapping, crackling as the thing ate at his face sucking his brains as a mosquito sucks blood.
His feet kicked at the floor. Slipping, sliding as he fought out his last breath.
More tendrils came out of the breast cave, grabbed the rest of him pulling him inside. His feet leaving a trail of blood in their wake as they pulled him in.

Sue's breasts went back to their normal cantaloupe size. She was able to tuck them back in under her bras for safe keeping. At least till it was time for their next meal.

STORY #35

Gonna switch things up a bit and switch to poetry mode. This one was to write an usual request durring the reading of a will.


PAIN THE IN THE ARSE


Pops, he finally passed away,
You'd think that's all
he'd have to say.
Choked on steak
drowned in  beer.
ha ha haha
I didn't shed a tear.

He'd done croaked
cause he choked.

Gathered around all
family at the table
sons and daughters wondered
how he became so unstable
and how he forgot his name
and often where he was
the look in his eyes
showed his brain went buzzzzzzzz

He'd done croaked
cause he choked.


Perhaps the biggest
of my wife's dreaded chore
was his peeing and pooping
all over her wood kitchen floor.
"Get'm some diapers and cinch them tight.
But he'd fuss and he'd cuss
and put up a fight.
Kicking n' screamin'
he thinks this is fun
lets see how he likes it
when I pull out my gun

but he'd done croaked
cause he choked

The moment arrived
for the reading of the will
but I didn't expect all
that much from him still
cause he burned our house down
and totaled our cars
to me he's always
been a pain in the arse.

Would've shot'm back then
but my wife would complain
you'd think I'd care?
Cause pops. He's insane.

But he'd done croaked
casue he choked.


Don't think for one second
all the trouble stopped there,
oh, remind me to tell you
all about his dino underwear
running all naked through
the neighborhood street
peeing and pooping
showing his meat.


Hissing and spitting
creating a fuss
popping all his butt zits
just oozing with puss.
I would've shot'm then
If I could
but hey, I'm sure
most anybody would.

But he'd done croaked
cause he choked.

At the reading of the will
there was one final request
this was only the beginning
of the trouble of our quest.
 I always knew he
wasn't right in in the brain
Kept tellin' my wife
your pops is insane.
If I would've thought back then
shoulda dropped him off at the bog
made him find his way back
like some lost puppy dog.

But he croaked
casue he choked.

Ohhh you shoulda seen
the shock in our eyes
when he read the will
and gave us the surprise.
Please take care of my lover
my stripper from Mars
I haver her locked n' secured
and tied up with red scarves

They'd been looking for this woman
at least several years or more
and not once did I think
to open that door.

Pops is long gone now,
scattered among the stars
still so far far far away
still a pain in the arse.

All cause he croaked
cause he choked.

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

STORY #34 HELP i'M CRUMBLING

PROMPT #34


This prompt was to bring to life a statue. For this it happened to be the statue of liberty who is not very nice.


 HELP I'M CRUMBLING

One thing about being a statue after all this time is that you get to see everything. Actually, you get to see a lot more than I really care to see and it's not pretty. After all I am in New York City.
Gets pretty tiring holding this torch up after all these years too,. Every once in a while I shift hands.
You'd think somebody would notice.
Noooooot.
You'd think they'd also notice that I blow the torch out every once in a while.
Nooooooot. Not chance of that either.
But they did notice the day I let my dress down and exposed my rock solid breasts.
Yeahhh. That was some kid that noticed that one at first while riding on Staten Island Ferry
Get a good clean shot at me from there cause actually I'm more on the New Jersey side.
I see all sorts of things like I said and most of the time I just like to screw with people. I don't know how much longer I have left really so I got to make the best out of it.
You see, my foundation is crumbling and my head is deteriorating at a extremely rapid rate. Termites got hold of my foundation and are chewing me up. Can't chew the stone part of me up though, the weather has taken pretty could care of that department.
Most don't realize I have a foundation of wood. And they're rally surprised that termites could find me when I'm tucked out here on this tiny platform in the middle of the Hudson River.
Exterminators have put this baiting system around me that's supposed to stop them but between you and me, I think it only works part time. I don't think it's such an efficient treatment. But New York being New York god forbid somebody use some chemical to get the job done and done right so nobody has to screw around with this. They say they don't want to contaminate the river an kill the fish.
Haaaa. Believe that?
New flash. Don't wanna eat the fish here anyways.
All I can do is sigh and move on,
And screw around with people.
Love to screw with folks, especially the tourists,
Watch this.
Did you see all that dust I just exhaled all over that container ship. Look at that knucklehead looking around and up at the sky as he tries to figure out where it came from.
Hold on. There's plenty more where that came from,
Shhhh. Here comes the Staten Island ferry.
Watch this.
Gonna drop my dress.
Wait till they get a little closer.
Almost there.
People are snapping pictures with their phones. I remember back in the day they were Polaroids. Before that it was some huge contraption. Things sure have evolved over the years.
Close enough now.
Here we go.
Look at that woman's mouth. Now, she's covering her son's eyes as they are shocked beyond all belief.
Didn't think I could do that did ya?
I like to do that every once in a while to screw with people. You know expose myself, What are they going to do?
Well would you believe I had a cop approach me one day telling me that he knew that I have the ability to come alive and that I needed to behave myself or he was going to give me a ticket?
I thought, really, dude. You really have no clue do ya, Go ahead. Send the Mayor over here and I'll straighten him out, I gotta little somethin' somethin' for his butt anyway. Him and me. We got a beef.
It's not like anybody is taking good care of me.
In fact, I'm being taken for granted and one day people are going to wake up and I'm gonna keel over into the Hudson and cause all kinds of chaos and ruckus as my ceramic brains scatter all over the city. Like that's all this city needs. Like really, hasn't New York seen enough of its troubles lately?
I didn't particularly care for the way he was talking to me so as he turned to leave I hocked up a good'n. Got it nice and juicy for him and spat a big ole stone lugey at his head so heavy that it knocked his butt out,
See if he screws with me anymore on that one,
Sometimes I get a little ticked off when people don't pay enough attention to me. It's like, I used to be the greatest thing ever. People came from all over the world to come to just see me hold this silly torch.
I do have a New York temper you know and have to express myself every once in a while.
Tick me off enough I squirt gritty ceramic milk from my boobs and spray it out all over Manhattan. Still to this day nobody has yet to figure it out.
I know it,s nasty and it's very rude of me but I can get nasty if I really have to, And these New Yorkers are not easy folks to deal with,
One day I knocked a U. S. Air jet right out of the sky. Just took a good swat at the sucker like it was nothing more than a fly with my torch and ripped its wing off. I did that cause some knucklehead thought it would be funny to give me the finger.
I said oh yeah? Think you're a wise guy do ya? You know what we do to wise guys here in New York. We take'm out back behind the Italian restaurant and chop'm to pieces when nobody is looking.
That's what we do.
You shoulda saw his eyes when I reached out with my torch and whacked that sucker,
Now, I'm not very proud of the things I did. But hey, don't screw around with me. Especially with a woman that's quickly crumbling to my death.
They don't even allow anybody at the top of my crown anymore cause the instability.
But what's a lady to do? Especially when you've been around for as long as I have.
And if people keep ignoring me out here, piss on'm. That's what I'm gonna do.

Ever wonder why the Hudson River is so crappy?

Sunday, August 14, 2016

STORY #32 Update

This prompt was to write about a mirror or a door that appears in the middle of nowhere. If you've read enough stories you'll know this is no new idea and it appears several times over in horror and science fiction, yet it still never gets old. This one is a western type tale about a farmer and his son protecting their farm against aliens. They never see these creatures and yet Pa and his son Stan are determined to catch them in the act. And just in case you haven't noticed I am all over the place when I write. I don't set out to write horror or science fiction, it just comes out that way. Mostly because I never know what I'm going to write till I sit down and do it. I've never been much of a planner, never have been, never will be, I've tried to do the planning thing and spent months on an outline but when I sat down to write I went my own way. I've learned over time and with the help of some other professional writers to train myself to let the creative side of my brain take control of the story. This takes practice. Lots and lots of practice which is also the reason for writing all these stories. As  a writer you have to learn to get out of your own way and allow the story be what it wants to be Trust me. For me at least, they come out much better that way.

I've also decided to do a quick check to see where I'm at in this challenge and was shocked to see I've seem to have fallen behind a couple stories, I know I've missed a couple of days here and there but I'm not that far behind. 365 stories in one year is a lot of stories and it doesn't leave much room for those kind of screw ups. So I'll be adding a few extra from time to time. A friend of mine also told me that there going to be some days where I'm not going to be able to write and that one story a day is not going to be enough at times or I will fall short of my goal, He said the best thing to do is write ahead for a few days here and there and that will put me ahead of the plan and will compensate for the non writing days, Even the best of the pulp writers had some non writing days. Not many   but they do happen.

The story I wrote today has been sent off to Daily Science Fiction so we'll see what happens with that.

If you are reading this blog and following along I thank you very much for taking the time to read it and I only hope you've enjoyed at least a few of the stories.

Till then

See ya tomorrow

Saturday, August 13, 2016

STORY #31 DEATH-A-TWIRL

This prompt was to write a brutal story about a ride at a fair.  So, relax. Hold on. This one is going to give you a ride you will never forget.




DEATH-A-TWIRL


A cacophony of screams filled the night air. The various rides giving the ride of their lives. A ride they will never forget.
Every time she was at the carnival Janet's stomach always rumbled. Plus her kids were always hungry. Though it was expensive, one couldn't take your kids to the state fair and not eat any of the goodies.
Just wouldn't be right.
Sometimes money is meant to be spent and wasted on what she referred to as feeding your soul food. Kick all the health nuts to the curb with all their you should eat this and you shouldn't be eatin' none of that.
Get it out of there.
Sometimes you just gotta eat it.
Who care. You only go around once in this world.
She loves the sound of the the music playing form the rides mixed with the rhyming voices of the carnies working hard to get you to wastes money on the games that unless you know the tricks you have a very slim chance of winning.
She'd rather spend the money on the rides and let her kids have some fun.
“I wanna ride that one, Mom?” Her son Sam said,
He pointed to the Death-A- Twirl. Watching it go round and round.
“Doesn't look too bad. Looks sort of like the scrambler.”
“Cept it's faster.”
Kids raised their arms on the ride as it went around and did the loopty loop.
Screaming.
Faster it went.
Zipping in and out looking like it was about to crash with another cart.
“Can I rid it, Mom?”
“Don't see why not. Looks harmless enough.”
“Wanna ride it with me?”
“I think I'll pass. My stomach ain't what it used to be. You have fun.”
They watched as the ride came to a stop and everybody stepped off.
She got Sam in line and stood off to the side by the rail so she could wave at him as he passed by.
The carnie took Sam's ticket. He had no teeth, and his dark leathery skin showed that he'd been at his game for a while.
“Have fun,” he said.
She found his voice haunting. But these rides were harmless enough.
The ride was a cross between the Scrambler and the Octopus, The carts went high, turned and swooped down like tendrils of an octopus. The background displayed a ship out at sea being engulfed by a giant octopus. In the picture the crew on the deck was stabbing at it with spears as they appeared to be trying to free one of their crew members from one of its tendrils.
The carnie walked around. Checked the locks and made sure their seat belts were on properly.
The music began.
The carnie moved the lever forward.
People sat in their seats already screaming with anticipation.
The ride went around and around what first started in a slow rhythmic motion as it seemed to be easing the riders in slowly before it opened up and gave them its best.
The carnie grinned as he watched the riders. Moving the lever forward.
Speed increasing.
Faster.
Carts swooping in and out.
She waved as Sam as he passed by but he was going way to fast for her to see him. Plus he was holding on for dear life,
The gears on the machine grinding rhythmically. Lights flashing to the beat of the music,.
The carnie laughing.
People screaming.
By now a line formed behind her as other potential riders looked on with amazement.
The carnie moved the lever forward.
Speed increasing.
Faster.
Faster.
Gears grinding so hard oil sprayed out onto the crowd.
“That's too fast!” she heard someone scream.
“Slow it down!” another said,
The carnie watched on. Laughing.
His crooked callous fingers pushed the lever forward more. Laughing as if in a state of hysteria.
The riders were no longer able to raise their arms like they were used to. Their fingers gripping the bar.
“Hold on, Sam, Should be be over in a minute.”
Sam's expression was opened mouth. Eyes wide. Tears streaked down the side of his cheek.
“Stop! Stop the ride!” She screamed at the Carnie.
The carnie started straight ahead and seemed to not hear her.
He moved the lever forward.
The ride going faster and faster.
Sam's cart going up up and up. Swooping down so fast he rose up from his seat.
“Sam!”
Carnie laughing. Increasing speed.
A handrail form another cart soared off and smacked into the carousel into a couple kids on the horses who just happened to be the unlucky one.
The rider's arms flailing as they desperately searched for something to hold on to,
The cart soared up. Came down with a crash flipping the rider out of the cart.
Sam's cart moved crooked and was way off balance. She could see the bolts were coming lose.
“Stop this! Somebody stop him.”
One man rushed the carnie but the carnie punched him in the mouth with such great force that it knocked the man out.
Gears grinding.
Oil splattering.
Blood spraying as one of the riders smacked their nose into the rail.
Another cart worked lose from its bracket and flew off smashing the hot dog tent.
“Hold on Sam. Please hold on.”
The carnie pushing the lever more.
Faster.
The carts were noting but a blur. She couldn't see Sam.
Her eyes searching for the carts as she watched another body soar off. Her eyes trying to focus on the flying rider hoping it wasn't her son.
Other people tried to rush the carnie but he displayed such paranormal strength by swiping them away like they were ants.
“Please. Stop this.”
The music now shifted to a dark demonic tone. Lights blinking in an unrhythmic fashion.
One of the arms flew off. Attached to it were two cars.
The two riders, a young boy and his sister, screaming as they soared through the air.
She saw the carnie's laughing face. His eyes were all pupil. Skin was now white.
Smoke billowed from the center as she could smell something burning from inside, It was that same type of smell that day that she took her car in for a quick oil change and they forgot to put the oil plug back in.
An explosion erupted sending the blinking lights in the air,
Arms and legs flying high.
Carts whistling away into the night,
faster and faster the machine went. She couldn't understand how something like that could still be moving. But this wasn't a machine from this earth.
Nuts and bolts flew off as the octopus unmounted itself and soared into the air and was now hovering above the fair.
She could hear the cries of the riders as they screamed for help.
The octopus flying further and further away.
It's lights still flashing. She could still hear the music
Sam was crying for his mom.
The carnie at the control booth was gone.
And all she could do. All any of the parents could do was watch their kids being carted away into the night.



Thursday, August 11, 2016

STORY #30

This prompt was to write a story, well, to draft a conversation with myself and my evil twin. This I wrote in all entirely dialogue. Really, it's about a a guy with split personalities having a conversation with himself. This one came about from a partial conversation I had with a member of our family who was smitten one day when a younger woman made a comment to him about how nice he looked. Of course I knew right away she had a different agenda. But his comment was . I still got it. And I thought, what are you kiddn me? And he always carried around this dinosaur cell phone that nobody ever uses anymore. Can't quite get a grip on the android age. As I watched him talking to her on this old phone I began to imagine things and it wasn't a pretty picture either. But it was a thought that could only come from somebody with a gross and sick sense of horror humor. can't tell what it is cause it's at the end of the story and I don't want to give it away.

This story is a little late posting. It's actually yesterdays story. Today another one will be posted this evening.
 STILL GOT IT. THE BAG OF CHIPS
TEE-SHIRT AND SODA POP



What do you mean you still got It?
I got it.You know. Like got it got it.
Stop grabbing yourself like that it's disgusting.
When you got it you got it.
You ain't got nothing. You're over eighty years old. Overweight and have you checked with a doctor to see if your heart is even healthy enough to be having sex with that pacemaker and all?
You don't even know who you are today.
Do too. Same person as yesterday.
Ahhhm. Not really.
You're just jealous.
No. She just wants your money.
Naaa. Don't think they're worried bout that.
They? You mean there's more?
Of course.
So I take you two have been getting along?
No. She left.
Its only been six months and she left now.
Moved on to better things. Don't need her anyway. I got other fish to fry.
If you ain't careful those fish are going to fry you.
Not with me. I'm the man. The man.
You say that like you know what you're doing.
I do know what I'm doing and I'm gonna keep on doing it for as long as I have this healthy stick God blessed me with.
Ahmm. You ain't that shriveled up thing. You're eighty you know.
Yeah so. Age is just a number. Look
Put that thing away. It's gross.
Just wanted to prove to to you.
I'm surprised it hasn't fallen off. That smells like rotten fuzzy peach with maggots all up in the inside.
Naa. I'm healthy as a horse.
Ahmmm. Not really. Not when your thingy there is ripe as a days old brown banana with fruit flies flying all around it.
Is that what those things are? Been wondering why they keep following me around like that. Can't seem to get rid of the things.
You're so old moths are even flying out of that thing. And... What is that greens lime hanging down?
I don't know. Been there for a while.
It's like some evil creature from the vagina lagoon or something. You must've gotten some kind of fungus.
I keep wiping it off but it comes back.
Did you see a doctor.
Naaa. Ain't got the insurance anymore, Company cut my retirement plan.
Still, I think you better do something about that.
I will.
What are you doing now?
Giving her a call.
From that phone?
It works.
That phone's dead.
No it ain't. See.
It dead. That phone's a dinosaur, Where'd you get it?
Woke up to it laying on my bed.
Let me see.... The battery's dead. Doesn't even come on.
I'm telling you it works. Just wait....... See that.
Wow. It does. I don't understand that.
That's what I've been sayin' Excuse me................. Hi honey. Yeah I'm talking with the other me right now. Yeah, I'll see you tonight.
It that her?
Yep.
You're still gonna see her after she gave you the slimy drips and all that..... Whatever that stuff is dangling from your thang?
It's not the same chick.
Seriously?
Seriously.
I think you better leave these women alone till you get yourself checked out.
Ahhh they don't care. They can't resist this ole sex pistol.
Wait. What's going on? Who are all these women knocking at my door?
That's them. They've come to visit.
They're walking dead women.
And you're point is?
No wonder you were getting along so well. Tell them to stop tearing up my house. They're busting my windows.
They want me. They want me bad. I like to hear them groan, And I really like to hear them moan,
Stop it!
Ohhh. Don't worry. They wouldn't hurt a flea.
I'm gettin' my gun.
Don't you dare. You're not going to hurt my precious darlings.
Don't point that gun at me. They're the enemy. Not me.
Depends on which side of the line you're on. You're not gonna hurt my darlings.
BANG!









Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Story #29 THE UGLY DISFIGURED REDNECK VAMPIRES

Prompt #29 was s to have fun with a carpentry accident. I started out writing about a carpenter but thought it would be more fun to write about an exterminator instead since that is what I do. So I went back and changed carpenter to exterminator and got a little kick out of it. From there it took off and I ended up creating a fellow named Judd Crudd exterminator extraordinaire except he ain't that extraordinaire but he is to the vampire community. This is a pretty goofy one.

So. Meet Judd Crudd





THE UGLY DISFIGURED REDNECK VAMPIRES


Judd Crudd was an exterminator extraordinaire for Dracula
and his redneck vampire night cleaning crew. His job
was to maintain the coffins in the castle keeping
them free of bedbugs.
This is how he did it.
Though he really wasn't an exterminator
extraordinaire which was really
why he was the cheapest. But he did seem to be the only
one interested in the job. No other exterminators
wanted anything to do with Dracula and his vampire
cleaning crew, even though he paid a handsome
price. Eternal life.
One bite was all one had to endure and eternal life
would be theirs. Of course you'd have to live
out the rest of your days as a vampire drinking
blood and chasing beautiful women and have
your way with them while their sleeping.
That didn't seem like such a bad gig.
Sadly, no other exterminator thought it was worth
it. Cept for Judd.
But with a last name like Crudd
who wouldn't?
They called him exterminator extraordinaire
but really he wasn't that extraordinaire.
More like Cruddinaire
or flopanaire.
Mostly, Clutzanaire.
After all he did fly his space ship into the window of the castle shattering
glass upon his arrival.
Which started a fire.
Because it was still daylight the vampires were sleeping.
Thank God.
But the fire was spreading and spreading quick.
The top floor was burnt and the fire was moving
to the next level. Crudd was afraid the vampires
would die in their sleep of smoke inhalation.
He had to wake them up and get them out of there
if he had any chance of this eternal life thing.
He had a hard time finding the stairs. There was an elevator
but he was too afraid to take it.
Everything is this castle was hidden. Part of Drac's
plan in case of burglars that way they couldn't find
their way around.
Got lost.
Drac and his crew would find them wondering the passageways
lost.
Confused.
Then they would eat them
Call it a trap.
Judd tripped over one of the kiddie vampire's
rubber ball,
Fell to the floor
and found the stairs.
The stairs spiraled down and down.
Banging his head, cracking a few ribs.
Down down down he went
as if he were descending into the madness
of hell.
He landed on the bottom floor.
He called the fire department from his cell.
“You're where,'Sir?”
“Dracula's castle.”
“Ohh. We don't go there.”
Of course you don't.
What was I thinking?
His foot hit a small ball which caused him to trip
and he tumbled down the stairs.
All the way down.
All the way down.
Dracula's system kicked in releasing a fog
of co2 as it dispersed
from the ceiling extinguishing
the fire.
The Drac came out waving the smoke
with his hand. And a confederate flag.“What is all this commotion?”
The Drac had blood shot eyes
and held a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.
“You must be the exterminator.”
“I am. Judd Crudd. Exterminator extraordinaire.”
Crudd looked puzzled. “You're not the Count?”
“The real Count? No.” he laughed.
“What kind of vampires are you?”
“We're disfigured.”
The vampire started to cry. “We're so lonely and disgusted
with ourselves. Nobody is afraid of us.”
“Yeah, the outside world laughs at us,” the other said.
“That's why we like to stay here.”
All the other vampires flew down
as Alice Cooper played over the the
loudspeaker.
Black widow.
They all wore white T-shirts,
porky pig pot bellies
with lint dangling in the belly buttons.
Greasy John Deere caps.
In memory of Mama tattooed on hairy arms.
These were not like regular vampires at all.
He didn't know what kind of vampires they were.
Redneck vampires?
They bared their teeth.
Crooked.
Distorted.
Some missing.
Look like they couldn't even puncture a balloon.
He was sooooo disappointed.
I ain't gonna get eternal life like this.
“You gonna get rid of our bedbugs?”
“I am.”
All the vampires cheered.
He followed The Drac to his chambers.
Drac opened the lid to his coffin.
The bedbug was five times its size and sat in the middle of the red
silky lining.
It stood up on hind legs.
Hissed.
Baring teeth.
Vampire bedbugs.
He didn't know how to get rid of them kind. Not sure there was even
a way to do it.
Drac said. “These things have been tarin' us up. I don't know
who they think they are. We're the blood suckers. Not them.”
“I can see that.”
“Can you fix it?”
Drac raised his shirt revealing a nasty red rash
all over his stomach.
With bite marks and missing skin.
Not knowing what to do cause these bedbugs have been feeding
on vampires turned them into mutant insects
his Killzzzz spray wasn't going to work.
They were resistant.
Instead he grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall
sprayed the open coffins, Freeze' m out.
then sprayed all the other vampires coffins
and inspected their linings.
When he was done they called him a genius
and were sorry they couldn't give him eternal life,
because their teeth weren't sharp enough to puncture
his neck.
“What a bout a syringe and do some kind of transfer.”
Drac shook his head. “Won't work. Throws the whole saliva thing
off. The puncture has to be a certain depth with the right amount
of saliva released.”
'We're sorry,” the others said.
However, they did come to the agreement and which would allow him to live
with them and spray their coffins on a regular basis and accept deliveries
and perform inspections as needed.
Life couldn't get any sweeter.
And at least once a week they would send him out the gate
to bring back a blood meal.
Now, he could do anything.
Unstoppable,
He was Judd Crudd. Exterminator Extraordinaire.