Chaos the Cat thinks you should snuggle up with your favorite book tonight.
Hey, collectors! Some copies of the mini-hardcover limited edition of FACIAL are available right HERE.
Haven’t seen Gave Up The Ghost yet? Well, by golly, the full anthology Creepers is playing this very weekend in Long Island, New York, at the Macabre Faire Film Festival, which is part of the New York Horror Show!
It’s playing Saturday, January 17th, at 1:15 PM. Check out the full schedule right HERE!
Today I finished “Bad Bratwurst,” which is too short to be a novella but is my longest short story ever. It’s about a bratwurst shop owner and his moral struggle to not sell sausages made from human flesh, even though opportunities to do so keep presenting themselves.
It’s going to be translated into German for a magazine which I won’t name until I know that the editor’s reaction isn’t “Dude, WTF was that?!?” There may not be an English-language publication until a future short story collection, but my next short story collection will probably be a book of all never-before-published stuff later this year, so “Bad Bratwurst” likely won’t appear until late 2016.
You’ll get over it. See? You’re over it already.
Hi, kids! This blog post is for you. Sometimes you want to tell a joke, but your intention is not to amuse, but to annoy. Here’s one just for you!
YOU: What’s worse than finding a worm in an apple?
OTHER PERSON: What?
YOU: Finding half a worm!
OTHER PERSON: Ha ha!
YOU: What’s worse than finding half a worm in an apple?
OTHER PERSON: What?
YOU: Finding a quarter of a worm!
OTHER PERSON: Hmm.
YOU: What’s worse than finding a quarter of a worm in an apple?
OTHER PERSON: I don’t know.
YOU: Finding an eighth of a worm!
This joke goes on for as long as you can stretch it out. There is no final punchline. No reward for the listener’s patience. How far can you take it? A sixty-fourth of a worm? A two-hundred-and-and-fifty-sixth of a worm? Report back!
Because I don’t have time.
Do I have time to play video games for, say, twenty minutes before bed?
Do I have time to play video games for seventy-nine hours straight, skipping work and abandoning personal hygiene, surviving on Mountain Dew and potato chips, eyes bloodshot, a thick line of drool dangling from the left side of my face, communicating only in grunts?
Unfortunately, only one of those scenarios in a possibility.
So I don’t play video games.