Archive | Skwibby fiction

Leonides and the papier-mâché spatula

lady wakes up to discover she's a velocoraptor

Gregorina awoke that morning feeling stranger than usual. She’d had vivid dreams of ravaging Leonides, their local butcher, with his own meat tenderizer.

In the dream – or perhaps it would do her good to think of it as a nightmare – Leonides seemed to enjoy the beginning of his beating, but when he realized it was not an overture to a more gentle form of lovemaking, and in fact, the beginning of the end of his life, he cried out in existential anguish: “Oh no! Not with the mallet I use to prepare scaloppini, not such an ignominious and ironic end for poor Leonides!” (Clearly, Gregorina’s unconscious suspected that Leonides had taken an English degree before learning a more useful trade.)

As she dressed, Gregorina could not shake the image of the butcher’s terror, spurting blood, and excellent prices on Bavarian blutwurst.

And all day, she kept having to floss.

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Daisy, Daisy, Call on the Cthulu

daisy Stagbys riding four-seater bike with three Cthulu

At first, everyone was really excited when Daisy Stagbys joined the Brighton Cycling Society. She was young, hot, and had a four-seater.

And then, when she suggested that she had some “friends” who would love to be involved, they were thrilled. (Membership had been in decline for years.)

But something about the new members made everyone a tad uncomfortable. Especially Jeremy Cthulu. (Pictured riding above the rear wheel, just before he devoured the soul of Mira Tendercones in a cloud of black aching dread.)

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The Fridgularity Buy my latest novel, which features a fridge that causes the black aching dread of not having an Internet connection. Available in all formats in all the usual places online:

Paperback ($16.99)
Amazon.com | Barnes & Noble Amazon.ca | Or get $3 off, if you buy it direct from Monkeyjoy Press.

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Alltop is filled with black aching funny. Photo via Twisted Vintage. Originally published April, 2010.

A Robot Regrets

A robot regrets

Meeptron the Bio-Destruction Bot looked out at the wasteland that once was Peoria and thought that his work had actually made it look nicer. Of course, he was programmed that way, so he couldn’t really help it. He thought about that little Red Juggernaut he’d met on Robo-Leave that summer. Gloria.

Yes, sweet Gloria. She was the kind of destructive cybernetic entity that he could see himself settling down with, and perhaps starting a family Bio-Destruction Juggernauts of their own. Of course, they’d have to build the manufactory themselves, because his boss sure wouldn’t help.

And he’d probably have to give up his dream of becoming lead dancer at the Voltron Mega-Kill Ballet. Meeptron sighed, powered up his plasma-death-beam array, and vaporized the puny humans which had survived his initial onslaught.

Alltop is not populated by puny humans either. Thanks to Alan Trotter for the pic. Originally published March, 2009, and now it’s part of the Pirate Therapy and Other Cures collection.

Apocalypse Cow

apocalypse cow

Never get out of the boat. Absolutely goddamn right. Unless you were going all the way. Kurtz got off the boat. He split from the whole fuckin’ program.

And me? I was off the boat the same time as Kurtz. Sure, I’d been obeying orders, but my mind was gone. I was in fields of green and clover. With milkmaids.

Oh man, those bullshit milkmaids…

But I had a job to do, and there would be no welcome, supple fingers pulling on my teats when we got to the end of the river. Only charcoal briquettes.

The barbecue … the barbecue.

Alltop is the catastrophic cattle baron of humor. Originally published on Name Your Tale, 2009.