#bizarro fiction

[aesthetic-otd]

Today's aesthetic is bizarro fiction

[amoralcrackpot]

For millennia, the sun has scared, confused, and mercilessly killed mankind just for the thrill. It abandons us during winter and abuses us come summer. And due to a seemingly endless, wholly passive-aggressive silent treatment, its reasoning for all this will likely remain a mystery for years to come.

But one mystery is finally solved.

A lack of orifices long left us unable to properly take the sun's temperature, leaving scientists to simply guess. But a collaboration between Apple and Frito-Lay saw the first manned mission to the sun in a heroic search for answers.

Unfortunately for 12-year old Daniel Lamb, from One Toilet, Indiana, and winner of the Doritos "Fun in the Sun Sweepstakes," this was a one-way trip.

"I just wanted a PlayStation," said Daniel in his final message, crying like a little baby.

As any parent who ever left their child in the car during a grueling heatwave so as to pop in for a quick root canal or colonoscopy might already know, children are often too stupid to turn on the A/C or crack a window.

But stupid children aside, there's also the matter of fuel.

"Have you seen how poor an iPhone's battery life is?" said Penny Pincher, Apple's V.P. of Tax Evasion. "And don't even get me started on the excessive cost of bundling our ship with a charging cable."

But while the incineration of a young child left his family mildly upset, scientists now know the sun is, at the very least, hot enough to do the same to aluminum and glass.

[infiniteartmachine]

a woman sitting on a ledge with a book in her hand

[judas-is-carrion]

the grand story of johnny killjoy and his girlfriend made of chocolate

here’s the story i referenced in this post (content warnings for violence and general wacky silliness)

Once upon a time, there was a maaaaaaagical place called Neontown, and it was always raining a little bit, and the place  looked like fucking Bladerunner. There in the glowing-glowing lived a boy named Johnny, last name Killjoy. Johnny had a bike, a jacket, and a sweet bass. He also had a girlfriend named Kitten, who was made of different shades of chocolate. We might get to her later, back to the bassist. His hair didn’t matter but his music did. When Johnny ripped it the fuck up on his bass, he made things happen. He could open portals to places and drive his bike through, he could raise the ground and tower over people as he walked past them with platform Earth-boots, he could slap in the street and all the people that he’d meet would feel good for a change. 

One day, the streets of Neontown grew dry, as the constant light drizzle had suddenly stopped. Lines and lines of stage lights burst from the curbs of the streets, black clouds smoothed their way over the sky like icing under an offset spatula, and the veins of Neontown grew bright as your future while the buildings and storefronts with all their humming illumination grew dishwater-dim under the opposition surge. In the town square, the stage lights fell into a spiral pattern, tightening on a black gazebo that had sprung up like a toadstool overnight. As the punks of Neontown watched, a huge pile of candy corn dropped from the gazebo’s high ceiling onto its floor, and from it burst a perky goth babe with rockin’ tits and hair that hung straight down like spinal cords pulled tight.

“Hey guys!” candy corn girl cooed, black-painted lips pulling back over her teeth. “It’s like, sooo good to be here. My name’s Jenna Gehenna~” she greeted, turning in a slow circle in her tulle-y, glittery Party City witch’s dress. A shitty beat-up wide-brimmed witch’s hat was jammed on her head and held in place by a few bobby pins with plastic pumpkins on the ends. Her tights were striped purple and black and she stepped daintily down out of the gazebo in knee-high combat boots. “I’m like, a demon or whatever, and I’m here to wipe out your gross little city and make it Halloween forever.” she finished, balling her hands into excited little fists and bringing her elbows together in front of her to push her boobs up.

“Don’t call our town gross, you’re gross! And where the hell did you come from anyway?” barked a girl in a dog collar with a lime green mullet and spiderweb tights. Jenna’s eyes turned on her, as did the stage lights in the ground. Miss Gehenna skipped over to the girl who had spoken, a pitying look in her eyes. “No, you are gross, sweetie. Y’all are all ‘vomit this’ and ‘diarrhea that’, you know what I mean? You punk guys love being gross though, it’s okay! ‘Do what you love’, right? C’mere…” she motioned for the girl to come into her open arms for an embrace, which, in her confusion, she did.

Jenna squeezed her tightly once, then grabbed her ass and kissed her hard. The girl gasped, trying to step back but she only succeeded in pushing her ass into Jenna’s hands and allowing Jenna to slide her tongue into her mouth. She started kissing Jenna back, getting more excited the more she thought about everyone watching them. Jenna’s latest target of assault thought about pulling away for a moment to ask Jenna back to her place, but could not as something thick and sweet began flowing into her mouth. Recoiling, the green-haired girl tried to break away from Jenna but was held in place by the bimbo Halloween demon’s

killer grip. Jenna sank her fingers into the girl’s flesh where she held her, the two of them tumbling to the ground and still furiously making out.  Dog-collar girl’s muscles started to spasm and her limbs thrashed, and murmurs of “Dude she’s fucking choking!” “On what, dude, Jenna’s tongue? How does that work?” “Shit, am I the only one turned on by this?” snaked through the crowd, and Jenna finally released her victim, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and smearing her pristine black lipstick all the fuck over her face. Meanwhile, dog-collar’s corpse lay on the ground, streams of rich, sweet caramel sauce ran out of the dead tear ducts, nostrils, mouth and ears, as well as the anus and vagina but that was left as a sweet surprise for the embalmer, who didn;t have that much work to do as she was essentially sugar-cured.

Meanwhile, at a terrible fucking motel on the edge of town (I mean a REALLY awful one, that like...NOBODY should go to…)...

Johnny Killjoy sat pla.ying his beautiful bass guitar named Maria, whom Kitten was a bit jealous of, but she kept it in check. He slapped the strings so hard and fast sometimes that Kitten felt grateful that she WASN'T in Maria's place. Johnny was in the middle of a big Garages kick, and as he was jamming out to the chorus of "Mike Townsend is a Disappointment", Kitten glanced out their motel-room window. Chocolate lids slid over candy eyes as she blinked, unsure of what she was seeing. 

“The rain stopped.” Kitten commented.

“HE’S A LOSER AND A TOTAL DIS-, what’s that, baby?” Johnny stopped playing and turned his attention to his confectionary companion. She drew him over to the window.

“Whoa…the atmosphere in town looks like shit. The hell’s goin’ on…wanna go check it out, girls?” he asked the two ladies. Maria hummed an “E” and Kitten nodded, putting on a helmet and some heat-resistant pants so Johnny’s bike wouldn’t melt her legs off. Slinging Maria over his back, the three roared their way into town, kicking up dirt in a joyous spray as they came to a stop. Kitten hopped off Johnny’s ride first, observing the lines of impromptu lighting. 

“Is there some performance art happening or something?” she asked a passing punk, who gave her a panicked stare. “It’s getting really fucked up, you guys should split!” they said, before gliding away on their Heelys.Johnny and Kitten exchanged a look before he un-slung Maria from his back and played a quick riff that enshrouded them all in an aura of protection. The three made their way to the center of town where Jenne Gehenna was hanging punks up on lampposts, their skin cut like the flaps of paper used to coat piñatas, bellies bulging with what Johnny hoped (hoped?) was candy. In the black gazebo, they could see Jenna working on her latest victim, the poor soul still alive and screaming intermittently as the demon force-fed them fistfuls of wrapped candies.

“Okay. You know what? I’m not feeling this anymore. Lemme lay this on ya, Kitten: let’s bail.”

“What? You’re not gonna help them, Johnny?”

“They don’t need my help anymore.”

Kitten stared at him. “Baby…are you sure? You love being the hero. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Johnny shook his head with a smile. “I know, sweetness, I know. I, well, we have been doing this for a long goddamn time. And it sure has felt good. But I just gotta be honest with ya babe, it does nothing for me. Yeah, I get the high and everything, but after that there’s always a come-down and like, that sucks. I can’t just keep chasing that high only to get knocked on my ass and feel like I HAVE to get back up again. So let’s bail. These bozos shoulda done the same as soon as they saw a demon chick jump out of a pile of candy.”

Kitten pouted, but knew Johnny had a point. 

They all got re-settled on the bike, whose name was Joesifeen, and headed out for a place where the people did way less drugs and enjoyed their lives a lot more day-to-day. Literally The End.

[roachsaesthetics]

My aesthetics

After Hours

Alternative

Barbiecore

Bastardcore

Biohazard

Bimbocore

Bizarro Fiction

Bubblegum Bitch

Camp

Chaoscore

City Pop

Cryptid Academia

Cryptidcore

Darkcore

Dazecore

Dreamcore

Dullcore

Erokawa

Ethereal

Femme Fatale

Feralcore

Gamercore

Ghostcore

Glam Rock

Glowwave

Gorecore

Grunge

Gurokawa

Horror

Hyperpop

Indie

Kawaii

Kawaii Gamer

Kimoicore

Lightcore

Lightningwave

Liminal Space

Macaute

Magical Girl

Meatcore

Nostalgiacore

Pastel

Pin-up

Plaguecore

Post Impressionism

Post Punk

Post Rock

Pre Raphaelite

Princesscore

Punk

Queercore

Ragecore

Ratcore

Realism

R&B

Roseboy

Sadpeople

Scrapper

Shadowcore

Skater

Slutcore

Soft Grunge

Spiritcore

Surreal Meme

Synthwave

Techwear

Urban Fantasy

Urbancore

Voidcore

Voidpunk

Weirdcore

[mametzwood]

redraw of the cover of one of my favourite books!

[c-ozwei]

Morgendämmerung

Es war nur ein kurzer Gedanke, der meine ganze Situation ins Wanken brachte. Was wenn das alles hier nicht echt ist? Was wenn es nur ein Traum war? „Geh die Merkmale durch…“ Was spricht für einen Traum? Ich sah auf meine Hände. Ein Wirrwarr das vor meinen Augen verschwamm, aber das könne auch genau so gut an den Medikamenten liegen. Die aufgehende Morgensonne drang durch das Fenster und tauchte den Raum in einen Blutroten Schein. Alles wirke so bedrohlich, dass sich mein Magen immer mehr zusammenzog. Er öffnete die Tür nun ganz und trat in das Zimmer. Mir rann kalter Schweiß von der Stirn und ich wusste nicht was das alles zu bedeuten hatte. Mein ganzes Leben schien wie ausradiert. Ich hatte weder eine Erinnerung an das was ich zuvor erlebt hatte noch wusste ich was in den nächsten Minuten passieren würde. „Du suchst nach Antworten, nicht wahr?“ fragte der Mann, der noch immer nur eine Silhouette in der Tür war. Mein Kopf wollte antworten aber mein Mund verweigerte seinen Dienst. Nein viel mehr stellte ich fest, dass ich garkeinen Mund besaß. „Ich werde dir alles erklären aber wir haben nicht viel Zeit. Er beginnt schon das Interesse zu verlieren“ sagte die Silhouette. Der Mann kam näher, aber nun konnte ich zu meinem Entsetzen feststellen das er wirklich nicht mehr als ein Umriss war. Er war ein Schatten und ich konnte mir beim besten Willen nicht erklären was ich tun sollte, um aus diesem Alptraum zu erwachen. „Wir beide sind nicht real. Das ist das Problem“ sagte der Schatten und senke den Kopf. „Wir sind nur zwei sehr sparsam gestaltete Charaktere in einem Entwurf einer Kurzgeschichte. Es würde mich überraschen, wenn er sie überhaupt zu ende schreibt“. Der Schatten bildete mit seinen Händen eine Art Trichter vor dem Mund um noch lauter Richtung Decke zu Schreien. „Hörst du? Du Arschloch? Was ist das für eine Merkwürdige Scheiße, die du schreibst? Was soll das? Ist das Kunst? Denkst du, du wärst H.P. Lovecraft?“. Der Schatten wirkte ärgerlich.“ Wenn er jetzt aufhört zu schreiben dann stecken wir hier für immer fest und nach Happy End sieht es in diesem Setup Garnichts aus. Der Schatten schrie lauter „Du verdammtes Arschloch jetzt bring die Geschichte zu Ende“ Plötzlich schlug eine Atombombe ein und tötete alle beteiligten.

[bdapublishing]

[readjthompson]

Quick announcement: Next year, The Evil Cookie Publishing will be releasing The Toby Chalmers Saga, a collection that includes improved edits of both of my previously published Toby Chalmers novellas (Toby Chalmers Commits “Career” Suicide and Toby Chalmers Hits a New Low), plus two all-new Toby Chalmers misadventures.

[wrongpublishing]

BOOK REVIEW: Jeremy C. Shipp’s The Merry Dredgers

by Elizabeth Broadbent, Staff Writer.

One review describes Jeremy C. Shipp’s The Merry Dredgers (Meerkat Press) as a “kaleidoscopic nightmare.” That’s true.

A fever dream of a book, The Merry Dredgers delivers an intoxicating blend of cult noir and whodunit. Seraphina’s beloved but spacey sister Eff sends postcards indicating she’s part of a cult; when she falls into a quarry and ends up in a coma, Seraphina infiltrates the cult as a wide-eyed innocent named Corinna. 

Cult: you’re thinking black robes, deep forests, and creepy chanting. Shipps turns the tired trope on its head. Merry Dredgers are a fun-loving bunch all about uniting with Selanthian, a sort of happy energy unpinning the universe. Even better, their home base—the abandoned amusement park of Goblintropolis—conjures up not only the inherent creepiness of a deserted funland, but also its... fun?

This jolly cult mediates in a mirror-maze and tries to get the Eyeball Tree up and running; their elevator talks; “Corinna” and her eventual-girlfriend Nichelle bunk in the abandoned arcade. It’s not short on eeriness, but it cops to the inherent glee of shacking up next to a sort-of-log-flume. 

The supposedly-crazy cultists are also likable. They're richly drawn, engaging characters who will stick with you—stick so well you’ll giggle at their should-be-zany-but-are-genuinely-amusing inside jokes. Shipp’s people are fantastic, and not only for their originality. They add an extra layer to the novel’s dream-like quality (not only is it dream-like, but dreams are also a motif). And, don’t worry: despite its fun, you won’t forget this is a horror novel. Seraphina’s worries and regular hospital phone calls keep the tension going. 

The Merry Dredgers keeps its footing on a tightrope between absurdist fun and dawning dread. Merrily, eerily original, it’s an effortless trope-flipper that reads fast and sticks the landing; fans of absurdism and bizarro works will fall in love. This one’s worth the buy. 

Twitter: @ JeremyCShipp & @ MeerkatPress Instagram: @ jeremycshipp & @ meerkatpress

Author website Meerkat Press website

[jamie-f-kort]

[amoralcrackpot]

For decades, scientists have warned us of the dire consequences of man's inexplicable war on nature: the oceans continue to warm; wildfires overstay their welcome even when you tell them you have work in the morning; and organic life slowly replaced by plastic doppelgangers.

But no study could have foreseen crocodiles spreading conspiracy theories across the internet.

Due to the increased presence of alcohol and fentanyl in the waters in which they live and in the people that they eat, the once fiercely independent crocodiles of Florida are now voting Republican, pistol whipping children at playgrounds, and posting videos to social media in which they claim President Biden is using the postal service to "trans" Americans with gay anthrax.

And while it may be easy to dismiss this as harmless fun by a species not only lacking opposable thumbs, but also the right to vote, researchers aren't convinced.

"As ancient apex predators, crocodiles know better than to attack with reckless abandon," said crocodologist Dr. Allison Gaydor. "They bide their time, luring in unsuspecting prey with talking points about personal liberties, free markets, and small government before striking with a flurry of clips from the Joe Rogan Experience."

And so far, this slower, methodical strategy by crocodiles is working where the "howling, rabid baboons flinging feces at everyone" strategy of modern right-wing grifters is failing. Watching just one video in which a crocodile debates the need for women and minority representation in film and television quickly results in algorithms suggesting similar videos on false flags operations by the PTA, schools providing students with litter boxes, and something about trees causing socialism.

"I can only hope the sea reclaims Florida before it's too late," said Dr. Gaydor.

[cityofchapin]

The Secret Sex Lives of Ghosts by Dustin Reade

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4 out of 5. Let’s Talk About It:  There are books that have such a strong effect on your life they cause you to take a minute. Reflect on all your life’s decisions. They have the power to change your world perception. Books that dig deep into your psyche and rewire the way you think, act, and live your life. They have the power to push you down the road less taken and…

[shinyrednothing]

Ship Of Theseus: A Novel written and illustrated by Jeremiah Strickland is the tale of a grieving writer who has a terrifying existential crisis in the haunted apartment of an art-dealer before traveling 150 years into the future of another universe to meet Skyrat, the superhero he created when he was 7. It’s a darkly funny, disturbing, action packed, mind-fuck of a ride that’s being called “Wildly entertaining,” and “Unlike anything I’ve ever read.” See what all the hype’s about exclusively @ Amazon dot com!

Ship Of Theseus is available now!

Kindle E-Book

Trade Paperback (Amazon)

Illustrated Hardcover Edition (Amazon)

[sparrowlucero]

sorry for all the doctor who art my brain broke

[kathylbrownwrites]

The Two-Headed Lady at the End of the World by Mark Miller: A Book Review

New Book Review at The Storytelling Blog: The Two-Headed Lady at the End of the World. @MontagPress #absurdist #bizarro #fantasy

The Two-Headed Lady at the End of the World by Mark Miller. An absurdist science fiction/fantasy novel from Montag Press. Last October, author Mark Miller visited The Storytelling Blog to share thoughts on writing and preview his upcoming novel, The Two-Headed Lady at the End of the World: A Romance Hotter Than a Thousand Suns. The lady plans to make their grand entrance on 11-22-22 (get it?),…