Steven Rage's Blog, page 11

"C'mon, Tak, try your luck. You never know, you might win a book!"

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 "Tales of greed, ambition, betrayal, cruelty–and ultimately, salvation. This is not simply for the sake of shock. But maybe you needed to be shocked."

–Violent, Confrontational, and Fascinating, July 11, 2010, by Ray Dittmier

 

Please Note: The Grim Reverend Steven Rage's literary assaults contain graphic violence, illicit drug use, non-consensual extreme sex, and potentially offensive material given the religious references. Be forewarned! Brutal Bible Tales are not for the faint of heart. NC-17. These are NOT your parents' bible stories.

"BELLY": Immanuel the Christ has some nerve. Jonah has already lost everyone he loves to Pilate the vampire and his Harbor drug violence. Jonah now trudges through his days staying as high on Plata as possible. He just wants to be left alone while he waits for his turn to die. The Christ has other plans for him. She sends Her messenger, Pedro, to assign Jonah the very dangerous task of ordering the Herod to dismantle the Harbor's Plata trade. Jonah has a choice: fight or flight. He decides to run. But you can't run from God forever. As Jonah learns the hard way when the 'Edmund Fitzgerald' founders and goes down in rough seas, with the reluctant prophet on board. Job is Satan's Chosen One and he doesn't take kindly to orders from some upstart prophet. Rather than acquiescing, Job thinks caving Jonah's head in with a tire iron is the best bet. Jonah finds himself out of the frying pan, but firmly fixed in the fire. Then the Lord Herself starts dispatching Job's children. One at a time, until the Herod of The Harbor finally obeys.

  

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Belly
by Rev. Steven Rage

Giveaway ends May 29, 2011.

See the giveaway details

at Goodreads.

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Goodreads Book Giveaway

    

For All The Marbles

 

by Rev. Steven Rage

    

Giveaway ends June 29, 2011. See the giveaway details at Goodreads.       Enter to win  

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Fall of a Blood Drinking Drug Dealer
by Rev. Steven Rage

Giveaway ends July 01, 2011.

See the giveaway details

at Goodreads.

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 FROM "FOR ALL THE MARBLES" DIG:

   
The goon squad surrounded me on all sides. The swarm of players de-crying their fate got shakily up from their places before the BINGO screens. Dozens of them began hurling themselves at us. The goons hit the oldies with neural disruptors, making them vomit and shit themselves. The biggest goons used their thick and strong iguana tails to snap at and toss bodily the other geezers out of our way. The weakened geriatric bones of these hapless players shattered on contact. It was soggy and gruesome to hear. Their screams were deafening. If I'd still had a heart, it would have been wrenched right out of me.

  I watched as a goon's fistful of claws sliced across a senior's carotid artery. The hot spray lashed out, stinging my eyes and making my cloudy cataracts blunt even more so. I couldn't see for shit, but I really didn't need to. The oldies were fighting for their very lives, attacking me and my guards as the exit neared. A blue-haired wig flew past my field of vision. I could not even see who it belonged to.

It was bad. Even through the mask and face shield that was meant to protect me from the knock-out gas, I could easily smell the fear as the shit exploded out of hundreds of dying assholes, seemingly all at once. They were begging for mercy from a God that is long gone. A still twitching robotic lower leg prosthesis for a below-the-knee amputation bounced off one of the goons clutching me. The sedative mist was getting thick. The dull, yellow lights came on, sending a ghastly glow on all the frightened, saggy flesh. A pair of corneal implants flew by, hit a wall and bounced on the floor before being crushed by the panicked herd. The noise in the confined space of the gaming hall was deafening.

"THE FALL OF A BLOOD DRINKING DRUG DEALER"

Re-written from "PILATE" in first person, present tense, here is where the Brutal Bible Tales began: Pontius Pilate is cursed to be a vampire: Life after life after life. PILATE is a drug lord vampire in this re-telling of Christ's final days. When given yet another chance to save the Earth's latest Christ, will the re-incarnated Pilate choose to protect Her? Or, will he wash his hands once again? EDITED for a short PG-13 Harbor experience.

 

"FuknPunch", the Unemployed Child Care clown shouts out!

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Hey kids! It's time once again for "FuknPunch



"Herod's compound looms ahead, towering over The Harbor as a plague. Lights show, here and there, in the old refinery. The wind howls like the unseen demons that shriek throughout the complex. I hated this place I've brought the Christ to, but my masters demand such.

I look at Immanuel. Her wrists are bare once more. I sigh and shake my head. I exit the car, and come round to the passenger side. I open the door and help her out. She seem so small to me, deflated. I can no longer sense her abundant power. She is drained, leeched…ordinary.

Immanuel stands beside the car, saying nothing. Herod's cops pull up and park behind Pilate. They file out of their vehicles. I see a small glint of shiny metal, the cuffs returning to Immanuel's wrists. I look at her and she not back. She's staring out of focus at the ground. She appears to be praying.

"Spare me this cup of suffering," I hear her whisper. Immanuel then says: "Not by my will, but Thine, be done." And then she is silent.

Herod's cops align themselves in a concave wall in front of Immanuel and me. They do not take eyes off me, their guns only a quick snatch away. No matter what Matthias told the cops about the Pharisee-imposed truce, I know without a doubt that if I even so much as think about pulling more shit like I did at the chapel, they are going to punch my motherfucking card. Dear God in Heaven do the cops look like they wish I would. The police are all smiling to themselves knowing they would get their chance to give my vampire ass what they're sure I got coming to me.

Sensing this, I grip Immanuel's bicep. I very carefully proceeded through the hole they make in their cop wall. I guide a subdued Immanuel toward the entrance. The cops follow close behind us as we all enter Herod's Compound.

Immanuel remains a passive prisoner as we make our progressive way through the layers of security to Herod's Throne Room, deep in the sub-basement of the refinery. I know the bastard is waiting there for us there.

I am bringing the Herod of The Harbor Immanuel the Christ. I feel as though I am drowning a puppy, but tried my level best to shake it off. Thining like that will get me nowhere but dead. My entire existence depends on the next few hours.

Immanuel moves slowly, walking in her gallows gait like guilty prisoners whom have made their peace and are resigned to their fate. But, I know she hasn't done a fucking thing to deserve what's to be done to her. It is making my hands burn again.

We are nearing the Throne Room entrance. We can hear Herod's laughter right through the

wall. It is well-oiled, Herod's evil. I can feel its thickness and depth. Herod is completely insane and his evil is true. I can feel all of the unseen things whipping all around us, their shrieks I can plainly hear. I do not fear the unseen, but with my crazy itchy hands being shredded by the talons that are making no difference whatsoever, I am getting scared at what I'm about to do.

It is becoming quite plain. Immanuel leans into me, bumping me slightly. And with that simple gesture, the burning has gone away. I now realize that this tiny preacher has scared Herod and the Pharisees. She means much more to them than even reversing the downward selling trend of Plata. This is not going to be a simple execution. It's much more than a business decision to correct an errant bottom line. It is making my heart lurch. The Pharisees are going to allow Herod to have his wicked way with her. I remember the chapel parking lot. The police were ordered by Herod himself to damage Immanuel. I see that now. If the lower ranks were ordered to run a train of pigs on the little preacher, then what in holy hell does Herod have in store for her here and now?

Our group makes it to the Throne Room with Immanuel's cuffs still fixed firmly in place, her head lowered. She slumps submissively and with trapped resign. She makes not a sound. Wicked hatred fills the entire vicinity. It settles into the cracks and dark corners like a steamed mist. If the Throne Room is entered, it can not be avoided. It seems to be waiting for us.

We stop at the threshold. The big iron door is closed and it gives to me the impression that it is breathing. I reach out for the long handle to slide the door open, but stopped myself.

This is wrong, I think. I turn back to the cops behind us. They have their hands on their guns, taking no chances. They're aching for an excuse to end me. Immanuel remains impassive.

It is now, at this exact moment, while I am on the verge of handing her over to Herod, that I finally stop fixating on revenge. I stop worrying about the business that was stolen from me. I stop using grief as the spark for my vengeance and rage. And I finally stop brooding about my pilfered millions.

Even though it was in my best interests, I can't refrain from thinking how off beam this shit is. This thing I'm helping to do to Immanuel is immoral and all the way wrong. I cannot rationalize it away.

I remove my hand from the door. I bend down and brush away the hair from Immanuel's face. She is downtrodden, appears defeated.

"Who are you, little preacher?" I ask her, "Who are you, really?"

Immanuel then raises her head, straightens to her full height. A quick flick and hair falls behind her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes are full and gleaming at they stare into me. A fog forms around the two of us as her power heats the brisk, dank air. She looks right at me, straight and eye to eye.

"Know this, vampire," Immanuel states, "I am the Son of God."

Her hand cuffs open and fall to the floor.

Herod's cops draw their weapons. The guns clear leather as one and I step between them and Immanuel. My back is fully exposed as I scoop Immanuel up and hugged her tight to me. I cover her and her heat hisses against my cold vampire flesh.

I grit my teeth as the fangs drop. The talons burrow into my arms enveloping her. I fully expect to be buffeted with countless bullets in the back for the tiny Christ, but they never come.

I hold on to her for a bit longer and was shaking with adrenaline when I finally put her down. I turn back and see Herod's cops. The cops still have their guns tightly clenched in white-knuckled fists.

I feel an immense wave of relief, followed abruptly by confusion. Herod's cops are on their backs on the floor of the passageway. They're less than ten feet from the Throne Room door and almost posed in their positions. The cops are a triangle of heavy pins, knocked flat by a deaf bowler. It is a silent and deadly strike.

I look from the cops to Immanuel. She graces me with a miniature smile.

"That," she says, indicating the fallen pins stacked neatly on the floor, "that has not been written."

I glance back and see that they are, all of them, dead. I stare at her and see the hand cuffs gone again. I look at the door that separates us from the Pharisees desire. I think I see hope in her eyes. A choice now has got to be made. What'll it be, nigga? Am I in or am I out? Make me decision and make it now. There are only seconds left.

I made mines.

I reach out for Immanuel's hand. "Let's get the hell out of here," I tell her with a harsh whisper.

Immanuel puts her naked wrists up before my face and the cuffs reappear. They close on their own with a snick-snick and snap into place. She lowers them and regards a nigga with her gaze.

"C'mon," I repeat in a whisper both harsh and impatient, "what the fuck's wrong with you, let's go!"

"We stay," she states emphatically, "The both of us."

Immanuel's words stunned me. She really isn't leaving and I can't leave her. I can't believe this is happening. She really isn't leaving. What possible reason can she have for wanting to stay? I am certain she knows what's coming. She knows full well that they are going to kill her. Still Immanuel insists on staying. Why?

Their window of opportunity is closing fast.

"We can make it," I plead. Motionless, she remains. "Why," he try, "won't you let me save you?"

"Why won't you let me," asks the Christ, "save you?"

Before I can consider that, the door slides open with a pounding metallic bang. There is Herod, himself. He stands in the threshold of the open door.

He bids us welcome.

And now we are too late."

 

 
 

PILATE: A BRUTAL Bible Tale, Undiluted, foul and profane original in KINDLE format! Read PILATE in Print, or on Kindle and on the cheap.

 

This is The real Harbor. This place gave me the idea for Herod's Compound.

"But if RAGE get's killed by some crystalmethtweakers …

 

June 20, 2010

By Ray Dittmeier (Louisville, KY) – See all my reviews

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This review is from: You Morbid Westphal (Paperback)

This is a short book; you could read it in a single sitting, as I did–twice. Even so, Reverend Rage somehow manages to give us a story that has the scope of a full-blown novel without skimping anywhere. It's fascinating, scary, out-and-out repulsive at times, and even amusing in a few places. (I love Sammy, the crusty old ghost-dad who lives with Westphal.)

The book tells an intricate story, dark and gritty and bizarre–I don't know if Rage claims them as influences, but it makes me think of Chuck Palahniuk and collaborating on a horror novel–set in a world of drug dealers, prostitutes, porn producers and otherworldly beings. This world, as well as the story, is well-realized and full of the kind of detail that makes it feel authentic. Everything is extremely vivid.

 Westphal, the central character, is a drug-addicted loser who's just one screw-up away from losing his job at a hospital, and who finds he's gotten in over his head with his drug dealer. In fact, I would imagine most of us know, or have known, at least one Westphal in real life. There's much more to it than that, but talking more about the various threads and themes in the story would be running the risk of giving away spoilers.

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Suffice to say it's a story full of imagination and weirdness, a story that invites you to give a little thought to what it takes to maintain some control over your life, and to take a look at your capacity for good and evil.

 "YOU MORBID WESTPHAL"

Kevin Shamel (Pacific Northwest) – See all my reviews

(REAL NAME) This review is from: You Morbid Westphal (Paperback)

 

Do you like to read a book where you're a character in it and you really sorta wish you weren't (but you still totally love that you are)? Do you like reading books that take you out of this world and into the weird, amazing, thoughtful world the author has ready? You won't find a more twisted, delicious, dark, and unique tale of the ups, downs, and insides of dying in some sort of peace than You Morbid Westphal.

This is about angels, demons, and the fight for your soul. It's about people.

Rage tells this story through obvious experience and thoughtful reflection on the world around him. He delivers a refined view of violence and gore, a bright shining bit of love and hope in the gristle and guts of death. He tells a frightening, gripping, original story that will suck you straight in, like it or not. And I'm pretty sure you'll love it.

It's gritty, and realistically crazy. It's gross in just the right amounts. The story is so eloquently presented that you're straight in it for the whole nail-biting ride. I'd say it's masterful. Dark, beautiful, bizarro, and insightful–The Reverend does brilliantly.

I'm an instant fan of Steven Rage. I can't wait to read more.

Available in PRINT!

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Motherfuckers gotta learn to PACE themselves ...

Available in PRINT!

This review is from: You Morbid Westphal (Paperback) 

Fascinating and scary,

 

Join 'FuknPunch' , the Unemployed Child Care Clown …

As soon as I get this thing off me....I'm gonna gut someone...probably Rage put it on me...I'll get him, too...

The blood that blossomed from the center of his chest was only a trickle when it should have been a torrent. The sharpened ice pick stuck there quivered like a plucked piano chord. The dealer eyed the plastic dirty duct taped handle, then the emaciated junkie bitch that had just stabbed him. The fiend still crowed about his weak shorted sack whilst the dealer grasped the pick with his strong hand. He tugged fiercely, but it would not budge. The ice pick was buried in the hard bone of his sternum. He should have been grateful. Two inches to the left and there would be one less nigga in The Harbor.

No matter how hard the dealer tried it would not pull free. The dealer was staring at it, getting more and more frustrated at the bone encased ice pick. The fiend's pealing was getting on his tits and that was a problem he could solve. The dealer let go of the ice pick and a hidden snub-nose emerged from his waistband. He pointed it at the whiny little bitch and made the angry spewing face vaporize in an instant red fog. It was finally quiet enough to think, the loud fuck.

As if on cue everybody ran but a long greasy-haired me. "Shouldn't even be here," I mumbled.

The shaken dealer having heard yet another motherfucker open his pie hole turned and pointed the hot muzzle at me. My face paled. Too frightened to move I shit myself. I was going to die right here, right in the very last place I wanted to be. I found myself staring at a loaded gun pointing bleak and hard into me.

The dealer fired point blank into my chest. I felt the concussion shove me away. I folded my shoulders to each other and collapsed backwards onto the walk. Another customer standing beside me made a dumb move on the dealer; the snub-nose stopping him dead in his tracks. Pieces of junkie speckled the others, dying as he fell.

My chest was bloodless and clean. I searched the front of my torso and found nothing. Holy shit, I couldn't believe it. There were no wounds of any kind; not one. I looked up a grinning fool relieved. The dealer was not amused. And my smile lasted not long.    The dealer seeing me unscathed stepped up again. This time the dealer dropped to one knee to get closer to me and pressed the smoking muzzle to my shiny-slick forehead. It hissed where it touched my sweaty fearful skin. He pulled the trigger and my bowels erupted again. The smell of fear and waste was thick fudgey-goo, but I remained alive and unmolested.

The dealer stood and stepped back. Confusion smeared across his sweating face as he stared at his smoking gun trying to determine why I was still standing while the other junkie lay dead at his feet. The dealer's face then contorted from confusion to unquenchable pain as the chest-buried ice pick moved all on its own. As if grasped by an invisible hand the pick burrowed deeper fast into the sternum with a sloppy crunch. Then a quick snap handle right. The sharp point tore into heart muscle ripping great blood vessels as it traveled, stopping suddenly.

Blood drained wide from the dealer's face as his chest filled with the blood that was supposed to feed his brain. Silent, he fell and all was quiet. For about six and a half seconds the dealer was a dropped stone. He folded in a crumpled heap right next to this stunned dude.

I was then in the dead man's pockets as if by rote without thinking. The rest of the fiends standing close by followed suit, but not before I was able to procure a healthy sack. It contained dealer weight and probably shouldn't be in his pocket.

Not one to look a motherfucker in the mouth I pushed the free dope down by my nuts and turned to run. A big man with long chin braids stood tall before me. He smiled at me like he knew me. And man he was a big fucker too. He seemed like he was waiting for me to say something to him, but I don't know this apparition. I blinked and chin-braids was gone. He dissolved right before my astonished eyes. Who the hell was that?

I hear shouting now and decided it would be prudent to quickly get the fuck up out of there. So, I ran.

I was out of there in a flash. I quickly skirted the nearby park, running hard. I looked over my shoulder, my out of shape breathing making much noise. The dead dealer's shorties were hard on my ass. Skinny fourteen year-olds are fast and these little niggas had guns. They were gaining on me.

I glanced behind me and saw the lead shorty raise an auto pistol. I loosed a girlish squeal and turned left on a dime. I was ducking and covering my head like the sky was falling. Chips of brick building peppered my exposed skin, bullets tearing up the wall. I negotiated another sharp turn. I exited the park running full bore between two buildings. I quickly emerged into a residential block of tight two-story houses.

The Harbor.

I leaped a low chain linked fence and landed in a darkened backyard. The occupants of the still quiet house were long asleep. My fear was over-ripe and all reason a glimmer, causing me to dive head-first into the occupied doghouse. The chained animal awoke. Before I even knew what was what I had the dog's head twisted all the way back around on itself. The neck broke hard, but was muffled by the bear-like fur. I hoped it was quiet enough. The dog stared over its back at its own tail through dead eyes. I let loose the dog's head and set it quiet down. I had never killed anything in my life, but Jesus shit I was scared.

I tried to slow my breathing and the ragged noise that came with it. I hoped I'd outrun my pursuers, but it was not to be. The shorties were there. I could hear them moving about. I closed tight my eyes and bit my knuckles. I wished desperately to vanish, to will myself away, but I could not.

After a few fearful moments when I heard not a sound I forced open my eyes. I stared out the doghouse and up at the night. No stars out tonight only feet.

I saw baggy-ass jeans and the way they terminated into a pair of size twelves. The owner of which began to squat on his haunches. The auto pistol touched the grass and a young boy's face appeared sweat-dotted sideways in the doghouse opening.

The boy smiled at me, not saying a word. I guess it was interesting to the little dude to see a grown man cry. I was dragged whimpering from the doghouse by the pair of gun-toting shorties. They had me by the scruff of my shirt and were pulling me kicking across dew-damp grass beneath a bulging yellow moon.

The two boys stood over my cowed ass. A third stopped before the group panting hard.

The Harbor.

"That him?" the new arrival asked as he fought to catch his breath. They nodded. "Well," top dog continued, "put your shit in his mouth."

The boy that found me first put the evil auto pistol end to my lips. "Open up sweetheart," he told me.

I responded by uselessly turning my head away. The other two kicked me viciously in the stomach and my legs. For fun they stomped my feet. I exhaled with an involuntary grunt. The auto slid roughly into my opened mouth with all the finesse of a prison date.

I turned red. My eyes bulged impossibly. My diaphragm was an immobile spasm and the cold metal rattled my expensive dental work.

"Get the Plata off the fuck and push out his wig," the top dog ordered.

The shorty on standby put his weapon on the doghouse and bent to me. The boy undid the belt. Then he unbuttoned and unzipped me. I was flustered and red-faced. He began to tug my chinos roughly down when they were greeted with fecal assault. The boy stood and cursed. He backed away from me and the stink. Top dog covered his nose and mouth. He looked to the auto pistol holder. The boy kept his shit in my mouth, but blinked and coughed. He appeared to be on the verge of dumping his pork chops.

"Fuck it," top dog decided, "Kill the motherfucker. Then hose his ass off and get the dope."

The Harbor.

The boy with the auto smiled with relief. He positioned himself in a straddle-stance and held his shit with both hands. He was gonna shoot through the front and blow out the back of my head with one clean shot. No one-handed bent wrist bullshit. He didn't want the bullet to angle off through my cheek or jaw. Straight dome was my due. My diaphragm finally dropped and filled my lungs with air. A scream erupted from me as the shorty squeezed the trigger. As I screamed and cowed the auto pistol bucked, spouted flame and shot a dozen bullets into at me at point blank range.

My own pitiful scream was the last thing I heard.

* * * *    

  A formless Pedro entered the back yard just as the top dog ordered me to be shot. Invisible, the grass bent beneath his unseen feet. Pedro stood still and watched as the trigger was pulled. I bounced around on the ground as the bullets buffeted me.

Pedro exhaled in frustration and shook his head. He made his way across the moonlit back yard to where I lay staring at the polluted starless sky staring at naught. Pedro came up from behind my moonlight attackers and reached for one of pair's jersey collar. He grabbed hold and tugged the boy fiercely back to him and then shoved him forward and into the boy straddling me. The two boys fell into a heap together a few feet away. They both looked back, but saw nothing. They heard Pedro's amused cackle. They heard movement coming toward them.

The two boys saw how the grass bent and then nothing as Pedro smacked their skulls together with a crackling bony crunch. My attackers fell dead at his feet. The top dog seeing his boys so easily felled by an unseen foe, turned on heel and ran away. Pedro returned to form. He scooped me up off the ground and carried me swiftly away …

READ RAGE, Assholes!!

Available in PRINT and KINDLE editions ...

Where to Turn When One is Weary of Lame Shit ...

nobody is more brilliantly repulsive …

 

'PHARMACIDE' by RAGE

nobody is more brilliantly repulsive than rage, September 7, 2010

By
D. Gorman "Crystalline Structure Moon" – See all my reviews

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This review is from: The Place In Between (Paperback) reading steven rage is a little like being a mother who ran out of diapers even though you're locked in a room with a baby who has been living on nothing but 5-alarm texas chili. sure, there are times when you want to puke, but you can't help loving the baby anyway. yes, rage is still gruesome, sickening, twisted, gross, horrific, morose, profane, disgusting, morbid, blasphemous, shocking and repugnant. but these are not the only compliments i can bestow upon this promising new author. but we'll get to that bit later. the 3 short stories that comprise this book are pure rage. the first and last story bring us back to that familiar setting, the harbor. these stories have all the requisite characters and elements that you would expect if you've read steven's earlier work. there are vampire drug lords, addicts, whores, demons that crawl out of people's rectums, perverted sex and all the dregs of society in the darkest of dark settings and situations. they are well crafted extensions of his earlier work, and there is even an effort to tie some of the stories together. visiting this setting again was a blast! he really did have something to add that was compelling and kept the pages turning as often as it kept your stomach turning. he even threw in a few surprises like an artificially created chimp-man and a sexy chicken or two. the first story relies a lot on the modern street venacular again, while remaining intelligent and creatively devised. the last two stories were not so dependant on modern slang, as the lead characters were not the sort of (shall we say) 'sludge' that would need to speak that way. this allows a more clear visage of rage's ability to exhibit a writing prowess that is more accessible to a wider audience. the harbor stories do give rage fans a lot to be thankful for in expanding the previous stories with bizarre, twisted putridness. yet, my favorite story by far was the title story in this book. that is because rage steps away from the harbor and explores a new setting with a whole new disturbing set of circumstances. i truly believe that if rage continues to grow and expand and explore new horizons, he can reach his full potential as a great writer. much as before, there is an intelligence to this dude's work. his gift as a storyteller is being more finely honed in this work. the fact that he has spent time working in a hospital is apparent, and it comes through in his stories. i can honestly say this is my favorite of anything i have read from him thus far. he's getting dangerously close to getting a 5-star review from me…..and that's not easy to do when writing something that is so far removed from 'ordinary literature'. so to sum up…..yes, this has all the disturbing, grotesque, alarming, horrible elements that you'd want to see in 3 strories by rage…it also has all the fine storytelling…..and he is growing and improving as a writer. i recommend this collection of stories, but i also recommend that you (metaphorically) stock up on diapers first. if he keeps expanding his horizons, he will be a supurb voice and visionary for our time…even if he remains the demented sick ticket that we all know and love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When One is weary of Lame Shit ...

What does a Grim Reverend read when he's not sacrificing virgins … Part One

Warrior Wolf Women of the Wasteland (Paperback)  

Daniel Togg led a fairly placid life within McDonaldland, working for The Blessed McDonald's Corporation like everyone else that's left in this post-post apocalyptic world. Togg's doing okay, working his mindless gig, making illegal fire-water out of ketchup packets, until he discovers he is one of the many men-folk who seems to be mutating extra limbs. The females of McDonaldland are gradually turning into wolves, becoming more wolf-like as the women become sexually active. Unfortunately for both groups, the mutations of the men and the sexuality of the women are seen as a threat to the stability and purity of McDonaldland. So, out into the harsh and unforgiving environs of the Wasteland, they go.

Besides trying to avoid all of the apartment building sized alpha wolves, the mutated men (outlanders) and the hyper-violent women (wolf warriors) spend their time trying to survive by hitting the McDonald's supply runs and fighting amongst themselves. Until the day comes when all three groups come together for a Wasteland armegeddon and all the wonderfully written bloody visceral violence. Warrior Wolf Women of the Wasteland is CM3′s longest book since Satan Burger and arguably one of his best. I enjoyed the hell out of it!

CM3 is one of the founding members and current stalwart of the Bizarro genre uprising (uprising sounds much cooler than movement, don't ya think?). CM3 is a very prolific writer with 26 books under his belt in less than a decade, and holds great relevence to the Bizarro genre and scene as a whole. And he is a very gracious, nice guy. Meeting his Royal Chop-ness in person can be quite intimidating. He's a big dude. CM3 seems as if he could and would crush your skull with one of his huge mitts with no more effort than it would be for him to squash an aluminum pop can. He's quiet, too. I don't know how someone that displaces so much air can ninja his way so quietly, but he does. Coupled with his darkly garbed uniform, CM3 would make a more than passable James Bond-type villian. But he's not. CM3 is just a writer. One of the best on the planet.

Thank Gods.

Ass Goblins of Auschwitz (Paperback)

I have been digging Bizarro fiction for exactly 13 months, 13 days, 13 hours, 13 minutes…and counting. In that time I've gobbled some incredible stories. As Katt Williams would say: "But this sheet? This sheet right here?" this is pure Bizarro. More than just a weird concept, Ass Goblins of Auschwitz should be the Poster Child of Bizarro. It is weird characters doing weird things in a weird setting. Kind of like Candyland on near-lethal doses of acid. If you ever wanted to quickly explain to a newbie what Bizarro is, toss them this book.

Auschwitz is made of the body parts of children and is tended to by children. The Ass Goblins run a cruel, tight ship. They forced the children from their beloved home in KidLand and have been their slaves ever since. Life expectancy in the cold death camp is horrid,(snowflakes shaped like swastikas)squalid and dangerous (ass-goblins get mad and go into 'sheet slaughter' SS mode)with toilet toads climbing up their hoo-hahs and licking their insides, make bicycles for the ass goblins out of dead children, etc. etc.

The two sets of twins plan an escape after some gruesome medical experiments were performed on them. Will they make out of Auschwitz or will the exiting return of Adolph thwart their plans? You will have to dive in and swim around in Pierce's incredible and zany imagination to find out.

Check this one out. Cameron put the 'B' in Bizarro and he is just getting started. I dig it the most!

Shatnerquake (Paperback)

It is Mr. Shatner's world and we are just in it. There are more William Shatners in Shatnerquake than you can shake a light saber at. My personal fave was the Rescue 911 Shatner, telling all who will listen that this is really happening.

For the Real Shatner, the convention was just one of many he has had to endure. All was going just swell until the worshippers of Bruce Campbell decide to set off a 'fiction bomb' with the intention of wiping from the face of the Earth the very existence of Shatner. Instead, the convention is filled to the breaking point with every character Shatner ever played, including himself, himself and even himself. A veritable Shatnerpalooza ensues with convention nerds getting the same dose of violently comic Burk madness as do the Campbellians and the many Shatners themselves.

I was fortunate enough to see the mad hatter in action, doing his one-man Shatnerquake reading/slash/show at the BizarroCon in Portland last year. It was every bit as zany and cool as he is. I laughed my fool head off.

The book is just as fun. Treat yourself to the madcap mayhem as only a Bizarro Brutha like Jeff Burk can do.

Get your Uhura all dolled up in her shortest red uniform dress and set your phasers to stun. Shatnerquake…is…energized!

Archelon Ranch (Paperback)

What happens to an author's characters when their services are no longer required? Will they accept their increasingly anemic demise? Or will they break out and attempt to be something more?

This is the premise (at least my interpretation) of Bizarro Beef Cake Garrett Cooks's Archelon Ranch.

The story is told from Clyde's POV. Which is interesting being that Clyde is Bernard's brother. Bernard, not Clyde, is the annointed protagonist in this tale. Bernard doesn't appreciate it though. Archelon Ranch is Bernard's destiny, but Clyde's going there too. Whether Garrett Cook (the author and therefore god of this book) likes it or not. Cheeky monkey!

Filled with weird characters such as self-aware headgear, rabid dinos, gilawalruses, a self-absorbed Rev. (may the plot preserve us), randy cannibal Suburbanites and the worst shopping mall you have ever been to.

Archelon Ranch is a crazy weird tale penned by the crazy weird Bizarro pulp-smith Garrett Cook and all he wants is a little Objectivity.

Here's a little taste of the pasta sauce: "There is no future for the drowned, no body for this casket. There are no attendees for this funeral. There are no readers for these poems."

Shoot, son! That's some gorgeous filth right there.

And ain't you glad he did.

Carnageland (Paperback)

Jeez-O-Petes! I'm telling you, Eraserhead Press has such an uncanny knack for mining new writing talent. In Carnageland author David Barbee showcases his talent in a tale that kept me turning the pages and chuckling delightfully. BTW, have you ever seen the Reverend chuckle delightfully? It's pretty Mary. Don't tell anyone.

The alien invader, 898, has been assigned to violently soften up Carnageland prior to the full scale invasion. Carnageland is a world who's inhabitants seem to mimic all of our favorite childhood stories. And not just Rapunzle and dwarves and flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz and whatnot, but also Bizarro versions of Peter Pan pirates and even ol' Harry Potter and his pals.

898 has to slice and dice his way through these popular characters and many, many others (the wizches were superb). 898 must rid any and all opposition to the forthcoming invasion. It is 898′s first mission and he must succeed. Glory and a nice little promotion are on the line. 898 tackles his task with much vim, vigor and splattered bits and pieces.

My favorite 'character' in Carnageland has got to be 898′s weapon of choice: the DOOMSHOOTER! What's so cool about this alien gun is that every foe encountered gets shot with a completely new, weird and wonderfully violent means of dispatch. All kinds of crazy things emerges from the business end of said Doomshooter. I don't want to tell you all the awesome stuff that comes out… that was a big chunk of the fun for the Reverend. I don't want to take that away from you. It would be a sin and awfully hypocritical of me, so…

For a reader as jaded as Rage, this fun Bizarro tale was a breath of fresh air.

Rotten Little Animals (Paperback)

Imagine you are a typical 13 year old boy, just glancing out of your bedroom window. Just daydreaming, drifting along, watching the neighbor lady with sugar MILF plums dancing around in your fevered little head, when something in the adjacent yard catches your eye. Something truly strange. A movie being filmed. With animals. By animals. Talking, acting, filming, directing. And just when your young mind begins to register the shock of that crazy scene, the animal production crew notices YOU. Oh, no. Humans can't know that ALL animals can talk. Nature's delicate balance will be thrown completely out of whack. It is the animal world's only real Law and the film crew just broke it.

The boy must be silenced.

Therein lies the heart and guts of this wickedly funny Bizarro novella from newcomer Kevin Shamel. With Dirty Rat, Filthy Pig, Scaredy Cat and many other marvelous animal characters, Shamel paints his imaginary (we hope!) world of liquor guzzling, dope doing, coital fiending, ultra-violent animals that will make you show a wee bit more respect and love to Fido and Fluffy than you might normally give them.

The pacing of the story is superb and the descent into this mad world was just right. My hat's off, once again, to the Bizarro folks at Eraserhead for another gem of a tale (tail?).

Kevin Shamel's "Rotten Little Animals" is more fun to read than a barrel full of drunken monkeys and randier than a lab full of stoned test bunnies.

Now, if you will excuse me. The Reverend had better take his pit bull, Bennie, out for a nice long walk. You know… just in case.

"Here, Bennie! Daddy loves you…"   

Where to Turn When One is Weary of Lame Shit ...

KINDLE OCCULT

     

 

Kindle Edition!

 

FIVE

The demon walked slowly up and down the Unit.

He touched each patient and peeked over the shoulders

of the nurses as they charted their thoughts

and findings. Each time the demon stopped near one

of the nurses, or any of the other staff, they would

feel even colder than usual. If he stayed long enough,

the staff member would actually exhale a cold plume

of frigid air. They would get an almost overwhelming

urge to either fuck or punch the first person

they saw. The demon was a very bad influence.   

                             

 

Kindle Edition!

  1350, anno Domini

The smell was the worst.

It assaulted like a living, breathing thing. The smell hung on clothing and hair. If you stepped out of the hospital, down to the shores of Mighty Thames, the cloud would stay with you. Not even the cold and bitter wind washed it away.

The vampire didn't care about the stench. The dying came to the London hospital in droves. He cared for them as best he could. He was a physician honor bound to treat the victims of this vicious plague. And then he would eat them.

The physician's rotund. He was of normal girth before the scourge came. The floodgates opened. Black Plague brought an endless stream of blood-filled vessels. Very few survived. The Plague was deadly like that.

The vampire bled as many as he could. Sometimes twenty a day died in this manner, all but dried husks. They were cremated in great funeral pyres. Flames licked the sky and the heavens turned a blind eye to the suffering below.

The physician plump, flushed pink, growing more so by the day. The more blood he drank, the more he wanted. After a time, he could no longer fit into his clothes. He had to have another suit made. He grew out of that one too. And still they came.

He finished her off with one last gulp. The physician dropped her to the rags-covered pallet. Her cooling body settled with ankles crossed, arms slung out either side. He looked at her a moment. She reminded him of – something.

The vampire settled back on the stool, studied his hands. They're burning now. They were bright pink, almost red. The fingers were as plump over-stuffed sausages, hard and rigid. The hands felt on fire, fingers coarse to move. Each subsequent attempt became more difficult. He sweated all the time. The bloody sweat stained his latest suit of clothes, already ripping at the seams.

He stood slowly up, legs cramping. His knees were sketchy from the improbable weight. Crimson sweat popped out on his forehead. It made him look like he just swatted away a swarm of biting insects.

His eyes began to tear. The tears slow at first, then fast. The great drops poured forth from bulging eyes. His swollen face cascaded salt-bloody tears. He slapped tears away and both his ears spurt. Ejaculates of blood shot out ruptured eardrums.

The vampire/physician lay still in the ever-spreading pool of his own blood. His patients' blood. His victims' blood.

A small crowd gathered to gawk and they were disgusted by the scene. But what they saw was not the worst.

It was the smell. That was the worst.

Kindle Edition!

 Chapter Five

Carpe Diem, nigga:

Tacitus had his Herod's lovely neck in both his hands and he was squeezing the life out. He was a wheezy oil rig pumping away on Salome's plump spread thighs. Her moans quick now turned to garbled chokes.

The two of them were copulating in Salome's bedchamber. The new Herod shuddered and then she began to fight. She tried to twist away from the tight grip Tacitus had on her neck. Her attacker responded to this by pulling out of her. He placed all his weight on her. His hard knees were on her slender feminine arms. There was nowhere for her to go. She flattened out on the bed and he squeezed all the more. Salome managed to slip an arm free. She reached up and grabbed a handful of his hair. Tacitus grunted with the pain, but kept squeezing until she went limp beneath him.

He released her neck and rolled off her. Tacitus stood beside the bed of his Herod. He was naked, breathing hard and dizzy. He caught his breath and the dizziness dissipating with the slowing of his vital signs. He looked down to her, the one he had craved more than his mother's milk. Salome was still alive, but she moved not.

Tacitus dried off his shit. He dropped the come towel on the throw rug covered cement floor. Giant foot-shaped indentations peeked out from under carpet. There was no one left to explain their origin. Salome had told Tacitus that the Devil did it, but he thought it was bullshit. It was probably just some drug-addled memory from when she was her Uncle Herod's Plata-addicted play thing.

Kindle Edition!

 

 III

Mr. Big Winner:

I'm the lucky one.

My knees popped and cracked as I stood victorious. I stood too quickly, too excited. I forgot to hold my breath. I took in a big one to let loose my WHOOP. The sedative in the foggy mist made me swoon as soon as it touched my wet lungs. I could barely rebel out my victory yell. Hands grabbed hold of me from all directions. They belonged to the Halflings that made up most of Chess Master's goon squad. Hands are a bit too generalized. Nevertheless, I witness a cacophony of swirling flurry of flesh, feathers, fur, claws and scales. In a furious rush a protective shield is forced roughly over my face. One of the more expensive dental implants in my mouth has been loosened in the exchange. I tried my level best not to choke on it as they try to hustle my old ass out of the gaming hall.

The goon squad surrounded me on all sides. The swarm of players de-crying their fate got shakily up from their places before the BINGO screens. Dozens of them began hurling themselves at us. The goons hit the oldies with neural disruptors, making them vomit and shit themselves. The biggest goons used their thick and strong iguana tails to snap at and toss bodily the other geezers out of our way. The weakened geriatric bones of these hapless players shattered on contact. It was soggy and gruesome to hear. Their screams were deafening. If I'd still had a heart, it would have been wrenched right out of me.

Kindle Edition!

 

 III

"DR. JONATHAN PENDER"

Three-point-Zero

Pender stood in line at the SaveCo pharmacy near his home and waited his turn. It was near noon and there were still several people ahead of him. He was beginning to feel trapped and his ragged nerves were protesting. It was well past his time. Pender was afraid the shakes that were ramping up would become severe enough to be noticed. He was embarrassed by his circumstances and was constantly trying to hide it from people.

I‟ve got to get a handle on this, Pender thought. The line really isn‟t that long.

Pender glanced over the top of the ten people in front of him to the customer service counter beyond. It might as well be one hundred miles away. He could feel a big pussy-fat panic building. Pender still had his emergency Quaalude left. It rested down at the bottom of his right front trouser pocket. He thought that right this very minute would be a darn good time to use it. Pender thrust his hand down deep into his pocket, retrieving both a candy mint and the pill. The both of them he popped in his mouth. He chewed them together rather loudly and with great relish. Just the thought of how the pill will soon relax him made Pender visibly content.

Pender glanced around at the customers milling about. He wondered how many of the respectable-looking people had a drug habit as nasty as his.

I hope a lot of them, he thought. The line for prescription refills had shortened by one person. I‟d hate to be the only one. A decade of higher education and advance training costing nearly one hundred thousand Notes and worth infinitely more, Pender mused wryly. All so I can become a god damned junkie. I have become the butt of my own stupid joke.

Kindle Edition!

 

A beastly happy Herod is presented with the severed heads of Pontius

Pilate and Immanuel Christ. But he doesn.t see Michael as he stalks toward him

with a purposeful grimace and a terrible sound. He grips the hilt of his fiery

sword and pulls it free, still moving. Herod looks up and sees a pissed off

archangel bulling through his china shop. Herod.s smile fades into confusion as

Michael raises his sword. The archangel slices a downward arc at him. Herod is

still trying to gauge the level of danger as his torso is split from right neck to left

waist. He separates top from bottom, slides apart and drops dead to the floor with

two separate thuds.

The blood and filth-stained cops stand dumbfounded. Pleading silent, they

stare fearfully at Michael. He sheaths his Retribution, the flame dying as he does

so. Michael notices the men. They are quaking now as children that are being

taunted by bullies. The angel lets loose the hilt of his sword and points to both

pieces of Herod, bleeding all over the Compound floor.

"Repeat Offender," he tells them.

And then Michael winks out, just as She instructed. Leaving the cops

unmolested, forgiven and unharmed.

For God still loves this world.

Inexplicably, She does.



When One is weary of Lame Shit ...

 

 

A New Vision of Purgatory …



The Doomed ...

Dark, mad, crazy as a fuckin' bed-bug shit from the Most Depraved Writer in Print. Recognize.

The Place in Between:

When Del is sent pictures of his wife's latest affair, he reasons a .45 caliber bullet will answer his problems. To Del's dismay, that's only the beginning of his time spent wedged in the place in between. Luci's lover tortures Del relentlessly. Del wants to recover just enough to seek revenge on them both. Sure enough a demon shows up with her silky-sweet promises. Then the ambiance twists dark and cruel beyond anything any one of them could've imagined.

  Blood and Bubblegum:

It's colder than frozen shit down here in the dangerous tunnels of The Harbor in the post-cataclysmic world (ACE). Juan and I find ourselves here, in this horrible place because of The Good Doctor. His organic narcotics trade is booming. Juan, Mary and I want in. We have to find TGD and the nocturne, see if they will let us. We are down. We are hungry. And we are bringing Blood and Bubblegum to sweeten the pot. All of our dreams will come true. The only uncertainty is Mary and Juan living long enough to reap the rewards.

Bad Notion, Traveling Potion:

The second day of the fifth waxing moon, in the 24th year, ACE. The frozen earth of The Harbor is in the grips of a new Little Ice Age. The human populace is down to just one-third. They are forced to exist in long, dank tunnels and cramped domiciles underground with The Good Doctor and his creations of Halflings and other freaks and geeks. TGD's latest organic narcotic discovery goes LIVE and becomes self-aware. The bad notion traveling potion makes meat puppet users do its unholy bidding. Then the monster decides to turn on TGD, the Creator. Not the best idea, this. But it sure is going to be fun to watch.

Excerpt:

Yr:09.ACE.13n.10

Two days ago:

Juan went back to the same dark shoddy bar, again.

And, again, he went without Mary. She stayed

away to tend to Bubblegum, keeping her stoned

and happy. The comely coop-chick still thought they

both had a sex crush on her. They let that cluck-fuck

fantasy remain intact. We decided that it would be

prudent and to our advantage to keep from telling

her the whole truth. At least not until our hand was

called. None of us ever mentioned me.

Morbid is not everyone's favorite late-night radio

talk show host. Of this I am quite aware.

"I want to shove it up her tiny stink-hole," I say,

by way of example. "Please tell me I can." I am not

the politest of company. I don't really know of any

unholy shit monsters that are. I guess that it kind of

goes with the territory.

"Maybe," Juan told me, "we'll have to see how this

whole thing plays out."

"Yes, we will," I agree. It's not easy being green.

"Let's not talk about that shit right now, Morbid,"

Juan replied, and rightly so. "
"Yeah," I say with all the forced bravado I could

muster, "Let's bag us a vampire!"

Juan and I needed to find the nocturne in a bad

way. Juan and Mary were in hock up to their eyeballs

keeping the hen high on Plata. This shit is crazy

expensive.

If we didn't rustle us up a steady source

of income soon, the goon squad would find us.

That's bad, real bad. They will send more than

enough knuckle draggers to see us that even I, the

unholy shit monster, won't be able to save Juan and

Mary. Motherfuckers are as serious as a heart attack

when it comes to their wet, sticky cash money. And

without Juan, I would be lost. The nocturne must be

found.

This time we needed a face-to-face meeting. It's

frustrating because we hadn't been able to locate the

elusive blood drinker. We could hardly believe it. All

this time and work and we can't even find the nocturne.

And once we do (heaven help us) the real

work will begin. No wonder Juan was so edgy.

Other than this crap-awful bar down here

amongst the dregs, we had no real clue of how to

find him. Nobody knew the vampire, or where he

cribbed or even how to contact him. It didn't matter,

however. Juan wanted no-one but his Mary, him and

me in on this plan.

The Harbor may be seen as nothing more than

a dystopian ghetto shit hole, and it most certainly

is, but we knew small town rules still applied. Everybody

knew everybody's business down here in

the great stinky half-frozen tunnels. Everyone knew

who was zooming who. It's just like old Mayberry, but

with a much higher body count.

Except in Mayberry, Andy and Barney wouldn't

let you get the skin flayed off your body while fucking

a dead dog for a 5K NewRupee auto-deduct.

"Fucking squares!"

Pontius Pilate re-incarnated as a drug dealing vampire … realfuckinweird.

Pilate: A Brutal Bible Tale

By Reverend Steven Rage 

Note: This book contains graphic violence, illicit drug use, non-consensual extreme sex, and potentially offensive material given the religious references.

vivid, explicit, inventive and engrossing…with fangs on it!, May 30, 2009
By D. Gorman "Crystalline Structure Moon" – See all my reviews
This review is from: PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale (Paperback)

Overall, I found this to be a great, rather grizzly book with a fine grasp of horror, modern culture and even a certain reverence. Rage blatantly gawks at the darker side of our modern world and draws certain biblical parallels…using vampires. He adeptly mixes our current youth venacular with graphic, brutal horror imagery, a respectable dark poetic prose and a decisive intelligence. This is an author I'd like to see more of. The violence, and sex references are raw, explicit and he just holds nothing back. His grasp of the underside of our culture and the drug trade filter through in a gritty, unapologetic in-your-face prose. But he's not afraid to display an impressively morbid poetic side. The plot is well-thought-out. It is a grimly well paced thrill ride of horror and suspense. You just have to keep turning pages to see what happens next. His parallels to the modern story and the biblical text of the last days of Jesus are inventive and inspired, in a grotesque deformed sort of way. There is material here that I'm sure would cause religious conservatives to say, "There is blasphemy here that would make Jesus roll over in his grave (you know, if he hadn't already risen from the dead)!" Yet, there is a strong, revery that shows a certain connection to faith. Personally as an agnostic, I would have enjoyed the book more if Rage had avoided the religious connections and just stuck with a straight vampire story. But that's just my personal opinion. There is a religious connection that comes together as the book rolls along, but it is still a graphic, nasty horror tale with vampires, drug lords and even a little sex. Rage's command of story and pacing shows a lot of promise for the future. And although I'd like to see him stick to more strictly secular horror stories, this is a brutal, graphic author I'd like to see more from. As someone who enjoys graphic, explicit horror, I can strongly recommend this book…and keep 'em coming, Steven! Never let your fangs go dry!

Product Description

Pontius Pilate is cursed to be a vampire. Life after life after life.

PILATE is a drug lord vampire in this re-telling of Christ's final days. When given yet another chance to save the Earth's latest Christ, will the re-incarnated Pilate choose to protect Her? Or, will he wash his hands once again? Be warned: The Harbor is wicked. The violence is graphic. The sex is brutal and the terror is palpable. PILATE is not your parents' bible story….

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

from Chapter 39…. The man standing before Judas was eight feet tall, if he was an inch. He stood there, watching the dead vampire. The man's stare made Judas feel he was a used car, bought for a song. He stood at the edge of the stand of trees.

"Who are you?" Judas asked, afraid. The obscenely tall man looked down at him.

"I am the Piper," Lucifer replied. "I am here to get paid."

With that the Mighty One turned on heel. Enormous footprints sinking inches into the grassy parkland followed him as he melted into the night. Satan went now to prepare a special spot for Judas Iscariot. A nice chilly spot shall be reserved for the damned vampire in the Pit of Despair. Where he shall be tormented: day and night, for all time. Until Judas begs for the pain like a warm glass of milk and forgets who he ever was.

A rustling came from the park trees, high up in them. Judas' eyes darted up and he saw them.

"Now is time," Judas heard them say. They tumbled down from the trees.

The three demons hit the ground running. They converged on Judas' shoulders. One demon slid itself around to the vampire's face and grabbed hold of both ears. The demon shoved it in and furiously thrust the vampire's lipless mouth. The demon pumped maniacally, quickly ejaculating. Clumps of greenish/brown rocketed out Judas' nose. His muffled, gagging protest coincided with tree roots erupting from spongy earth. The tree roots slid up over his hands and feet. The roots tugged them tight to the ground.

Judas struggled in vain as the other two buried claws in his skull. They were going to drink of the soup his fatal stroke had cooked up for them. The demons planned to rip Judas to shreds and dig in his brains with their forked tongues.

As soon as they could pry the lid off.

PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale by Steven Rage (Paperback – January 5, 2008)

$12.95 $11.65

In Stock

 

Web Site
PILATE on Amazon!!

 

 

new from MorbidbookS:





KINDLE now, PRINT coming real soon …


"RAGE PRIMER" Stories and Such by: REVEREND STEVEN RAGE

Thank you most sincerely for your interest in the work of RAGE. The following primer is a chilling stew of characters, situations and backgrounds that permeate my first half-dozen books. It is an introduction to my world and you are most welcome. Enter of your own free will:

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

Surest Way I Know How

Blood and Bubblegum

Jonah

Shirk Comes Calling

Meet Pilate

King

Physician

Torturer

Newborn

Uncle Tugmunkee

About the Author

Interview the Reverend

Links of Rage

Great News! "The Place in Between" is now on KINDLE, shnigga!

AVAILABLE NOW!! 

Product Description:

Three cuts of bizarre hardcore horror from the macabre mind of the grim Reverend Rage. Three sordid tales of demons, revenge, botched suicide, organic narcotics, torture, halflings, freaks, vampires and a post apocalyptic society coming apart at its seams. Three trips to the dark side that'll leave you reeling… yet unable to look away.

Dark, mad, crazy as a fuckin' bed-bug shit from the Most Depraved Writer in Print. Recognize.

The Good Doctor was on the other side of the subterranean exam room, nodding his head at her. She‟ll get what‟s coming to her, no worries. There are proper procedures to follow, my beaked beauty. There are no short cuts in good medicine. The Good Doctor pulled off his floor-length lab coat and wrapped it around a wire coat hanger. He loosened his tie, undid his shirt. The Good Doctor kicked off his loafers, unbuckling his belt as he walked toward Trudge and Drudge. He followed his huge, pharmaceutically enhanced erection. The conjoined twins stared out of three eyes, at some unknown subject at some unknown distance. The eyes were all the same washed out, milky-white, baby blues. The Good Doctor stopped in front of their cage, were they sat mewling and drooling out of their two mouths and sloppy down their one chin. He discarded the remainder of his outfit and slipped on a lovely gold sequined ball gown. He tied back his salt and pepper dreadlocks, tugged up his gown and stuck his pecker into Trudge‟s mouth. Drudge‟s over-sized tongue lapped sidewise at it. The Good Doctor took a silver pen casing and scratched at the dandruff on the twins‟ aircraft carrier of a melded cranium. Their sparse hair coated with Uptown. He pushed and shoved the mostly white dandruff powder into a tiny pile. The Good Doctor bent at the waist and snorted it up. He put his head back inadvertently popping his cock out of Trudge‟s suckling toothless mouth.

REVIEWS:

the place in between, November 25, 2010

By nuff b. ess –

The Place In Between (Paperback)

As a true connoisseur of the horror genre, I must admit I was verily disgusted and appalled by this piece of "Morbid" and I am certain that this was the author's intent. It takes a sincerely sick, drug-addled, putrified brain to come up with a world-view this demented. The "Reverend" must be very proud. If you enjoyed the Infernal trilogy by Edward Lee, then you will probably get off on these tales of another true hell where all rules no longer apply and the most profane things occur. I wish Reverend Rage a massive following so that one day my autographed copy might be worth something on Ebay. Help other customers find the most helpful reviews

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4.0 out of 5 stars Hardcore Horror & Bizarro Collide…, October 30, 2010

By Nick Cato "nickyak" (Staten Island, NY United States) – See all my reviewsThis review is from: The Place In Between (Paperback)

The three stories presented here are tied to an apocalyptic underground community known as The Harbor (two take place post, while the title tale goes down before all hell breaks loose).

In 'Blood and Bubblegum,' we're introduced to some seriously strange characters who are involved in an ever-growing organic narcotics trade, including protagonist Juan and a fecal-demon that lives in his rectum. This is by far the weirdest entry here, and features a fresh look at vampirism.

'The Place In Between,' shows that a revenge story can be done in a fresh manner: Del's wife Luci is having an affair with her drug supplier, Sancho. Sancho and Luci eventually manage to get custody of the invalid Del, and Sancho uses this as payback time from their navy days (apparently Del had done something to ruin Sancho's career). The story becomes an extreme torture tale, one that made me wince a few times…but Del manages to turn the tables via a Faust-ish deal with a demon. Rage also gives another fresh spin here on ghosts, making this a perfect blend of hardcore horror and bizarro goodness.

In the final piece, 'Bad Notion, Traveling Potion,' we return to The Harbor and learn more about The Good Doctor (responsible for creating drugs and mutants) and his created servant, the scene-stealing hybrid man/chimp, Tugmunkee. This one was a bit of a chore to follow, but in the end Rage brings it all together. While some people in the bizarro community frown upon stories centered around drug use, this one works as the "tripping" scenes are just a side-note to the real weirdness.

THE PLACE IN BETWEEN is gross, disgusting, funny, horrific, and disturbing, yet at the same time it's quite entertaining. Rage writes with his conscience thrown out the window (that is, if he had one to begin with), yet unlike some more extreme stuff I've read, he actually knows how to WRITE a story around the grue. I'm keeping my eye on this guy as he truly lives up to his last name.

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5.0 out of 5 stars Another visit to the Harbor…, October 24, 2010

By Ray Dittmeier (Louisville, KY) – See all my reviews

(REAL NAME) This review is from: The Place In Between (Paperback)

This is my third Steven Rage book, and I'm going to admit that I always have a hard time trying to figure out what to say about his work. The stories, the characters, the world it all takes place in–everything's so intense that it becomes difficult to figure out what elements to grab onto.

Okay, so, with that out of the way… With this new one, The Place in Between, Rage gives us three stories. Two return us to The Harbor, a dark, gritty world full of sex, violence, greed, cruelty, exotic drugs dealt by vampire dealers, people trying to screw one another over, and anything else you might expect to go hand-in-hand with all that. At first glance, this world seems comfortably far from our own, but on reflection, it appears uncomfortably close. To my mind, The Harbor (rather than the characters or the stories) is the focal point. It's more than a setting or even a character of sorts. It's a worldview (and one I can only hope is not the sum total of Rage's own real-life worldview).

The title story goes outside The Harbor and gives us a look at Del, a man who, when confronted with evidence that his wife was cheating, unsuccessfully attempts suicide and ends up confined to a wheelchair, unable to speak or even breathe on his own. And then he's released to the care of his cheating wife and her lover. To the outside world, they're a devoted wife and good friend. Privately, they taunt, torment and torture the helpless Del–until a demon shows up to help him. Ah, but it's not quite that simple: Rage starts the story out with the Euripides quote, "The gods visit the sins of the fathers upon the children." And Rage weaves this theme into the characters' backstories, giving the story an extra dimension.

If you're already a Rage fan, this is a worthy addition to your collection. If you're not, I think it would be a good starting point–but only on a day when you're ready to be adventurous and deal with something that might come across as a bit confrontational.

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5.0 out of 5 stars Sick, Disgusting, Vile…and Genius, October 7, 2010

By Eric Mays "Bizarro Author of "Naked Metam… (Richmond, VA) – See all my reviewsThis review is from: The Place In Between (Paperback)

Sick? Absolutely. Genius? Perhaps. Rage? All the way.

We have a certain adoration for Steven Rage at the Authors Speak. He may be one of the sickest, most twisted writers writing today, but there's a mad brilliance to his work. Reading one of his texts is like growing wiser while simultaneously suppressing the urge to vomit. And, there's the funny, too. Rage brings the funny in a big way.

I'm no fan of shorter fiction. I'm not sure why, and I'm not sure why I feel the need to say that everytime I review a collection. I guess I say that because it speaks worlds when I do like a collection. "The Place in Between" is a brilliant collection of some of Rage's best work to date. And, if you're going to do short fiction, at least tie it together. Steven Rage does this flawlessly.

On the surface, the stories in "The Place in Between" are some classic noir pieces that we've heard before. If you've read Rage's previous works, well, you know the man has a few tricks up his sleeves. Rage pulls out all the stops to showcase his twisted reality in which these tales take place. The landscape itself becomes a character of his crazy brain, thus giving these somewhat familiar tales a whole new slant.

"The Place In Between" is the title of the strongest piece in the collection. Imagine a Fasutian tale that were written and directed by John Waters and David Lynch and you start to gather a little of where Steven Rage's mind is. The book feels heavily influenced by both talents – the seedy, dark, weird spliced with the scatological.

Go ahead and order it, folks. But be warned: this book is disgusting. You'll need a strong stomach to handle it. But the reward and payoff is huge. It's not gross for the sake of gross. It's dark fiction at it's finest.

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4.0 out of 5 stars nobody is more brilliantly repulsive than rage, September 7, 2010

By D. Gorman "Crystalline Structure Moon" – See all my reviewsAmazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)

This review is from: The Place In Between (Paperback)

reading steven rage is a little like being a mother who ran out of diapers even though you're locked in a room with a baby who has been living on nothing but 5-alarm texas chili. sure, there are times when you want to puke, but you can't help loving the baby anyway. yes, rage is still gruesome, sickening, twisted, gross, horrific, morose, profane, disgusting, morbid, blasphemous, shocking and repugnant. but these are not the only compliments i can bestow upon this promising new author. but we'll get to that bit later. the 3 short stories that comprise this book are pure rage. the first and last story bring us back to that familiar setting, the harbor. these stories have all the requisite characters and elements that you would expect if you've read steven's earlier work. there are vampire drug lords, addicts, whores, demons that crawl out of people's rectums, perverted sex and all the dregs of society in the darkest of dark settings and situations. they are well crafted extensions of his earlier work, and there is even an effort to tie some of the stories together. visiting this setting again was a blast! he really did have something to add that was compelling and kept the pages turning as often as it kept your stomach turning. he even threw in a few surprises like an artificially created chimp-man and a sexy chicken or two. the first story relies a lot on the modern street venacular again, while remaining intelligent and creatively devised. the last two stories were not so dependant on modern slang, as the lead characters were not the sort of (shall we say) 'sludge' that would need to speak that way. this allows a more clear visage of rage's ability to exhibit a writing prowess that is more accessible to a wider audience. the harbor stories do give rage fans a lot to be thankful for in expanding the previous stories with bizarre, twisted putridness. yet, my favorite story by far was the title story in this book. that is because rage steps away from the harbor and explores a new setting with a whole new disturbing set of circumstances. i truly believe that if rage continues to grow and expand and explore new horizons (especially in new settings), he can reach his full potential as a great writer. much as before, there is an intelligence to this dude's work. his gift as a storyteller is being more finely honed in this work. the fact that he has spent time working in a hospital is apparent, and it comes through in his stories. i can honestly say this is my favorite of anything i have read from him thus far. he's getting dangerously close to getting a 5-star review from me…..and that's not easy to do when writing something that is so far removed from 'ordinary literature'. so to sum up…..yes, this has all the disturbing, grotesque, alarming, horrible elements that you'd want to see in 3 strories by rage…it also has all the fine storytelling…..and he is growing and improving as a writer. i recommend this collection of stories, but i also recommend that you (metaphorically) stock up on diapers first. if he keeps expanding his horizons, he will be a supurb voice and visionary for our dark, backward, malevolent times…even if he remains the pessimistic, ignoble saint and demented sick ticket that we all know and love.