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Monday, October 12, 2009

armed to the teeth with LIPSTICK:12.

by Blag Dahlia


CHAPTER 12: ENOUGH RUTHLESS OBSCENITY





Walking up the dung brown staircase of Precinct 5-O was almost like coming home. Pigs the universe over share a love of senseless violence and no taste in interior decorating. Shapeless meter maids, their assets like the back of a Greyhound bus ambled by on their way to traffic court. A black kid flanked by two white uniforms got bounced along the corridor. Like a john caught red-handed I wondered why I came in the first place.

My mind drifted to the days of wayback, when Mars was a wide open planet and The People really needed us. Rescuing fresh faced innocents from nuclear gang rape, keeping the press free of bomb planting goons...I even helped an old lady cross a minefield once.

Then she came along. Six feet of sub-atomic gash on spiked heels. That's when the nightmares started and the reel and rock and the methedrine I.V.'s. But she never got my soul, and when push came to shove I pulled the plug like a good little soldier. Only bad dreams don't die. They multiply like rats. And I'd been running so long I wasn't getting anywhere fast.

I had to find Suzy, and not for my soul, damned as I was. No, just for the fukk of it. And if these earthling flatfoots could help me, so help me, I'd use them.

I came to a door that said 'VICE' and opened it wide. Caught in the heat of conversation these rookies didn't even notice me. I heard the tail end of a bad joke and the roar of nasty laughter.

"Alright you clowns, enough ruthless obscenity. How goes the homo hunting?"

This loaded query was posed by a crew-cut mastodon of a man, three-hundred pounds if he was an ounce, with a dull glint in his eye that said--touch me, I'm sick.

A beat cop with stubble peeking out from under pancake makeup finished daubing at his lips with 'Queen Crimson #5' and said in a gutteral Brooklynese--

"Just peachy, Lieutenant. This little Halston number you picked up for me catches more queers than a douche full of vaseline."

Now I've worked undercover, even under the influence, but these nuts were so caught up with fruit baiting they still hadn't noticed me. I wondered how the guy in the mini-skirt pulled any johns at all with a badge pinned to his blouse and a big yellow happy-face sticker that read--'Hi! my name is Sgt. X.' He looked up at his partner.

"I just wish I could get some help from the Sarge here. Every time I need him he's in the latrine."

A squinky little termite in white labwear looked up from a reeking microscope, pure venom on his face.

"How many times must I tell you, idiot, I'm collecting samples!"

The Lieutenant and Sgt. X snickered like they knew what was coming next, but the funky doctor just kept yakking onward.

"The Scatology department is grossly understaffed and underappreciated. I'm about ready to wash my hands of the whole operation. And where is that lab assistant I was promised? Must I labor alone like Sisyphus forever?"

"Hey, you said I was in charge of Sisyphus this week, and gonorrhea too, Lieutenant."

I'd heard just about enough of this internal combustion, so I entered stage left.

"Simmer down ya milky meat-toasts. I'm Doolan--VVK."



Click here for
CHAPTER 13: JESUS ON PROM NIGHT

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Archive of Stories
and Authors

Callum Leckie's
THE DIGITAL DECADENT


J.R. Torina's
ANTHROPOPHAGUS


J.R. Torina's
THE HOUSE IN THE PORT


J.R. Torina was DJ for Sonic Slaughter-
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Slaughterhouse Records (metal record
label), and was proprietor of The Abyss
(a metal-gothic-industrial c.d. shop in
SLC, now closed). He is the dark force
behind Scapegoat (an ambient-tribal-
noise-experimental unit). THE HOUSE
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Sean Padlo's
NINE TENTHS OF THE LAW

Sean Padlo's
GRANDPA'S LAST REQUEST

Sean Padlo's exact whereabouts
are never able to be fully
pinned down, but what we
do know about him is laced
with the echoes of legend.
He's already been known
to haunt certain areas of
the landscape, a trick said
to only be possible by being
able to manipulate it from
the future. His presence
among the rest of us here
at the freezine sends shivers
of wonder deep in our solar plexus.


Konstantine Paradias & Edward
Morris's HOW THE GODS KILL


Konstantine Paradias's
SACRI-FEES

Konstantine Paradias is a writer by
choice. At the moment, he's published
over 100 stories in English, Japanese,
Romanian, German, Dutch and
Portuguese and has worked in a free-
lancing capacity for videogames, screen-
plays and anthologies. People tell him
he's got a writing problem but he can,
like, quit whenever he wants, man.
His work has been nominated
for a Pushcart Prize.

Edward Morris's
ONE NIGHT IN MANHATTAN


Edward Morris's
MERCY STREET

Edward Morris is a 2011 nominee for
the Pushcart Prize in literature, has
also been nominated for the 2009
Rhysling Award and the 2005 British
Science Fiction Association Award.
His short stories have been published
over a hundred and twenty times in
four languages, most recently at
PerhihelionSF, the Red Penny Papers'
SUPERPOW! anthology, and The
Magazine of Bizarro Fiction. He lives
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and is also a regular guest author at
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Tim Fezz's
BURNT WEENY SANDWICH

Tim Fezz's
MANY SILVERED MOONS AGO

Tim Fezz hails out of the shattered
streets of Philly destroying the air-
waves and people's minds in the
underground with his band OLD
FEZZIWIG. He's been known to
dip his razor quill into his own
blood and pen a twisted tale
every now and again. We are
delighted to have him onboard
the FREEZINE and we hope
you are, too.

Daniel E. Lambert's
DEAD CLOWN AND MAGNET HEAD


Daniel E. Lambert teaches English
at California State University, Los
Angeles and East Los Angeles College.
He also teaches online Literature
courses for Colorado Technical
University. His writing appears
in Silver Apples, Easy Reader,
Other Worlds, Wrapped in Plastic
and The Daily Breeze. His work
also appears in the anthologies
When Words Collide, Flash It,
Daily Flash 2012, Daily Frights
2012, An Island of Egrets and
Timeless Voices. His collection
of poetry and prose, Love and
Other Diversions, is available
through Amazon. He lives in
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wife, poet and author Anhthao Bui.

Phoenix's
AGAIN AND AGAIN

Phoenix has enjoyed writing since he
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Phoenix has written over sixty books,
and has published everything from
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He hopes to inspire people with his
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about our world and the universe.
Phoenix lives in Salt Lake City, Utah,
where he spends much of his time
reading books on science, philosophy,
and literature. He spends a good deal
of his free time writing and working
on new books. The Freezine of Fant-
asy and Science Fiction welcomes him
and his unique, intense vision.
Discover Phoenix's books at his author
page on Amazon. Also check out his blog.

Adam Bolivar's
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OUTER DARKNESS


Adam Bolivar's
THE DEVIL & SIR
FRANCIS DRAKE



Adam Bolivar's
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Adam Bolivar is an expatriate Bostonian
who has lived in New Orleans and Berkeley,
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with his beloved wife and fluffy gray cat
Dahlia. Adam wears round, antique glasses
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utilizing to great effect a traditional
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undercurrents of folklore seldom found
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His poetry has appeared on the pages
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REALMS and BLACK WINGS OF
CTHULHU, and a poem of his,
"The Rime of the Eldritch Mariner,"
won the Rhysling Award for long-form
poetry. His collection of weird balladry
and Jack tales, THE LAY OF OLD HEX,
was published by Hippocampus Press in 2017.


Sanford Meschkow's
INEVITABLE

Sanford Meschkow is a retired former
NYer who married a Philly suburban
Main Line girl. Sanford has been pub-
lished in a 1970s issue of AMAZING.
We welcome him here on the FREE-
ZINE of Fantasy and Science Fiction.


Owen R. Powell's
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Little is known of the mysterious
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Noetic Vacations marks his first
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Gene Stewart
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GROUND PORK


Gene Stewart's
CRYPTID'S LAIR

Gene Stewart is a writer and artist.
He currently lives in the Midwest
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Daniel José Older's
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Daniel José Older's
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Daniel José Older's spiritually driven,
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his work as an overnight 911 paramedic,
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organizer to weave fast-moving, emotionally
engaging plots that speak whispers and
shouts about power and privilege in
modern day New York City. His work
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Audio Anthology, The Tide Pool, and
the collection Sunshine/Noir, and is
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When he's not writing, teaching or
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Paul Stuart's
SEA?TV!


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Consider writing him at paul@twilightlane.com,
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Rain Grave's
MAU BAST


Rain Graves is an award winning
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David Niall Wilson). Her most
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in January of 2009. She lives and
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Blag Dahlia's
armed to the teeth
with LIPSTICK


BLAG DAHLIA is a Rock Legend.
Singer, Songwriter, producer &
founder of the notorious DWARVES.
He has written two novels, ‘NINA’ and
‘ARMED to the TEETH with LIPSTICK’.


G. Alden Davis's
THE FOLD


G. Alden Davis wrote his first short story
in high school, and received a creative
writing scholarship for the effort. Soon
afterward he discovered that words were
not enough, and left for art school. He was
awarded the Emeritus Fellowship along
with his BFA from Memphis College of Art
in '94, and entered the videogame industry
as a team leader and 3D artist. He has over
25 published games to his credit. Mr. Davis
is a Burningman participant of 14 years,
and he swings a mean sword in the SCA.
He's also the best friend I ever had. He
was taken away from us last year on Jan
25 and I'll never be able to understand why.
Together we were a fantastic duo, the
legendary Grub Bros. Our secret base
exists on a cross-hatched nexus between
the Year of the Dragon and Dark City.
Somewhere along the tectonic fault
lines of our electromagnetic gathering,
shades of us peel off from the coruscating
pillars and are dropped back into the mix.
The phrase "rest in peace" just bugs me.
I'd rather think that Greg Grub's inimitable
spirit somehow continues evolving along
another manifestation of light itself, a
purple shift shall we say into another
phase of our expanding universe. I
ask myself, is it wishful thinking?
Will we really shed our human skin
like a discarded chrysalis and emerge
shimmering on another wavelength
altogether--or even manifest right
here among the rest without their
even beginning to suspect it? Well
people do believe in ghosts, but I
myself have long been suspicious
there can only be one single ghost
and that's all the stars in the universe
shrinking away into a withering heart
glittering and winking at us like
lost diamonds still echoing all their
sad and lonely songs fallen on deaf
eyes and ears blind to their colorful
emanations. My grub brother always
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of this old world taught him. We
explored past the outer peripheries
of our comfort zones to awaken
the terror in our minds and keep
us on our toes deep in the forest
in the middle of the night. The owls
led our way and the wilderness
transformed into a sanctuary.
The adventures we shared together
will always remain tattooed on
the pages of my skin. They tell a
story that we began together and
which continues being woven to
this very day. It's the same old
story about how we all were in
this together and how each and
every one of us is also going away
someday and though it will be the far-
thest we can manage to tell our own
tale we may rest assured it will be
continued like one of the old pulp
serials by all our friends which survive
us and manage to continue
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Shae Sveniker's
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Shae is a poet/artist/student and former
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Nigel Strange's
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