Category Archives: fiction

dr. lava speaks: the rolling stone interview, part 2

Cont’d. from page 33

RS: Moving on from Bono—

DL: I already have. I wish the rest of the world would, too, but no—U2 is like, like . . . the Band That Wouldn’t Die.

RS: I’d think that would be the Stones.

DL: Yes, yes, touché. But moving on . . .

RS: Moving on: you name Bowie as your rock star inspiration. What is it about him specifically that fires the supervillain mind?

DL: Consider the alter egos he created. Ziggy Stardust. Aladdin Sane. The Thin White Duke. Those are all perfect supervillain identities! Believe me—before I became Dr. Lava, I was going to be the Thin White Duke.

The unattainable inspiration: Bowie.

RS: What happened?

DL: Come on—look at me. I might be able to pull off the last two, but “thin?”

Continue reading dr. lava speaks: the rolling stone interview, part 2

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i was a celebrity monster hunter

In honor of National Evil Month, the National Evil presents an excerpt from I Was A Celebrity Monster Hunter by Luther Weary, which will be published this October by Zombie Mafia Books.

Chapter Two: Dark Side of the (Full) Moon

So Anne Rice writes a book about vampires becoming rock stars. That’s so ludicrous it’s almost funny. The riptide sea changes of the music business, that feeding frenzy churn—hip today/square tomorrow—are too rapid, too ephemeral, for the immortal undead. They laugh at our roundabout trend-hopping the way you chuckle at a dog trying to bite its own tail.

Rock stars aren’t vampires. They’re werewolves.

Bob Seger’s Silver Bullet Band? The ultimate inside joke.

I know this because my father was a monster hunter. He tracked Seger to the Fillmore in San Francisco and loitered by the tour buses, thinking he’d finally found compatriots in his fight against this unholy pestilence . . . that the band’s name was a coded call to arms for all monster hunters . . . that the Silver Bullets were an elite unit working from the inside like a righteous tapeworm burrowing through the industry’s black phlegmy guts.

Then a few roadies cornered him between equipment trucks and taught him better. Or worse.

Continue reading i was a celebrity monster hunter

movie pitch!

Walking Sticks 2: LIMB From LIMB

The Pitch:

“In 2007’s direct-to-DVD blockbuster Walking Sticks, audiences learned the true meaning of terror as mutant carnivorous swarms of walking sticks descended on the sleepy town of Meadowlark, Kansas. But if you thought the stick menace was over, you’re wrong . . .

“DEAD wrong.

“The Army liked what it saw when the sticks devoured Meadowlark. Now the Pentagon has put the beautiful Dr. Carmen Lucero, the world’s top expert in gigantism, to work breeding a race of GIANT mutant carnivorous walking sticks—walking sticks the size of fallen limbs.

“When the giant walking sticks inevitably escape the top-secret Army compound, they descend on Yosemite. Hiding in plain sight, the sticks inaugurate a reign of terror in the National Park. Joe, Carmen’s estranged ex-lover and Chief of Park Rangers, must rally a team of rangers, Special Forces Operatives—and Carmen—to rescue a Girl Scout troop lost deep in the heart of Yosemite.

“Will Joe and Carmen reach the girls in time? Or will the poor scouts be torn . . .

“LIMB from LIMB?

“Find out this October in the comfort of your home when Walking Sticks 2: LIMB From LIMB hits straight to DVD!”

Walking Sticks and Walking Sticks 2: LIMB From LIMB copyright 2007, 2008 Zombie Mafia Productions.

dr. lava speaks: the rolling stone interview

Henry Lattimore Lavalier—a.k.a. Dr. Lava—enters the room in the standard-issue orange jumpsuit worn by all inmates at Glades Correctional Facility. Escorting him is a two-man honor guard wearing expressions that seem to say “I’d better be getting overtime for this.”

Strip away his red lab coat and goggles—and the maniacally cackling mien we’ve all become accustomed to watching on CNN, screaming ultimatums—and you don’t think: Here stands a SUPERVILLAIN. Or even a mad scientist, as it happens. With his peach-fuzz stubbled scalp and wire-framed glasses, and an expression that could best be described as a combination of a world-weary smirk and a pout, Lavalier looks like a none-too-successful accountant. [Later he will object to this description: “You journalists describe everyone as looking like an accountant if they don’t look like anything else. It’s such a cliché.”] Despite the No Smoking sign clearly posted by the door, his guards allow Lavalier a cigarrette; his court-appointed psychologist views this as a harmless and gentle balm on Lavalier’s obsession with all things smoldering.

The question for this interviewer is: Where do you start? “How about from the beginning?” Lavalier suggests caustically.

DR. LAVA: No one is born wanting to destroy the world. First of all, you’d need a satellite- or moonbase to do it from. And those aren’t exactly easy to come by. Unless by “destroy the world” you actually mean something more prosaic, like wiping out “life as we know it” or “humanity” or something really pathetic like “civilization.” Then I suppose you’d only need maybe an underground base, or something on an island . . . but the point is, you don’t pop out of the womb with thoughts of blowing it all up. That doesn’t happen until . . . maybe two, three?

Continue reading dr. lava speaks: the rolling stone interview

the thrilling detective drama continues: lies, lies, lies

To read Chapters One through Four, click here.

To read Chapter Five, Part 1, click here.

Chapter Five, Part 2

She jumped as I cleared my throat, then forced words up it. “Tell me what happened here,” I growled, wondering what story she’d formulate. If I knew her name, it stood to reason I knew she hadn’t been here ‘for hours.’ I could only hope her lying words would be easier to get my head around than all the possibilities hinted at by her pleading eyes.

“Oh, it was horrible! I was—asleep—when a scream woke me. It was Birgitte, our maid.”

“Your maid lives with you?”

Mallory Bahnhof spent a half-second calculating, then shook her head. “No, but since Herbert disappeared”—that she managed with absolute assurance—“I asked her to stay, nights. I—I was afraid. And now—now look what I’ve done to her!” My client forced tears into her eyes. In seconds she’d be drying them on my coat—dames seem to take my outsize duds for the world’s largest handkerchief. I’d soaked up an ocean of tears in my day.

Continue reading the thrilling detective drama continues: lies, lies, lies

the thrilling detective drama continues: mallory bahnhof

To read Chapters One through Four, click here.

Chapter Five, Part 1

You think the big ape can’t creep? It’s not so hard; even the people who know of my continued residence in the Big Apple can’t get used to the sight of me. A twenty-five foot gorilla just doesn’t register in this, uh—urban jungle, to coin a phrase. Humans are so smug about their gadgets and gewgaws, all the riddles of zoology and geography, that they blank out when faced with something that disagrees with their map of creation. Poetic affectations aside, just know: the big ape can creep.

I didn’t pass a living soul besides the boys out back, who hardly qualified as living just now. Sims would give me two, three minutes before hailing the police, who’d grant the Waldorf a measure of discretion. All told, I had maybe an hour to start blowing lids off tonight’s sundry mysteries before the Lieutenant and McNeely came calling. And maybe not alone.

A T-Rex in Central Park. The supposedly missing Herbert Bahnhof’s body in Mallory Bahnhof’s hotel room. That Skull Island stench over everything. And Wormsy Scarpini nowhere in evidence. A nice stew, with my aching back screaming for a rest and my head swimming with the kind of questions life on the Island never forced me to ponder. Humans have made a ghastly, mind-bending game of survival.

Continue reading the thrilling detective drama continues: mallory bahnhof

the thrilling detective drama continues: bahnhof’s body

To read Chapter Four, Part 2, click here.

To read Chapters One through Three, click here.

Chapter Four, Part 3

“No obvious cause of death,” Sims mused, eyeing Herbert Bahnhof’s body. That familiar cloying scent hung over it. The T-Rex certainly hadn’t gotten to him, but something else perfumed with Skull Island had paid a visit to Bahnhof.

Sims sighed, rolled a cigarette. “‘S’pose I asked for that. Recognize this meat?” I grunted noncommittally. He frowned. “Come on, Kong. You said you had a line on this bird, nothing serious, then we come in here and out jumps a body? At least give me some quid pro quo.”

“You mean aside from playing the catcher’s mitt for every hysterical heiress tries to fling herself to the sidewalk?”

“Don’t be that way, Kong. Come on, play square.”

“How about this: you let me creep out of here, don’t mention me to the coppers, and I’ll give you the goods.”

Sims coughed. “Awfully hard to hide your comings and goings. And what am I supposed to tell them about how I found this mug? Just snooping into ladies’ closets?”

Continue reading the thrilling detective drama continues: bahnhof’s body