The Goat by Bill Kieffer explores the abusive relationship between Frank (a homophobic homosexual) and Glenn (a cock addicted homosexual), while Frank works to turn Glenn into the perfect victim.
Frank is hardheaded, homophobic bully that gets a chub from going out of his way to beat down on gays. Frank tormented fags in high school for sport, and while doing so, paid Glenn a lot of attention.So much attention that Frank eventually finds himself in a car receiving head from the guy, all the while denying that he’s gay.
Frank, out of frustration, welcomes Glenn into his home as long as he knows his place: a cum dumpster with eyes. Glenn, for various reasons, seems more than willing to play the role of the perfect victim.
The Goat takes place in a world with anthropomorphic characters and magic spells. For those that don’t like that don’t groan just yet. I honestly had no idea what the premise of the book was before reviewing, and it didn’t really occur to me until the gay bar fight scene that the story involves magic (wards).
If you’re turn off from anthropomorphic animals and furries, then I would still recommend checking out The Goat as it might actually creep on you. The Goat advanced on me like a gay guy at a bar. You talk, have a good time, but then later on shrug off his advance with a mutual understanding., but he leaves with a lurking thought: a mouth is just a mouth, right? Seriously, there is so much dude on dude cock sucking that after a while even a straight dick might move a little. The Goat’s inclusion of furries and magic is not like a flamboyant and in your face like an Elton John, but is a fabulous conservative fag like Milo Yiannopoulos, except with less appetite for black cock. A Milo joke, anyone?
The Goat can be a provocateur at times with Frank representing the closeted, homophobic homosexual to the fullest. If you’re offended by gay bashing, then expect Frank to offend you. Likewise, if you’re homophobic and offended by a dude going down on another dude, then you’ll also be offended. But if you give Frank a chance, you might just learn to love him like Glenn does, and Glenn really seems to love his confused experiment.
The Goat reads well. The prose flows and the description is balanced and paced. The Goat does not spend pages describing scenery or the little buttons on a coat. The Goat focuses on the destructive and abusive relationship between a man and his scapegoat. Overall, I rather enjoyed the story and would recommend it.
He showered her with tender kisses up and down her body. “Your skin,” he said, softly. “Why does it taste so good. It’s like I can’t get enough of it.” Flesh, creamy and smooth like dulce de leche, seemed to pour out from a tight black strapless shirt that squeezed her flesh melons. Her exposed neck, shoulders, and arms smelt of sweet oils.
“That’s Loca’s secret.” Gentle words saturated with a heavy dose of sex escaped from her black lips.
“I can’t get enough.” His hands roamed the her gracious curves as his lips savoured the taste of her skin. “I’ve had my share of latina sex bots, and none of them come close to this.”
“That’s because I’m one of a kind,” she whispered into his ear. Her arms wrapped around him. Her forehead met with his. Her blonde bangs wet with his sweat. Her short black hair draped around her face. Her hands traveled the landscape of his back. Long black nails dug into his flesh. Blood bubbled out from the incision.
“You’re into that kinky stuff,” he said, watching as she licked the blood off her nails.
“You have no idea.” Her eyes widened. She pulled him closer to her as she backed up onto the bed. She smiled and dimples formed on her supple cheeks. She pressed her nails deeper into his skin, fingertips absorbing the blood.
“You want it rough, don’t you?” He pulled away from his mistress and unfastened his belt.
Loca rolled onto her stomach and presented him a full display of a round plump ass wrapped tightly in jean shorts. She shed the shorts like a snake sheds skin, folding the light blue denim slowly as if a long and difficult process. Freed from the skin-tight restraints, a bleached cycloptic eye stared at him, begging for his cock with a puckering sphincter.
“Don’t be shy. Give it a taste,” she said, shooting him a smile as she bit her lip. An LED flickered just behind her ear.
Rough lips cupped around her shit hole. A wet tongue trailed up and down and all around, moistening the hairless flesh. He moaned, savoring the taste, and his hungry tongue wedged inside for a dip of chocolate gold.
“Sweet Jesus. You have an ass that tastes like chocolate.” He licked his lips. Her tight asshole dilated as if inviting him for another taste.
“Eat that shit. You dirty gringo.” She clinched. Her sphincter widened, and she served him a fresh load of lead. A hole blasted out from the back of his head. Thick blood and brain matter splattered on the cheap wallpaper like chunky cranberry jam.
His body collapsed.
She sat on her knees, face down on the bed, while smoke breathed from her blood splattered ass. She rolled on the her back and pressed the flesh behind her ear.
“Why weren’t you answering.” Momma’s harmonic tones frantic and rough.
“Geez, Momma. I was with a client,” said Loca as she sat up on the bed. “What’s up?”
“Has anyone been following you?”
“Other than the usual suspects, no.” Loca shifted her legs to dangle off the side of the bed. She slid her feet into leather knee-high high heel boots. “Should I be expecting someone?”
“I received Intel that a hit has been out put in you.”
“You’re kidding.” Loca’s boots auto-laced while she sat waiting for the story to become worth her time.
“Lotus was just attacked by one of El Jefe’s goons,” Momma informed.
Loca walked over to the bloody heap, and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “I know Lotus can handle herself, but what would El Jefe want with me?”
“The bounty on your head, dear,” Momma exclaimed.
“El Jefe is a fucking joke.” Loca fumbled through the contents of his wallet. “Momma, unless you got something important to tell me, I’m heading back out for another score. I’m not busting my ass for five dollars and a rubber.”
“A fucking joke doesn’t put up five billion dollars as an award.”
Loca crouched low to the sound of footsteps. She scanned for heat registers, and noticed two bodies behind the door. “On my ass he does,” she whispered.
She clinched her right fist and three slender titanium barrels emerged from a small compartment on her wrist. A series of whispers sliced through the air, while a rain of bullets pierced through the wooden door. The barrels sizzled. The men cried in agony. Altogether, it was music to her ears.
“I just laid out two motherfuckers,” said Loca, as she scanned the hall from her position for additional unexpected guests. “And if they want to send more, they better come with body bags.”
“Don’t get cocky,” said Momma. “Wait for Lotus. It’s too dangerous to go alone.”
“Fuck that,” said Loca. She bolted towards the door and delivered a shoulder that busted through the door. She checked the hall with her triple barrels raised and quickly went for the bodies. Two males, white, bearded, matching face tats, and dressed in sleazy suits. One had a cybernetic eye. “Too dangerous?” She poked her fingers into empty pockets, while feeling around a bloody body for something precious. “Momma, I’m a big girl now. I can take care of myself.”
Chirping circuitry caught Loca’s attention. Her reflection centered on the red lens of a cybernetic eye. She fired a stream of bullets, but the thug jumped from off the floor. His foot crashed into her face, and she whirled to the floor.
“You should’ve listened to Momma,” he said, though a distorted voice box.
Arms wrapped around her. Arms from the other thug that had just been on the floor. Arms that wrapped around like tentacles and squeezed her arms against her torso like a Kraken.
“Your face is precious,” said the cyber thug one, as his eye blinded her with a sudden flash. “It’s a memory worth capturing, don’t you think?” He hands her a small square. Her bloody face snarled back at her on a glossy photo.
“Go to hell,” she fires back with a load of spit.
“Hell?” He pulls out a small cloth, folded it, and wiped his face. “Baby doll, the only one going to Hell is you. But I need to know something first. Do you feel this?” He yanked on a silver loop earring, tearing loose through a lobe of flesh.
Loca seethed and shot back at him with rageful eyes.
“I take it as a yes,” he said, as he examined her. “Sex dolls don’t normally come equipped with pain sensors.” He prodded at her breasts, feeling around the nipples. “You’re a higher model, for sure. Just as your profile read, but not the type that would be equipped with pain modules. No. That was a choice you made.”
“Smart ass. Thinks he knows everything. Put me down!” Her voice thick in Latina sauce. Her nipples projected about an inch, stressing the thin fabric of her tight shirt.
With swift fingers, he grazed the top of her breasts. Two slim chambers opened, exposing flashing and churning circuitry. “So predictable.”
“How did you…” Her eyes widened, pupils dilated.
He wiped the cloth over a cut on her cheek. “We’ve been watching you. You and your rogue sex doll friends.”
“You don’t know shit!” She tried to wiggle out from the silent thug’s arms.
“Shhh,” said the cybernetic eye wearing motherfucker, as he directed her chin with a finger. “Such a strange abnormality. This latina flavored sex machine can actually produce tears. Let’s see how much it takes to break her.”
“Fuck you,” said Loca, as the man behind her raised her into the air. She kicked about desperately, but it was too late. Her world flipped upside down just before crashing head first into the ground.
Her vision flickered for a moment. Static cleared from her peripherals.
She kicked again, pounding her bladed heels against flesh that felt like stone. She was freed, and fell on her stomach. She pushed herself off the ground, but a sudden jab of pressure sent her back down.
“Give her ribs a good kick or two. Let’s find out if this sex machine is more human than machine.”
The mute brute picked Loca up from the ground like a small bag of luggage and sent her flying. She slammed into the wall, cracking the surface, shattering nearby light fixtures. Loca coughed up blood as she struggled to get on her knees.
“Internal bleeding,” questioned the observer. “She’s an interesting target indeed. The augmentation must have cost you a fortune.”
Loca extended her arm out from under her. Triple barrels aimed to shred the fucker, when a heavy boot stomped on her hand.
“She must be Momma’s bottom bitch.” The man chuckled like a giddy school girl. “We could get a lot more from Momma, if Momma really cares about her precious girls.”
An explosion erupted on the mute brute’s chest with a bright and fiery flash, knocking him square on his ass, while the walls and ground splintered and shook around him. Another explosion smashed through the walls, scorched the carpet, and shattered the cybernetic fucker’s confidence.
The smoke cleared. A triple-D blonde diva with thick thighs and a big ass clad in an ultra American patriot bikini and thong topped with a cowboy hat stood. Smoke emitted from the heavy barrels extended from both wrist. Revolver chambers rotated and prepped for another explosive delivery.
“Y’all forgot to invite Alexis to this showdown.” Her words echoed throughout the crumbled hall with a touch of that good ole southern comfort twang.
The suit with cycloptic eye dusted himself off, and helped his silent assistant up.
“I got two grenades locked and loaded y’all motherfuckers. So, you best be heading home,” said Alexis, as she raised her arms to adjust the trajectory.
“Didn’t expect you so soon,” said the thug. “Tell Momma, her days are numbered.” He turned and walked away, while his twin followed.
“Wait for me.” Lotus rushed from the shadows to Alexis’ side. “What I miss?” She soaked in the destructive aftermath. “Fuck, I missed one Hell of a party.”
“Looks like we made it just in time,” said Alexis, as her massive grenade lobbing wrist revolvers folded inward into her hands.
“Holy Fuck!” Lotus raced over to Loca’s down and battered body. Deep bruising along her ribs, a gash on the side of her face, a cut on her forehead, and the bones in her hand fractured. “Loca! Loca, wake up.” Lotus felt for her friend, brought her close to her, and wiped where tears would’ve formed.
“She’s alive, sugah.” Alexis place a comforting hand on Lotus’s shoulder. “But she won’t be for long. We gotta bring her back to Momma.”
There is hardly anything like a great drink to compliment a good story. I’ve said before to another horror author, Kelly Evans, that when I read that I have a thing for drinking or eating something that pairs with it. What do I mean, exactly?
When I read American Psycho, I prefer to drink a glass of J&B on the rocks. Why? Have you read American Psycho? It’s okay if you haven’t, but knowing that it’s focus on materalistic wallstreet yuppies doing what 80’s wallstreet yuppies were known to do: coke, hookers and scotch.
When I read Lovecraft, I prefer to drink a glass of absinthe. Nothing like chasing that green fairy while you’re navigating H.P. Lovecrafts allusive and amorphous descriptors. Don’t worry, you’re not going to see Cthulhu or anything like that, but you might get a certain urge to do his bidding.
When I read Beowulf, I like to do it with a glass of mead. If I had a Viking horn I would totally drink it out of that. I tend to pull out Beowulf in those moments when the power goes out and the house is lit with candle light. Does that make me a fucking pretentious hipster? I don’t know and don’t care. It’s about capitalizing on a moment that would best compliment the story being told!
Am I the only one that likes to pair his reading with a prefered drink or even food of choice? Let me know in the comments section below.
What is pulp fiction? There’s the insanely popular Tarantino movie, with its famous lines and scenes that have become culturally fossilized, but what is pulp fiction exactly? Pulp fiction was used to define stories published on cheap pulp paper. The stories would usually consist of a cheap thrill usually with a sensationalized topic with cultural relevance.
Pulp fiction was a labelled applied to stories that exploited controversial topics, sexual taboos, and gratuitous violence for a quick buck. Titles like Satan was a Lesbian and Lesbian Captive are examples of literally exploitation films in the form of a novella, but they work by exploiting an alluring premise. straight, homosexual, lesbian, asexual, whatever it is to be attracted to toasters, you can’t honestly tell me that these titles do not catch your attention.
Pulp fiction with a catchy title and low price of a dollar would find their way in the hands of those curious enough to take the bait. Some stories delivered, while others were simply a cock tease.
A Corpse Can’t Laugh, however, is a fine example of a pulp fiction horror short that delivers the thrill.
A Corpse Can’t Laugh is a fine example of ultra-violent pulp fiction at its finest. A Corpse Can’t Laugh takes a controversial topic like school shootings and mass murder and runs with it, while incorporating the all too common narrative that violent video games like Doom, Quake, and Call of Duty are murder simulators and the result is awesome. Thew one element that is missing, and the would that my perverted mind could easily add, is an element of gratuitous sexualization. But, it’s not a fault that no way ruins the experience, believe me.
The build of tension as it opens with a girl on a school yard waving at someone only to be brutally murdered. Her death kicks of a series or relentless and merciless deaths of a school yard shooting spree by a very pissed off teenage girl. The level of detail on the blood splatter. The cold and calculated violence without a shred of respect to those that it might offend. Oh, and offensive it most certainly is.
Chrissy Metz, best known for her role as the Fat Lady on American Horror Story: Freak Show, claims that she is tired of fat people being the butt of the joke. A fat actress that played a character so fat that they had to erect a tent to undress her because she could not fit in into her trailer now wants to advocate for respectful roles for “plus-size” women. This reads like the beginning of an Onion article. How do you go from being the fat freak to the poster child for how fat actresses should be treated?
Honey, that ship had sailed the moment agreed to play the fat freak on American Horror Story. Not only that, but if the ship were to return, you wouldn’t be allowed back on due to maximum capacity issues. Not fat shaming, but I am dishing out reality that her ego may weigh more than her. Someone else could probably be the poster child for better roles for “plus size” people, but not you.
Fat people have been used as the butt of the joke for the longest because of there is something about fat people doing stuff that is just funny. Is it low-brow humor? Is it cruel? Is it exploitive? Yes to all three, but honestly, jokes always require someone or something to be the butt. Why, though? Are people just assholes that like to laugh at other people’s expense? Sometimes. Is there something funny about fat people? Also yes. I’m not being a cruel, soulless asshole. If fat people weren’t funny then how do you explain Chris Farley or Melissa McCarthy?
Look, if Chrissy Metz wants to ask for better roles for fat women than go right ahead, but don’t expect to play the lead for a romantic comedy without your fatness becoming the butt of the joke. It’s just not going to ever happen, ever. A fat woman could play a lead in a horror film, but the movie would likely end in the first chase scene. Not a so fat she’s slow joke, but a simple observation of how cardio works. If Laurie Strode weighed 300 pounds, there would be no third act of the film. It would end with a fat Laurie Strode passing out due to cardio and Michael stabbing her like a plump pig. Is this offensive? Then that’s why certain roles just will never ever be offered to “plus size” people. If you’re so fat to where your chest is an armrest, then you’re too fat for a lead role in horror or a romance. You might have a lead role in a drama or in a comedy, but don’t expect much.
An actor can embrace their exploitive fat role, let’s say like Chris Farley or Melissa McCarthy, and then they can even break out for supportive roles that don’t require jokes at their expense like Jonah Hill.
One reason is that Hollywood’s insistence on typecasting and micro-managing producers wouldn’t allow overweight actors and actresses to losee weight in fear that it may effect their prospects.
Besides that, I think the real reason as to why is because it’s just not an embraced normality. It’s just not. Obesity is common and tolerated and expected, but it’s just not embraced, and it will never be. Weighing 300 pounds is not something to embrace and own. As a 280 pound dude with a beer gut, I can honestly say that I’m okay with the fact that my body is shit, but I do not expect it nor do I want it to be a norm. If everyone in a zombie film was a 280 pound beer gut motherfucker, then the even the slowest of the slow zombies would win.
My advise for Chrissy Metz? Own your weight, bitch. Just own that weight without any shame. Be like those overweight prostitutes that boldly sell their body without any shame. Be like that. Don’t kill your career with this advocacy bullshit. it’s not going to ever work, otherwise your career will become the butt of a joke.
Deadman’s Tome is home to Book of Horrors, a horror anthology loaded with terrifying horror short stories that’ll chill you to the bone!
Cats are either adored or hated with disgust with very little in between. Ancient Egyptians treated cats as if they’re divine, while medieval Europeans would burn them for being witch familiars. And while cat commercials may shower the feline with love, horror genre as a whole seems to loathe them. cats seem to only have one role in horror, to serve as a bad omen, curse, or even KILL!
The Black Cat by Edgar Allan Poe: A classic example of a cat suffering mutilation and death by the hands of a raging alcoholic that is later overcome with guilt. The black cat is hated, but then
Stephen King’s Pet Sematary: As an homage to “the Monkey’s Paw” the cat dies, is buried, and then later returns but not as its former self. The cat is a bit smelly and a little dead.
Rats in the Walls by H. P. Lovecraft: Nigger Man helps the narrator discover the insidious rats in the walls, leading the man to discover a world of evil living under his house. It takes an evil feline to detect an evil entity.
Sergio Martino’s Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key, is a retread of The Black Cat, one of the main characters is afraid of a cat named Satan. The plot mostly deals with murder and betrayal rather than guilt, with an annoying cat giving away the location of the body. I wanted to talk about this film only to showcase the beauty that is Edwige Fenech. That’s a face that armies would die for.
Cats with a taste for human flesh cropped up in Rene Cardona’s Mexican schlocker Night of a Thousand Cats , where a misogynistic woman killer feeds his victims to his half-starved pets. The purr-fect (horrible, I know) plot line for a Deadman’s Tome story, but through a cat biting off a dick to outweigh the misogyny.
Speaking of cats in horror, check out Oreo – Blair Frison. It may not read like Edgar Allan Poe, but it definitely borrows from it. Can’t have enough cat stories.
Deadman’s Tome is home to Book of Horrors, a horror anthology loaded with terrifying horror short stories that’ll chill you to the bone!
DISCLAIMER: Deadman’s Tome is a dark and gritty horror zine that publishes content not suitable for children. The horror zine proudly supports the freedom of dark creative works and stands against censorship. Hardly any subject matter is too taboo for this horror zine. As a result, Deadman’s Tome may feature content your mother would not approve of. But she doesn’t control your life, right?
Oreo – Blair Frison
I’m a terrible person.
I’ve used people in the most shameful ways. I’ve been violent with people I love. My whole life seems like a sickening crescendo, and it scares me to think of where it’s heading.
I know some of you will hate me, and rightly so, for what I’m about to confess. I hate myself too – but, for what it’s worth, I didn’t have much of a chance to begin with. I’m not trying to justify my actions, but my childhood is a catalogue of abuses. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.
My story begins about five months ago. I was seeing a girl named Megan. She had come back into my life after quitting me almost a year earlier. She told me she loved me and wanted me back. That she had made a terrible mistake and wanted to make things right. I was only too eager to take her back, fool that I was. I should have known better. Love has fangs. And the poison she brewed for me in the cave of her heart soon took hold.
She even said she wanted my baby. This was a shock at first but the idea grew on me, to the point where we would stay up all night discussing baby names. I loved her and wanted to spend my life with her so I told her I was ready.
I don’t know what went wrong.
She suddenly started cancelling our dates, and our daily conversations (by phone) were becoming shorter and colder. It was obvious she was losing interest, but when I questioned her about this, she didn’t want to discuss it. Finally, after not seeing her for almost a month, I decided to end it. I told her if she couldn’t make time for me, I was done. I was hoping she would realize she made a mistake and try to fix things. I was at least expecting an apology. But her reaction was something along the lines of “If only I could give a fuck.”
I haven’t talked to her since. But that same day, after we ended it, I killed my cat. I can’t explain it. I just saw red. It wasn’t even my cat – she belonged to my daughter. I got her as a kitten for Sophie on her sixth birthday. I won’t go into the details but I also won’t deceive you. The cat suffered. It wasn’t a quick death. Her name was Oreo and my daughter absolutely adored her.
When I said I was a terrible person, I wasn’t lying. But I pride myself on being a good father. I realize this probably seems doubtful, but you must believe me. My daughter is my soul.
She was devastated when I told her Oreo was missing. That very day she was helping me pick out a new kitten. We settled on a black and white one with a color pattern very similar to Oreo’s. Sophie insisted that the new cat keep the name of her predecessor; I tried to dissuade her but to no avail. For all intents and purposes, Oreo was back.
As she grew, she resembled the original Oreo more and more. She was treated well and I never hurt her. Killing Oreo was a mistake and I swore to myself that I would never lose control again. For Sophie.
Almost two months had passed since the incident and I was still disturbed that I could kill a living thing so easily. I began to self-medicate, first with Percocet, and then OxyContin. By this time Megan had become just another scar, fading and barely noticeable – but still there.
Then, about a week ago, something strange happened.
I had just laid down and was about to nod off when I heard whispering. I couldn’t make out the words but it was coming from the next room where Sophie was asleep. I got out of bed quietly and approached her room. I gently pushed the door open and the whispering grew louder. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed the cat was in bed with Sophie. The whispering continued but I still couldn’t make out the words. I came closer to the bed and I could’ve swore the cat was whispering in Sophie’s ear. Before I could get closer the whispering stopped and the cat turned and stared at me for a moment. Then she jumped from the bed and ran past me.
I know this sounds silly and I would’ve shrugged it off, were it not for what happened the next morning. When I woke Sophie for breakfast, she told me that she had a bad dream. She seemed genuinely disturbed. I asked her what it was about and she told me. She dreamt that I killed Oreo. That I broke her legs and drowned her in the bathtub. That I buried her in the backyard..
Deadman’s Tome is a growing horror zine that publishes horror short stories and horror flash fiction. The online magazine publishes dark and gritty content from professional horror writers, Bram Stoker award nominated horror authors, along with talented newcomers of the horror writing craft. Deadman’s Tome features chilling, terrifying horror shorts ranging from ghost stories, zombie invasions, bigfoot sightings, monster horror, and even horror erotica. Deadman’s Tome is one of the best online horror zines to publish horror short stories, horror flash fiction, and dark flash fiction. The darker the tale the better. If you enjoyed the story, or even if you didn’t, leave a comment below as it helps the horror authors.