Carlton Mellick III

Warrior Wolf Women of the Wasteland is now available at amazon.com

Road Warrior Werewolves versus McDonaldland Mutants…post-apocalyptic fiction has never been quite like this.

They call themselves the Warriors, their enemies call them the Bitches. They are a gang of man-eating, motorcycle-riding, war-hungry werewolf women, and they are the rulers of the wasteland.

A century after the fall of civilization, only one city remains standing. It is a self-contained utopian society protected by a three-hundred-foot-high steel wall. The citizens of this city live safe, peaceful lives, completely ignorant to the savagery that takes place beyond the walls. They are content and happy, blindly following the rules of the fascist fast food corporation that acts as their government. But when Daniel Togg, a four-armed bootlegger from the dark side of town, is cast out of the walled city, he soon learns why the state of the outside world has been kept secret. The wasteland is a chaotic battleground filled with giant wolves, mutant men, and an army of furry biker women who are slowly transforming into animals. Trapped on the wrong side of a war zone, Daniel Togg makes new friends and new enemies, while uncovering the mysteries of the people living in the wasteland and how they came to be there.

Including 45 illustrations by the author, Warrior Wolf Women of the Wasteland is an epic bizarro tale of dehumanization, gender separation, consumption, and violent sexual awakenings. A fast-paced post-apocalyptic adventure in the vein of The Road Warrior, featuring a very unique werewolf mythology.

Jordan Krall’s bizarro western novel is out now. Get it at: amazon.com

“”Krall has quite a flair for outrage as an art form.” – EDWARD LEE

“Jordan Krall is a can’t miss literary talent who can
show skeptics what Bizarro has to offer.” – WITHERSIN MAGAZINE

A bizarro tribute to Spaghetti westerns, HP Lovecraft, and foot fetish enthusiasts. Screwhorse, Nevada is legendary for its violent and unusual pleasures, but when a mysterious gunslinger drags a wooden donkey into the desert town, the stage is set for a bloodbath unlike anything the west has ever seen. His name is Calamaro, and he’s from New Jersey.

Featuring Cthulhu-worshipping Indians, a woman with four feet, a Giallo-esque serial killer, a crazed gunman who is obsessed with sucking on candy, Syphilis-ridden mutants, ass juice, burping pistols, sexually transmitted tattoos, and a house devoted to the freakiest fetishes, Jordan Krall’s Fistful of Feet is the weirdest western ever written.

Only five copies left of the limited edition pre-orders.

Get one here: http://www.filmynoir.com/preorderFOF.html

With the limited edition, you’ll also get:

-a limited e-book with FoF-related short stories
-a signed/numbered FoF postcard
-a hand-drawn “spaghetti” trading card (1 of 30), signed and
numbered, each unique.
-CD Soundtrack featuring classic Spaghetti Western themes
-and maybe even more….?????

All this, for only $14.99 (including S&H)

Only available for the next week or while supplies last, so get it now.

Just two days left to pre-order the Eraserhead Press book, “Jimmy Plush, Teddy Bear Detective,” by Garrett Cook.

Here’s what it’s about:

“In a city ridden with prostitute furries, cannibal cops and warehouse-sized mob bosses, I’ve got my work cut out for me. My name is Jimmy Plush. I’m a private detective. I’m also a teddy bear. It all started when the original Jimmy Plush entered my life, offering to take my gambling debts away if I agreed to switch bodies with him. But I didn’t know that being a three-foot-high plush toy would be such a living hell, especially now that everyone in town wants a piece of me. All I’ve gotten out of this deal is a faithful Chinese chauffeur, a custom teddybear .45, and a girlfriend who won’t take off the fox suit she turns tricks in. Now I’ve got to keep this town clean and try to track down the real Jimmy Plush without losing my stuffing for good. Only one thing is for sure: Life is hard when you’re soft.

Jimmy Plush, Teddy Bear Detective is a high octane pulp satire. In the tradition of Sam Spade, The Shadow, Dick Tracy, Hellboy and Howard the Duck comes a new kind of hero, a hero that reminds us that the measure of a man is in his guts and his gun.”

Here’s what famous author Mykle Hansen has to say:

“I hereby crown Jimmy Plush the King of Furry Noir! Garrett Cook’s bizarro crime escapades may appear warm and fluffy but they pack a vicious, hard-boiled punch.”

$10 (including shipping) for the trade paperback.
$20 (including shipping) for one of the 20 limited edition copies.

The limiteds are signed, numbered, and includes an exclusive Jimmy Plush story. You will also be entered in a raffle to win a one-of-a-kind stuffed Jimmy Plush teddy bear.

You can preorder this book on Garrett’s blog at:

http://jimmyplush.blogspot.com/

You can also read excerpts on his blog.

Here are some more werewolf girl pictures from my new book:

The “Slayer” character is the girl on the cover of the book. This illustration is my take on the character, which I based on Ed’s version.

It’s Monty Python meets Nazi exploitation in a surreal nightmare as can only be imagined by Bizarro author Cameron Pierce.

In a land where black snow falls in the shape of swastikas, there exists a nightmarish prison camp known as Auschwitz. It is run by a fascist, flatulent race of aliens called the Ass Goblins, who travel in apple-shaped spaceships to abduct children from the neighboring world of Kidland. Prisoners 999 and 1001 are conjoined twin brothers forced to endure the sadistic tortures of these ass-shaped monsters. To survive, they must eat kid skin and work all day constructing bicycles and sex dolls out of dead children.

While the Ass Goblins become drunk on cider made from fermented children, the twins plot their escape. But it won’t be easy. They must overcome toilet toads, cockrats, ass dolls, and the surgical experiments that are slowly mutating them into goblin-child hybrids.

Forget everything you know about Auschwitz…you’re about to be Shit Slaughtered.

A bizarro tribute to Spaghetti westerns, HP Lovecraft, and foot fetish enthusiasts.

Screwhorse, Nevada is legendary for its violent and unusual pleasures, but when a mysterious gunslinger drags a wooden donkey into the desert town, the stage is set for a bloodbath unlike anything the west has ever seen. His name is Calamaro, and he’s from New Jersey.

Featuring Cthulhu-worshipping Indians, a woman with four feet, a Giallo-esque serial killer, a crazed gunman who is obsessed with sucking on candy, Syphilis-ridden mutants, ass juice, burping pistols, sexually transmitted tattoos, and a house devoted to the freakiest fetishes, Jordan Krall’s Fistful of Feet is the weirdest western ever written.

Road Warrior Werewolves versus McDonaldland Mutants…post-apocalyptic fiction has never been quite like this.

They call themselves the Warriors, their enemies call them the Bitches. They are a gang of man-eating, motorcycle-riding, war-hungry werewolf women, and they are the rulers of the wasteland.

A century after the fall of civilization, only one city remains standing. It is a self-contained utopian society protected by a three-hundred-foot-high steel wall. The citizens of this city live safe, peaceful lives, completely ignorant to the savagery that takes place beyond the walls. They are content and happy, blindly following the rules of the fascist fast food corporation that acts as their government. But when Daniel Togg, a four-armed bootlegger from the dark side of town, is cast out of the walled city, he soon learns why the state of the outside world has been kept secret. The wasteland is a chaotic battleground filled with giant wolves, mutant men, and an army of furry biker women who are slowly transforming into animals. Trapped on the wrong side of a war zone, Daniel Togg makes new friends and new enemies, while uncovering the mysteries of the people living in the wasteland and how they came to be there.

Including 45 illustrations by the author, Warrior Wolf Women of the Wasteland is an epic bizarro tale of dehumanization, gender separation, consumption, and violent sexual awakenings. A fast-paced post-apocalyptic adventure in the vein of The Road Warrior, featuring a very unique werewolf mythology.

I’ve been working on illustrating my upcoming novel “Warrior Wolf Women of the Wasteland” for the past month. Last week I did nothing but eat, sleep, and draw trying to finish these in time. The book will include 42 illustrations. I’ll be posting some images to my blog every week before the book comes out.

Here is the first set of 4

Warrior Wolf Women of the Wasteland should be out in November.

Garrett Cook’s new book, “Archelon Ranch,” is now available at amazon.com

Description:

In an overgrown, primeval, jungle-city state, Bernard is a test subject for science experiments. His father and Professor Sagramour have been injecting him with hallucinogenic mud and reality affirming drugs so that one day man will be immune to the insanity inducing, zombifying sentient green mud that is choking the suburbs. But Bernard is beginning to display side effects. Experiencing greater and greater levels of Objectivity cause his consciousness to become one with entities as diverse as pterosaurs and martinis. In the mind of the tyrannosaurus he hears the call of Archelon Ranch, a primal paradise like no other. Will Bernard’s unique talents be enough to get him out of the senseless prehistoric cyberpunk city or will dinosaurs, Sagramour’s Standardizers and the desire to lose himself in other entities be too much?

Below is an excerpt from “Jimmy Plush, Teddy Bear Detective” by Garrett Cook. You can preorder a copy at http://thegarrettcook.blogspot.com. I recommend doing so right now, because not only would you be getting a great book but you would be helping a new talented writer who could really use the support right now (he’s unemployed and trying to raise enough money to make it to BizarroCon next Month).

If you didn’t read my last blog about this book, here is the back cover description:

“In a city ridden with prostitute furries, cannibal cops and warehouse-sized mob bosses, I’ve got my work cut out for me. My name is Jimmy Plush. I’m a private detective. I’m also a teddy bear. It all started when the original Jimmy Plush entered my life, offering to take my gambling debts away if I agreed to switch bodies with him. But I didn’t know that being a three-foot-high plush toy would be such a living hell, especially now that everyone in town wants a piece of me. All I’ve gotten out of this deal is a faithful Chinese chauffeur, a custom teddybear .45, and a girlfriend who won’t take off the fox suit she turns tricks in. Now I’ve got to keep this town clean and try to track down the real Jimmy Plush without losing my stuffing for good. Only one thing is for sure: Life is hard when you’re soft.

Jimmy Plush, Teddy Bear Detective is a high octane pulp satire. In the tradition of Sam Spade, The Shadow, Dick Tracy, Hellboy and Howard the Duck comes a new kind of hero, a hero that reminds us that the measure of a man is in his guts and his gun.”

Here’s the excerpt:

An Excerpt from Jimmy Plush, Teddy Bear Detective coming soon from Eraserhead Press
“Mr. Plush and the Dead Horse”

Being a gumshoe is stressful. Being a gumshoe in the body of a three foot teddy bear is a hell of a lot more stressful than that. So I decided to take the day off for once. Since trading my body to that bastard teddy bear to pay off my gambling debts, the closest thing I’d gotten to time off was time spent face down in an alley unconscious. And unlike some people, I wasn’t there for leisure. I knew this day would start off with a couple of annoyances, but I thought it would end at that. The first one, I’d figured on. Having no private residence, I had a tendency to sleep in my office. I also had a lapdog of a Chinese chauffeur that had a habit of waiting outside with my limo ready to go and a tragic attempt at coffee in his hand. I stepped outside, and I was right. There was Chan with coffee staler than politics and pictures. I sighed.

“Chan, where do they grow the coffee in China?”

Even for a Chinaman, Chan went stiff.

“They do not grow coffee in China, Mot Honored Mister Plush.”

I took the coffee from him. This was an important part of my morning ritual lately.

“Do you wanna know why they don’t grow coffee in China, Chan?”

He sighed. There was anger behind his slanty subhuman eyes.

“Yes, Mister Plush. I would like to know why.”

I tossed the coffee in his face as I did every morning. The coffee was piping hot. Good old Chan. Even confronted with certain scalding he wouldn’t serve me lukewarm coffee.

“That is the worst damn coffee I’ve ever had. You run somebody’s laundry through the pot?”
Chan folded his hands and bowed.

“Humblest apologies. Does Most Honored Mister Plush require breakfast? Or to be driven somewhere?”

“Does sycophantic Chan want to lose his job and have to make noodles for a living?” It’s important to be firm with one’s chauffeur.

“Chan is very sorry.” He bowed again. Chan bowed pretty often. Unavoidable when a kid hears Confucius in the nursery.

“I’m taking the day off, Chan.”

Chan looked at me as if I were the one that talked goofy all the time.

“Are you certain Mister Plush, there is a lot to be done, there is especially the matter of…”

I didn’t even wanna think about it.

“It can wait. He’ll wait.”

Chan laughed. “I do not think I would take getting shot as lightly as you have.”

“I don’t take it lightly, Chan. I got no leads, and I’m burnt out, so scram!”

Chan shrugged, got in the limo and drove off.

This left me alone. I called Jean and invited her to dinner. She said seven. I said not to wear the fox suit. She said I could go to Hell. I asked if she had any messages for her mother. She asked about the mess in her kitchen. I said I’d see her at seven and hung up, taking my phone off the hook afterwards. Within five minutes, I started pouring myself drinks. I was bored to tears. I shouldn’t have been.

There was a knock on the door. Chan was starting to make me real angry. How could people with so much opium in their country be so utterly against relaxation? I opened my door, wishing the chinaman had made me two cups of coffee. I wouldn’t drink the second one either. But it wasn’t Chan at the door. It was a pony wearing a police cap. There was a whistle and a badge around his neck. It seemed like the sort of thing that would be a bad omen. What did my granny from the old country say about a pony on your doorstep? Made me wish I hadn’t given up my memories during the transfer so I’d know things like that, like if I had a granny or where the hell the old country was.

“Sorry, pal,” I said to the pony, “this ain’t a stable and I’m closed for the day.”

“Listen, Plush,” the pony shot back in a voice that reminded me a little of Gary Cooper, “you don’t like me
and I don’t like you, but I’ve got a problem. I’m gonna set aside my prejudices so we can make this town a little less awful.”

“Not interested. Go find yourself some oats and leave me alone, Seabiscuit.”

The pony got in my face.

“I don’t think you understand. I’ve got three dead city councilmen and a dead socialite. Think about it, four prospective kidnap victims. If they keep bumping off these people, there will be nobody to kidnap and murder’s one per customer, Plush. How long do you think a shameless shamus like yourself’s gonna last in a city where all the victims are already dead?”

He had a point. If I was going to maintain this lifestyle, I couldn’t have somebody icing every client that could pay me. Maybe I didn’t want to maintain this lifestyle, but when you’re a teddy bear with a bad reputation and nothing going for you but a chauffeur an office with “Jimmy Plush, Detective” on the door and a custom teddy bear handgun there usually ain’t many career paths open for you.

“Okay, horsey, you’ve got my attention. Now give me the details. Come on in.”

But before he could, three shots rang out and he was good as glue. If a pony on my doorstep was a bad
omen (and I couldn’t really tell if it was), then a dead pony on my doorstep was an awful one and a dead pony on my doorstep that had a badge was a disaster. I had to sort this out and I needed to do it fast.
Lucky for me, Chan had not really taken off, but had instead parked the limo in an alley nearby and waited for me to change my mind. He pulled up to the curb, got out and gave me a bow. Even though I needed him now, I was not happy about this.

“I guess they don’t have days off in China either, huh?”
Chan smiled.

“And yet, I’m not the one with a dead policeman on my doorstep.”

“Who is he? He knew the real Plush and hated him. Must have been a pretty good egg. For a pony.”
Chan’s smile turned into a frown.

“He was. His name was Horskowitz. He was an honest cop, not into the same things the others are. He tried to put some of them away for corruption, so they beat him up, transferred him into the body of a pony. He didn’t quit. He felt that only showed how much he was needed. In my opinion, he was right.”

I could only think of one man that could be behind this.

“Chan, take me to J.L Wong’s.”

The scenery on the way to J.L Wong’s was pretty much the same tableau of heartbreak I was used to; Furries in species drag ranging from strap-on sporting mice to Murray the Monogram Unicorn waiting for clients against every lamppost, ugly hoods carrying violin cases, businessmen looking for a den where they could chase the dragon, a Chinatown that the Orientals were afraid to even go near. Same hell-on-earth where most of my cases ended up leading. Or was it? There was a giant black cloth covering the side of the street. Something huge was underneath, something the size of a few buildings or a gigantic warehouse. I hadn’t seen any construction or demolition going on last time I was here, and last time I was here was two days ago. Identical obese quintuplets in pink pinstripe suits stood outside guarding it. They were trying too hard to act natural.

“Chan, stop!” By the time I’d said it, he’d already stopped.

I got out since I had a sneaking suspicion that these five gentlemen might have had something to do with my case.

“Nice weather we’re havin’, huh?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“So…gentlemen, what’s under the cloth?”

“A carnival,” they replied, again in unison.

“It’ll never work,” I told them as I walked back to the car,“this town’s already too much fun.”