It's shaping up to be a big year for Genre Reader, the publishing house I co-run with fellow author, Matthew Stott.
In February we launched our latest project, The Uncanny Kingdom, a whole universe of urban fantasy novels. To date we've released two new series, Ghosted and London Coven, and so far the feedback has been great!
The Uncanny Kingdom books are pulpy, fast-paced, scary, and above all, fun. You’re going to love reading these things!
So, put on your reading trousers and settle down for the best in Urban Fantasy. The Uncanny Kingdom is about to open its doors!
Did you read your copy of Trolled yet? In case you didn't, sign up for a FREE COPY HERE.
If you're already a fan of the series, Book 3 of the Trolled Saga is on sale now, so hurry on over to Amazon and get your copy of Killing the Fantasy HERE.
Here's the blurb:
"Since Nat Lawler and her gang of misfits stumbled through a magic portal and wound up in a fantasy land, things have taken a bit of a turn. They’ve fought a troll army, stormed an impenetrable citadel and unseated an evil queen from her ebony throne. Not bad for a group of seventeen-year-old roleplayers from a sleepy Essex suburb.
But now a new evil stalks the land: a dark power that has emerged from the shadows to wreak absolute destruction, and it’s up to Nat and her friends to take him down. They’ve come a long way from bashing rubber-faced goblins with styrofoam swords, but do these roleplayers have what it takes to defeat this new challenger, or are they about to be dealt a critical hit?"
Did you read your copy of Trolled yet? In case you didn't, sign up for a FREE COPY HERE.
If you're already a fan of the series, Book 2 of the Trolled Saga is on sale now, so hurry on over to Amazon and get your copy of Power Playing HERE.
Here's the blurb:
"Nat Lawler is in a weird place, and not just because the place she’s in is overrun with killer trolls. Since she traded in her hockey stick for a talking sword, she’s managed to pick a fight with the queen of evil, see off an inhuman army and save a tribe of elves from near extinction. But the battle is far from over.
The queen is already making ready for a final attack, and Nat and her allies are in no state for another fight. To make matters worse, she’s lost two key members of her party, including her abducted boyfriend, who is about to be delivered into the hands of the enemy. Can Nat unite a world falling apart around her? Or will she lose someone who means more to her than victory itself?"
Check it out, it's my new fantasy series, Trolled. Look at it up there. Isn't it shiny? Just think, one click and you'll be on the book's product page. A click after that and it'll be yours. I mean, at this point, wouldn't it be weird if you DIDN'T buy it?
AND THAT'S NOT ALL!
Buy before Xmas and get your copy for the frankly embarrassing price of 99c/99p. Holy heck, what am I like?
I sifted through some old stuff from my childhood today, only to discover that my writing may have peaked at the age of 8.
Things have been a bit quiet around these parts since I got busy on my latest book series, but I'm proud today to reveal the cover of the next Bussell Books title...
Trolled is the story of Nat Lawler, a seventeen year-old student and amateur hockey player who finds herself dumped in another world and dubbed its saviour. The one true champion appointed to free the people from the dread rule of Drensila the Black. There’s only one problem. This is high fantasy, and Nat Lawler doesn't know her orc from her elf bow.
Stay tuned for more info, including release dates and giveaways!
Myself and fellow author, Matthew Stott, have launched a new website called Genre Reader, a one-stop shop for the tippity-top in genre fiction. It's the place to be for horror, sci-fi, fantasy - all that good stuff. Even better, if you sign up now by clicking HERE you'll get the Genre Reader starter library absolutely FREE, plus a new book in your inbox each and every month. Holy cow burgers!
It was Halloween and my wife and I were in the process of selling our flat. Given the season, I thought why not make our listing topical by sneaking a creepy ventriloquist's dummy into each of the estate agent's photos? The wife wasn't totally sold on my selling strategy, but a day after the listing went live, Rightmove's social media department picked up on the stunt and posted it to their Facebook page. Two weeks later the flat was sold. That shut her up.
The following is a genuine chain of communication between myself and a prospective buyer. For some reason he never made us an offer...
The above was a clipping from my book, But... You're a Horse. If you enjoyed it, maybe pick yourself up a copy HERE.
Great question, chum!
Sextrap Dungeon is a series of standalone gamebooks that combines the 1980s interactive Fighting Fantasy book craze with parody erotica.
Sextrap Dungeon: Book 1 is a dating simulator where you play the part of a hapless lothario prone to getting murdered in horrific ways. It’s essentially sex ed disguised as smut, with every douchebag decision paid for with a bucket of blood.
Sextrap Dungeon 2: Critical Ass transplants the action to a Mad Max style dystopia. As a radioactive fallout blows across a bleached wasteland, you play the role of a post-apocalyptic booty hunter with a singular mission: to turn a total catastrophe into a total cat-ass-strophe.
Sextrap Dungeon 3: Clock Tease turns the format on its head, letting you play the part of a female scientist time-hopping through history on an epic hunt for man trim. It’s an unashamed and sex-positive story of empowerment with a decidedly feminist undercurrent.
As if that wasn't enough to tempt you to buy the whole bloody series, here's what the reviewers have had to say about Sextrap Dungeon:
“As ridiculously funny as it is addictively playable, this is one for the ages.” (Mustard Magazine)
“Leisure Suit Larry meets Saw… the funniest thing I’ve read this year.” (Kindle Cover Disasters)
“When it comes to death, this book does not f*ck around… more awesome than antibiotics in a smallpox outbreak.” Richard Cobbett (PC Gamer)
“[Like] a choose-your-own-adventure version of The Aristocrats.” (Biblio-therapy)
Click on the links above to visit the books' Amazon pages and purchase your copies. Go on. You deserve this.
The following is a piece of flash fiction about a God called Clive. If you enjoy it and would like to read more of this sort of stuff, you can get a whole book of 99 flash fictions FREE by subscribing to Bussell Books HERE.
God Showed Up One Day
God showed up one day. Not that God, or the other one, or the blue one with all the arms. This God said his name was Clive. He said it as he emerged over the horizon, his head as big as the sky, each of his pupils the size of a planetary moon.
Despite being the single most extraordinary sight ever beheld by humankind, Clive was nothing special to look at. A chubby man in his late forties, he had the aura of a harassed janitor about him. Someone who might sit next to you on the bus. A lotto player.
Still, people were keen to know what Clive wanted, blotting out the sun like an impending apocalypse. Did he mean us harm?
“Of course not,” he said, “I’m just dropping by to see how you’re all doing.”
His visit had the manner of a father checking in on his daughter’s slumber party; perfunctory on his part and wholly undesired on the other.
“I’ve been busy fixing some stuff at the other end of the universe,” Clive went on, “everything cool down there?”
It was hard to know how to answer that, or whether it should be answered at all. I mean, sure, it’s obvious Clive existed outside the laws of nature, but was he really a God?
“Not a God, Clive corrected, the God. There are no other Gods out there, believe me. Not unless I made them, and I didn’t.”
People demanded proof that Clive was who he said he was, so he sighed and turned all the world’s dogs into cats (and vice versa). That shut everyone up. Still, some objected. Their God was the one true God, they said, Clive was nothing but an imposter! A false god! There wasn’t much Clive could say to that. Some people are just dicks.
It must have stuck in his craw though, because Clive decided to stick around. It was great at first. Unlike all the other so-called “gods”, Clive didn’t require faith. If you wanted proof of Clive you only had to look up. Plus Clive worked with total transparency. None of this “mysterious ways” nonsense; if Clive wanted to lend a hand he would. “I need the roof of my shed looking at,” you’d say, and if Clive wasn’t busy putting out a bushfire or healing a sick child, he’d fix you right up.
Still, after a while it got kind of old. It was nice having Clive around, cleaning up messes and making sure everyone got fed, but after a while mankind needed its private time. Clive felt it too, and mumbled an excuse about having to take care of some stuff at the other end of the Milky Way. “You’re cool till I get back, right?” he asked and everyone sort of shrugged and said, “No worries.”
So away Clive went, toddling off into the distance until even our most powerful telescopes couldn’t pick him out against the infinity of space. This was followed by a collective exhalation of air that would have blown the Earth off its axis, at least if physics worked that way.
Years passed. Hundreds of them, then thousands. The story of Clive’s visit changed hands again and again, mutating, splintering, subject to dozens of different meanings and opposite interpretations, a game of telephone on a global scale. Eventually the real Clive came to be a distant memory, gobbled up by his sleeker, reinvented cousins: Claude and Clancy and Clarence (though strangely never Claire or Cleo or Clementine). Wars were fought in the honor of these new Clive facets. Civil liberties curtailed in the name of one and executions ordained in the name of another.
Then God showed up one day. Clive looked down and saw what people had done in his absence, and Clive despaired.
“I leave you alone for five millennia and this is what you do?” he complained, folding his arms and scowling. “Well, if that’s the way you want it we’ll just have to go back to the old way of doing things.”
He magicked up a recliner and parked his ass. Dad wasn’t leaving the slumber party this time. Dad was here to stay.
For the Luddites and anti-environmentalists among you, NORMALIZED is now available on good old-fashioned paper. Pick up your copy today and show Mother Gaia who's boss! Buy it HERE.
Or, if you'd prefer to get with with the 21st Century with its touch screens and silicon chips and such, you can purchase NORMALIZED for your Kindle HERE.
Did I ever tell you about Kurt Knox? He’s a fellow author I met travelling across the States one time. I made the mistake of accepting his challenge to an arm wrestle and, well, to cut a long story short, as a forfeit I now owe him book promotion in perpetuity. Yes, it’s a cross to bear, but it could have been worse. The guy he beat after me had to get a tattoo on his belly that said ‘kiss me where I pee’.
Anyway, Kurt’s got a new ebook out, so I’m here to tell you to buy a copy. It’s called SEXTRAP DUNGEON. I’m told it’s a choose your own adventure story for your Kindle, and that it’s very, very sexy. I’m a little fuzzy on the details, but the cover certainly means business. I don’t know, just pick up a copy, will you? It’s only $0.99 for heaven’s sake.
Happy now, Kurt?
I'd like to tell you about my new book series, Normalized, the four part diary of a superhero who is robbed of his powers and arrives at the absurd decision to fight evil as a normal man. It reads sort of like Superman by way of Adrian Mole. You'll like it.
To get Part One of Normalized on your Kindle/iPad/Bookulator, GO HERE.
Or maybe you're a genitals-to-the-wind maverick, in which case, why not take a gamble and get all four parts of Normalized as a set and save yourself over 50% off the cost)? You can do that HERE.
For those of you who do your reading off of actual pages like some kind of animal, the paperback will be available in April.
If you're able to get American Internet you can see 'But... You're a Horse' get the @midnight treatment HERE.
EDIT: Yeah, three of these are actually super villains. Get over it.
Cypher is a mutant with the power to understand any language. And that’s it. His whole portfolio. The guy is tits on a fish. You’d be better off downloading the Rosetta Stone app for your phone –at least it won’t cost you anything- unlike Cypher, who needs the cab fare home every time shit kicks off. Forget about saving lives, the only thing this chump’s going to save anyone from is having to read foreign subtitles.
There was a French kid at my school who took his own language as a class so he could get himself a freebie A Grade. I bet Cypher did the same. Arsehole.
2. The Red Bee
What has to happen to a man for him to wake up one morning, step into a striped leotard and say, “From this day on I will be known as The Red Bee”? Look, mate, putting on a dumb costume and insisting everyone calls you by a silly name doesn’t make you a superhero. Just ask P Diddy.
The Red Bee uses a swarm of trained bees to fight with, but his secret weapon is his favourite bee, which he carries around in his belt buckle. The bee is called Michael. I swear I’m not making this up.
So what’s Michael’s deal? Does he grow elephant-sized and stick evil-doers with twelve gallons of killer venom from his torpedo-scale stinger? No, he’s a fucking bee. He buzzes about and has trouble with windows.
“You know what nerds who read comic books love? Sports!”
This is the unassailable logic that gave birth to Triathlon, the world’s first jock superhero. Spider-Man had a classmate called Flash Thompson, a bully who’d body check him into the lockers and call him “Puny Parker” (because back then you weren’t allowed to say “dick-hole”). Triathlon is basically Flash Thompson in Spandex – a ‘roided-up knob with so much Creatine inside him you could probably milk his nipples for protein shake.
When I was a school kid my Dad once sent me to play football with split pipe lagging down my socks because he couldn’t afford shin pads. Triathlon would have kicked the crap out of me. Fuck Triathlon.
4. The Almighty Dollar
In stark contrast to Triathlon, The Almighty Dollar was an accountant with such a low opinion of himself that he decided to visit a self-esteem camp. Unfortunately for J. Pennington Pennypacker (I shit you not), the camp was actually a front for a whackjob scientist who experimented on him and gave him a superpower – the power to shoot pennies out of his wrists. That’s right, Spider-Man gets a pair of bomb-ass web-shooters but this sad sack dispenses the stuff you find down the back of a sofa. When it comes to superpowers the guy literally got short-changed. The only way he could be any more of a loser would be if he belonged to a group called the Happy Campers, which he did.
5. Black Condor
Black Condor joined the long tights brigade when a field trip to Mongolia went shit-shaped and a bunch of bandits straight up murdered his parents.
Luckily for him, he was adopted by a family of birds who took care of him and taught him how to fly (great for Black Condor but a stone cold smack in the mouth for physics). As origin stories go, BC’s really shits the bed. I mean, couldn’t the writer have had him bitten by a radioactive bald eagle or something? Or maybe he drank too much Red Bull and grew actual wings – that way you’d have yourself a superhero and a sweet product tie-in. Surely anything has to be better than having your superhero grow to adulthood with condors yakking mushed-up worms into his gob.
The only field trip I ever took was a high school ferry outing to Calais. It didn’t turn me into a superhero, but I did get a comb that worked like a flick-knife and a pack of pornographic playing cards. Now there’s an origin story.
6. U.S. 1
U.S. 1 was a big rig driving superhero with a steel plate in his head that allowed him to receive CB radio.
I’ve never been in an eighteen-wheeler, but I did once get a taxi in a U.S. city called Harrisburg after my rental car I was sharing with a friend broke down. We were stuck there, bored on a Friday night, so we decided to find out where the action was. We asked the driver if he knew anywhere kicking, and he clocked our British accents and told us he knew just the place. We drove past a group of hot girls and we asked the driver where he thought they were going. He told us, “Y'all can do better than that,” then pulled up to an even hotter group of girls and said, “You better tip good,” before winding down his window and yelling, “I got a couple of British guys in here who like to party!” A minute later we were sharing a cab with a group of college girls and headed to their sorority house. I distinctly remember the head cheerleader of the pack telling us, “You guys are going to get so much ass .” In case you were wondering, we did tip good.
PS. I’m aware this story has nothing at all to do with superheroes, I just really wanted share it.
Man-Thing? More like Garden-Salad. What’s he going to do, kale you to death? Playing keep-away with this compost heap is about as complicated as not visiting a swamp, making Man-Thing the Knight Boat of the Marvel universe.
(“Every week there’s a canal. Or an inlet. Or a fjord.”)
A friend of mine once said he’d give me twenty quid if I could go ten years without eating meat. I won the bet and stayed veggie for a decade but he never paid up. Now there’s supervillainy.
8. Tiger Shark
Take a look at this prick.
I’m not going to waste time laying out Tiger Shark’s backstory, it’s dumb as a bag of hammers and you’re a busy man (or woman, if so afflicted). I’d like to talk about animal-themed capes in general though, particularly how they tend to be utter guff bags. Ant-Man, The Lizard, Doctor Octopus, Squirrel Girl – stick the lot in a manimal farm and charge admission I say. I mean, what’s next? Horse Majeure? Accident Prawn? Invisi-Bull?
One of the rare exceptions to this rule is Spider-Man, who is my favourite superhero of all time. When I was a kid I wanted a Spider-Man outfit so bad I asked my Nan to knit me one. She told me a superhero outfit made of wool couldn’t be done and said no. Years later I found out about an artist called Mark Newport who's made a career out of knitting superhero outfits.
Once again, fuck you, nan.
9. The Crow
Ugh. Look at this sunlight-dodging mall goth with his emo eye make-up and budget Halloween costume. The Crow is Spinal Tap’s “none more black” philosophy in comic book form...
When I was a wee lad I went to a Halloween party where two girls –one dressed as Wonder Woman, the other as Robin– got into a fistfight over whether an ambulance needed to be called for a partygoer who was lying on his back and vomiting onto his own face. It was ridiculous. Wonder Woman would kick the dick off of Robin.
10. The Fiddler
Apparently he has a junior ward: The Kiddie Fiddler.
11. Mister Freeze
...No he’s not, you knob.
When Mister Freeze isn’t getting his facts wrong he’s depressing his enemies with an endless conveyor belt of bad dad jokes...
Jesus Christ. Look, I’m not adverse to a bit of wordplay, but if you’re going to talk exclusively in puns, why not expand your horizons a bit? Do one about fish or cheese or something. Just change the record, mate - does it always have to be about you?
Now what was I saying? Oh yeah, when I was a kid…
CLICK HERE for a FREE COPY of David Bussell’s novel, NORMALIZED - a superhero story for people who love comic books but hate all those dumb drawings.
I like my comedy with a bit of blood stirred in. Interesting things often happen when the silly and the serious combine: when the nasty intensifies the potency of the funny. It’s why people get the giggles at funerals, or laugh when someone gets a kick in the genitals. Hell, put the two together –crack a corpse in the nuts– and you’ve got Weekend at Bernie’s, and what could be funnier than that? Here’s a comprehensive list:
1. Black Mirror
Admittedly more horror than comedy, this one. Take ‘National Anthem’ (trailer above), Black Mirror’s first episode, in which the British Prime Minister must fuck a pig live on air in order to preserve the life of a kidnapped princess. It’s the sort of thing its writer, Charlie Brooker, might have written about in one of his TV Go Home entries – a savage bit of absurdity that parodied the public’s fascination with the worst excesses of television. National Anthem does just that, but it treats its insane premise with absolute seriousness, playing the drama straight down the line. By the time the PM is knelt behind the poor sow, literally making it “squeal like a pig”, we feel the same way the story’s audience does – disgusted to be complicit in this degrading act. And yet even if the execution isn’t funny, the idea is. It reminds me of the time a friend returned from the cinema having just seen the film Memento and offered the following review:
“It’s about this bloke trying to solve a murder, but he’s having to do it with a ten minute memory.”
I'm laughing already! Except Memento isn’t a comedy at all (well, save for this scene), which just goes to show, with a little nudge, a certain premise can go either way. Point of fact: not long after Memento, a similar idea was used as the basis for another film. It was the story of a man forced to repeatedly woo a woman who suffers from anterograde amnesia. A harrowing drama? That story was 50 First Dates, starring Adam Sandler, so yeah, in a way.
2. Adult Swim programming
Adult Swim has been on a winning streak lately, what with the viral successes of Too Many Cooks and Unedited Footage of a Bear, the latter of which involved the station pretty much dropping the comedy pretence completely in favour of raw, ball-shrinking terror.
Adult Swim have been producing weird and unsettling comedy for years though, with shows like Tim & Eric Awesome Show, Xavier: Renegade Angel, Aqua Teen Hunger Force and Sealab 2021 (to name just a few) regularly spiked with moments of real dread and repugnance.
If you enjoy Adult Swim’s output you’d also do well to check out Wonder Showzen (originally aired on MTV2), which features some of the most horrific television comedy ever produced.
3. Shaun of the Dead
I don’t really have to say much about this one – you’ve all seen it. You probably own it on DVD in fact – they used to sell it by the counter at Tesco for a fiver. I once shared a flat with two guys and each of us had a copy. “Who fancies watching Shaun of the Dead three times?” I’d say, laughing. Then we’d all have sex.
Years ago, when I graduated university with ambitions of becoming a screenwriter, I wrote a movie called Something Rotten. It was a zombie horror comedy – something that hadn’t really been done at that point since 1985’s Return of the Living Dead. I’d just finished the third draft when I found out about a film that was about to go into production with a familar pitch. That film was Shaun of the Dead, a zombie comedy that was so similar to Something Rotten it even came with the matching tagline ‘A Rom Zom Com.’ I don't tell this story to suggest foul play – Pegg and Wright hadn’t been within a hundred miles of my shonky, piece-of-shit screenplay – I mention it in a purely anecdotal capacity. That said, at least Something Rotten didn’t operate under a false pretence. I mean, how exactly is Shaun “of” the dead? He isn’t of course, it’s just an excuse for Wright and Pegg to steal from Romero and trade off of the title of his classic, Dawn of the Dead, same way they stole my screenplay, the thieving gypsy bastards.
(In case you’re wondering what happened to Something Rotten, the genuine answer is that I took it to Hollywood and shopped it around one summer but couldn’t find a buyer. The last pitch meeting I attended was with a producer at Miramax who gave me the memorable advice, “Look, buddy, if it’s anything more complicated than Jennifer Lopez falling out of a tree, who gives a shit?” It’s advice I apply to my writing to this very day).
4. The Return of the Living Dead
As well as having a bomb-ass soundtrack, this movie pretty much invented the zombie parody. Along with its famous “send more paramedics” line – delivered into an ambulance radio by a zombie who hasn’t quite had his fill of paramedics – it’s also the film credited with adding “brains!” to the zombie lexicon.
The above clip is a perfect capsule of the film – daft as a brush but ghastly at the same time. The same goes with an early scene involving medical specimens of bisected dogs that come to life, wriggling around in their vitrines like animated Damien Hirst sculptures – ridiculous and hideous in equal measure. Oh, and if that’s not your bag, there’s a punk chick who spends the best part of the film’s run time dancing about stark billy bollocks.
5. The League of Gentleman
I once went on a student exchange trip to South Africa, and when I returned to the UK, everyone was raving about this new show called The League of Gentlemen and growling “Hello, Dave!” at me. When I asked what the programme was about they told me it had been pretty much custom made to my taste. They were not wrong.
That’s me dressed as Papa Lazarou for a Halloween party. I wish I’d taken a photo of the rest of the outfit, because I really went to town with it – even stitched a bunch of clothes pegs into the lining. I was going to be the hit of the party, or so I thought. See, the trouble is, if you’re not intimately familiar with The League of Gentlemen (as many weren’t at the time) a Papa Lazarou costume is really just a white guy in blackface. It’s fair to say I didn’t make any new friends at that party. Still, great show...
6. Vampire’s Kiss
When I was a kid, me and my mates would go to Penny Farthing Video Club and rent a stack of horror films on VHS for two quid. You could borrow the whole of the Halloween franchise for that money, all bound by an elastic band. And the best part was, the owner didn’t give a solitary shit if you were even close to eighteen.
One of the most memorable rentals from that time was Vampire’s Kiss, and that’s saying something given that we used to call those illicit Friday evenings ‘video/vomit nights’, named after the excess of wine consumed that would invariably lead to the participants throwing up their box of burgundy (this was considered sophisticated in the suburbs).
Vampire’s Kiss is one of Nic Cage’s first movies, not to mention one of his best. I almost considered not including the compilation clip above in case it spoiled your enjoyment of the film, but I’m a bit of a prick, so I left it there anyway. Just promise you’ll watch the full thing, okay?
7. Garth Merenghi’s Dark Place
Hilarious, and full of the kind of queasily bad special effects that made Doctor Who a nightmare delivery system for so many of my generation’s youth, Dark Place is stupid and creepy in the same way Hammer Horrors were, with their rampant overacting and ketchup-red Technicolor blood.
Despite the Garth Merenghi stage show winning the Edinburgh Fringe award, the TV show failed to flourish due to its small viewing figures and excessive cost. Apparently, it takes a good deal of money to make something look that naff. Armed with this information, you’d have to be a fool to poach one of Garth Merenghi’s leads and cast her in a high production value sketch show about lobster-clawed monsters from outer space and expect it to succeed. A damned fool.
8. Tucker and Dale vs. Evil
This is one of those films with a premise I want to stick under my cardigan and do a runner with. A pair of harmless rednecks just want to enjoy a nice relaxing vacation in their log cabin when a group of horny teenagers show up and start getting themselves killed all over the place. Those unfamiliar with the slasher subgenre might accuse it of being a bit one-note, but those people probably enjoy going around supermarkets letting the fizz out of soda bottles too.
9. The Frighteners
Every bit as good as Ghostbusters but largely overlooked, The Frighteners is my favourite of Peter Jackson’s films. Not only does it star Michael J. Fox (a boyhood hero), it also features Jeffrey Coombs (from another great horror/comedy, Re-Animator), who gets to wear a lead waistcoat and yell, “My body is a roadmap of pain!” Watch the shit out of it.
10. Cabin in the Woods
Joss Whedon is a powerhouse. In the time it took you to read that sentence, Whedon already wrote and produced a TV series and a blockbuster feature film. He fingerbanged your mum too, and made her scream “Wheeeeeeedon!” while he did it. Just be grateful he took the time.
Whedon has long had a finger in the comedy/horror milieu (as well as your mother). Right from the off he proved himself an expert at fusing the two genres, Buffy the Vampire Slayer being his most notable offering, at least until Cabin in the Woods came along.
The first thing you should know about Cabin in the Woods is that it’s batshit banana bonkers – a brilliant deconstruction of clichéd horror tropes and a glorious piece of fan service to boot. It has its cake, eats it, then shits out a brand new, better cake. A better cake with a homicidal merman in it. Yep, Joss Whedon’s a real powerhouse. Alien Resurrection can fuck right off though.
“That David Bussell sure knows his onions, I wonder if he wrote a book I can buy that masterfully combines the madcap and the macabre.”
Like the title says, BUT... YOU'RE A HORSE is now available in Kindle edition, and holy heck, it's more exciting than performing keyhole surgery in the eye of a hurricane!
So what the Dickens are you waiting for?
BUY YOUR COPY TODAY!
Holy heck, what a day to be alive!
Not one but FOUR of the ninety-nine stories from BAD ENDINGS, yours to read for free! It's like someone shot you in the head with a hollow-point full of rainbows and smiles!
COLOSSAL NEWS, GUYS! As an ADDED INCENTIVE to buy my latest book, BAD ENDINGS, the first person to send a PHOTO of themselves holding a copy will get a FREE SIGNED EDITION of my first book, BUT... YOU'RE A HORSE! I must be CLINICALLY INSANE to offer a deal like this, or at the very least a TERRIBLE BUSINESS MAN!
Send your photo via the CONTACT PAGE and keep the dick pics to a MINIMUM.
Check out this shower of thoroughly satisfied customers!
Why not join their ranks, buy a copy of BUT... YOU'RE A HORSE and submit your own photo via the CONTACT page? Because you have a rich, fulfilling life? Fair enough then.