I’ve never looked at a dildo and mistaken it for a chest expander, but I’m not a priest, so there’s that. This is how Hawker and McHardy begin their novella, My Dildo Is a Serial Killer. A priest opens a box containing what he believes to be exercise equipment, and insanity ensues. Of course, this mistake arises because someone who couldn’t spell “exorcism” delivered the box with the expectation that someone associated with the church would be able to remedy the problem with the giant purple dildo possessed by the spirit of a serial killer. His name is Terry. Escaping from the exorcism performed by a couple of priests, Terry finds his way to Christina, a disgusting human being with potentially no redeeming qualities. She is the perfect tool for the fulfillment of Terry’s needs. It’s not totally her fault, though. Wait until you meet her parents because, as messed up as Christina happens to be, there’s no doubt they played a key role in nudging her along that path. I’m not telling you anything more about this one. You have to experience it for yourself. The deaths are over-the-top and gruesome, the humor is dark and perverse, and the blistering pace keeps the reader raw and sore as McHardy and Hawker bestow us with a barrage of absurd, graphic, and hilarious events from beginning to climax. These two are fantastic on their own. Combined, they craft a seamless narrative that captures the best of both worlds.
This title was released as part of the 31 Days of Godless event at http://www.godless.com for October of 2021. You can pick up a digital copy of this release by going to the website or by downloading the Godless app on your mobile device of choice.
Jon and Spence live alone with what’s left of their mother. Alone, that is, until Jon brings Wendy home. Wendy, steadily decaying and host to insects and parasites of all kinds since Jon left her rotting in the woods until he couldn’t restrain himself from bringing his new lover home. That is where the story begins, but it’s nowhere near the end. Grotesque, violent, sexually explicit, and perversely hilarious, Sean Hawker introduces us to the world of The Cotswold Muff Mangler and his mentally deficient sibling. More than that, he introduces us to a form of afterlife that is utterly, horrifically awful. Think Return of the Living Dead, where the deceased remain aware and capable of receiving gradually diminished sensory input as they rot. Now imagine being at the mercy of a dude who takes you back to a home that resembles a landfill only to have his way with you in every disgusting manner possible. Yeah, it’s sort of chilling to think about it. I recommend not thinking about it if you can avoid doing so. Thanks to our author, I find myself wanting to attend a Godless Horrors Lit Fest in some seedy dive of a bar/pub in a rundown, needle park region of a city. If there’s a guarantee of Simon McHardy filling an inflatable koala with semen, I think the venue will be packed! There are no sympathetic characters in this story, but that’s a feature, not a bug. If you’ve enjoyed Hawkman’s other material, you’re sure to love this one. You’ll never look at a Halloween mask fashioned from gorilla foreskin the same way again.
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As the story begins, we almost feel sorry for Les as we catch glimpses of just how mentally unstable his wife, Marjory, happens to be. Something still tugs at the back of your mind, suggesting that Les can’t be all that well either, judging by how casually he seems to react to Marjory’s antics. Unable to have a child together, the couple has tried everything, including pets. Les is desperate to do something to assuage his wife’s malfunctioning nesting instinct. Enter Gary, a dwarf who thinks he’s on his way to a movie set where he’ll be portraying a child much younger than his thirty years. He’s about to enter a nightmare even the reader doesn’t suspect by walking through the door of Les and Marjory’s residence. If you think it’s awful after Gary gets tucked in the first night, wait until you meet Spencer. Hawker makes you question what might be going on behind the closed doors of residential neighborhoods everywhere. If we peek through enough windows, will we find something like this story playing out? I sure hope not, but I suspect Hawker might be onto something here, and he’s showing us the unclean, horrifying truth buried beneath the banality of everyday life.
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