Thomm Quackenbush, author

Buy My Crap

Hi, Stevehen Warren here. Are you having trouble with coming to terms with the recently dead? Does the idea of Armageddon bring you down? Well, you might want to start practicing the art of catching bullets with the back of your head because we're all going to die. Let's see how it's going to work. See this virus developed by the Germans; they make wicked good killing diseases, attacks the brain stem of the recently dead infusing them with the power of fifteen men. The body leaps to life, devouring all human flesh in the immediate area. Wait, there's more. The disease replicates body trauma and, using a touch of mysticism, leads to a screaming horde of the undead. Billie Mays isn't dead, he's resting.
 
Hi! Billie Mays here, plotting on how I'm going to scare the crap out of you.
In three days, sometime after dogs and cats start living together but before we shoot Clint Eastwood into the sky to repair Russian nuclear satellites, we can expected a lifeless Billy Mays to mutter catchphrases as he stumbles through our post-apocalyptic world. This is just going to be a crappy day, you might want to avoid Facebook altogether. It's just going to be a bunch of Elliot Smith lyrics tied between your usual calls for a merciful God to end it all. It's going to suck.

Do we honestly think anything could kill Billie Mays? Well, maybe cocaine, a large amount of cocaine equal to Scarface levels. Short of that, I envisioned a world of Twinkies and Billie Mays standing in some post-apocalyptic hell, selling toxic waste doubling at Orange Glo. Throwing this idea out there, but maybe this is all a publicity stunt. Seriously, would any of us be surprised if, at his funeral, a slightly sleep deprived Billie Mays cut through his own coffin with a Dual Saw.
 
Animal Man flying with a whale has everything to do with Billie Mays.
That thing can cut through safes, you know. I will go out on a limb, if this all turns out to be a cheap attempt to sell overly powerful saws, I will be the first in line to buy two. Seriously, who could deny bursting through a fucking coffin as possibly the greatest publicity stunt ever? "You thought I was dead? Well, thanks to the dual saw, my ass is going to hang around forever. Line up your mothers so that I may reproduce with them stronger children than you will ever be." If this happens, I promised to quit my job and switch to hard liquor.

Billie Mays made you excited to buy things. In a nutshell, that was his skill, his mutant power, if you will. You wanted to please the man, fill his coffer like some medieval king bent on recapturing the Holy Land. What separated him from your usual brand of pitchman was his use of actual standards when it came to products. It had to work. It had to do something so fucking spectacular that your sperm would stop and wonder if it were good enough to create a child for his world. He seemed like a nice guy, I mean who wouldn't want to grab a beer with the guy? Granted, he would likely show off some bottle opener that would make your scrotum retract into your body with joy, but that was part of the elation of the man. On the vast Internet, there is a video of him ordering McDonalds. Head over to your respected search engine and check it out (ED NOTE: No need, I did the legwork for you!). It will make you get some Sausage Burritos and Diet Coke, I swear. It will also fester the desire to strip naked for the man, to have him clean your clothes.

Try Might Putty, people, try it!

Your Musical Moment Provided By Stina Nordenstam Little star, so you had to go. You must have wanted him to know. You must have wanted the world to know, poor little thing. Now they know.


Stevehen J. Warren is a trained professional in dealing with the crap society churns out. If possible, do not attempt to engage any crap you may find. He mocks it so you don't have to.

If you have a movie, picture, website, friend, game, book, fan fiction, or toilet you would like me to see, or crap all over, please inform your friendly webmaster and include your name and the name of the crappee. The numbers are open and we have trained professionals waiting to receive your call.



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Works by Thomm Quackenbush

The Night's Dream Series

We Shadows by Thomm Quackenbush

Danse Macabre by Thomm Quackenbush

Artificial Gods by Thomm Quackenbush