Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Sunday, June 27, 2010


Starlips wasn't always considered a hippie. She had really just gotten into the scene with a friend of hers, who was now off in law-school.

She got her name from the ridiculous amount of glitter she peppered her face and cleavage with. She was somewhat of a Techno-Hippie, and preferred long nights on ecstasy dancing to talentless house music. Nights that preferably ended in enormous orgies.

She never really considered herself a full-on lesbian, but rarely enjoyed the company of the boys, and found the beauty of a woman's body irresistible.

In the night before, after her hours on the swing set, she had taken some LSD and roamed off by herself. Now, as morning came, she stood in the woods beneath a particularly large tree, perhaps the biggest she had ever seen.

The tree danced for her. It's trunk was as big around as a small car, and reached forever up into the sky. She could barely make out its higher branches or the leaves upon them. She stood at its base, watching as the LSD helped it to sway and twist. Whenever there was a breeze she saw the tree bending with the wind, and expected it to uproot and fly away.

She stood there, mesmerized as the mob came up behind her, and she never saw or heard them coming as she stared into the tree. Even when they had pounced her, and tore away at her flesh with their hands and teeth, in her psychedelic state she never realized what happened. She didn't have the opportunity to mutter any protest as they chewed at her, and it wasn't long before the group stood back and watched as she rose, one of them.


Lucas and Jesse had made out well at the campground, arming themselves with another rifle and a couple of handguns. They filled their pockets and a backpack with ammo.

The campground itself was littered with carnage. Blood and pieces of flesh were all around. Tents, soaked in blood were ripped to shreds. There had been a serious battle here, though it was very obviously one-sided.

"We have to hurry," he said. "We need to get ahead of them and cut them off before they reach the festival grounds."

Lucas was all for hurrying. The sooner he got to shoot something in the face, the better. He didn't much care about the festival or anyone attending it. It seemed more fun, to him, to let them turn the whole festival before they arrived. More to shoot. He didn't mention any of this. Jesse was trained somewhat in tactics and knew what he was talking about, and more-so knew what he was doing. The more Lucas thought about it, the more he realized that he had the perfect companion for this sort of thing.

They made their way towards the festival, quite a hike after hooking back through the campground to loot. The sun was nearly completely risen now, which sort of pissed of Lucas since he would no longer need the night-vision goggles.

When they reached the edge of the forest, Jesse slightly panicked. He saw the festival in front of them, and though the music was going, it sounded terrible. There was very little movement in the outer edge of festival camping, save one area along the edge that a stream of smoke rose from.

"We beat them here."

Lucas sighed, disappointed.

Jesse shook his head. He knew that Lucas was only in this for the chance to kill someone, zombie or not. Lucas was ready to fire his gun at the first thing in range to look like a zombie. This would make him a great soldier, when the battle finally came, but until then Jesse was concerned that Lucas might be a little crazy.

Jesse scanned the edge of the festival grounds that were along the forest edge, for quite a ways. He was pretty sure the undead gang would have to enter within their field of vision from this point, considering that in other parts the trees were just too thick.

A breeze carried some of the smoke their way, and as it brushed past their nostrils, Jesse and Lucas caught the aroma of bacon. They were both feeling hungry, and this scent did not help.

Jesse considered the options, then reported his plan. "We need to go to that smoke and warn these people. Maybe they will give us some of that breakfast."

Lucas laughed, "Bro, we got guns. Those hippies will give us whatever we want."

Jesse shook his head as they started towards the source of the smoke. "Whatever you do, Luke, just let me do the talking."

Lucas let out a chortle and said, "Just let me do the shooting."


Friday, June 25, 2010


The music was well under way when Tiny opened his eyes. The sun and complete exhaustion prevented him from opening them all the way. The music was faint, but it was there enough to remind him of where he was before his eyes could take any of it in.

The crowd was all around him. He was surrounded by people, as he had remembered being shortly before he apparently blacked-out. The rest of the evening was completely lost to him, but this was nothing new to Tiny.

He reached down beside him for a beer, but he hadn't been able to feel any. When he tried to pry his eyes open to an acceptable state of awareness and search for a brew, he realized that none of the people around him were dancing. They weren't moving at all. Hundreds of them surrounded him, all turned in his direction, staring.

They all had blank looks on their faces pointed right at him, as if waiting for him to awaken and start the show, while the real show was going on behind them, and not a one seemed to care.

He felt starved, and the stares made Tiny uncomfortable. He felt bloated and wanted a trip to the toilet, so he made an attempt to move. He felt a pinching as he moved his muscles at first, and then a severe burn from his ass to his thighs. These were not the normal pains of too long in a chair, and no one knew that better than Tiny. Upon examining himself, he realized that as he leaned in either direction, the chair came with him, the umbrella above his head with it.

His underside had fused itself to the chair he had remained in for almost an entire day. He grunted in pain as he felt the flesh tear when he tried to move, then screamed when he could't pull at it anymore.

Looking around himself, he discovered a puddle of his own filth and blood beneath him. His stomach was bloated and risen while the rest of him sagged tremendously. He could feel flabs of skin and fat falling off him, like he was melting in the hot sun. He saw patches of discoloration in the skin throughout his body, and his veins were all visibly black. The more he moved the more he tore at the skin stuck to the chair and his gobs of fat hung lower to the ground.

His movements stirred up the scent of his own putrefaction and he vomited, covering his chin and chest with an acidic bile that killed his senses, and he lost conciousness again.

Everyone remained staring at him. No one said anything or made a movement. They looked on as this enormous human slowly became a massive, pungent blob of decay. None of them reeled from the odor, or shied from the sight as chunks of meat spilled away from Tiny's body and plopped into the sea of discharge, which insects were working their way through.

The band, unaware no one was really paying any attention, just kept on playing, but the sound was all terribly out of key and sync.

I interview Me!

In my first ever interview, I get down and to the point with myself. I seemed like an O.K. guy in person, but I can understand why everyone thinks I am such an asshole.

Q) So, your first name is Justin, our clever team of basement-dwellers figured that much out on the internet. Obviously your current bio is some kind of gimmick. Care to tell us who you really are, and where you are from?

A) J Gilliam Martin just has a better flow to it. Plus there are handfuls of other Justins these days, and they are all douche-bags. I currently live in Doylestown, PA, which I attempted to settle into as a local author. The issue here is that both Doylestown and I fucking hate each other. I grew up in Maine, but to me it seems a bit cliche to boast as a horror author from Maine. I totally threw M&Ms at Stephen King at a high-school basketball game once.

Q) Did he notice? Any hits?

A) I don't think we did hit him or that he did notice. Shit like that probably happened to him all the time back then, he sorta did stuff worth talking about in those days. And there are assholes everywhere.

Q) So where do you call home, then? Who's local bookstores should be kissing your ass?

A) Hell.

Q) Oh, right. So let's talk about that, then. How did you get hooked up with Satan?

A) We've always gotten along. I think he knew my Mom. The guy has some great ideas and just no time to fucking put them down on paper, you know? I offered to help in exchange for a few things. Of course, as with any agent, I aint seen shit, yet.

Q) Hippies vs. Zombies, tell us more about where it comes from and where it is going?

A) You would know just as much about that as I would. I mean, it comes from Hell, obviously. As for where it's going... Satan and I talk about it on occasion, but really it is all written moments before it is submitted to the blog. The biggest problem I find with drafting a novel this way is that people are waiting, anticipating. I need to be somewhat organized for a post. I have to be in the zone with a clear head. As clear as mine gets, anyway. I can't just ramble on it when I am drunk and fix it later. I mean, obviously before the book is published I will edit and revise it, but if the whole thing looked like P2b, there would just be no point. No one would read that shit.

Q) So we get to read your half-ass draft for free now, then you expect to make us pay for the final version sometime later?

A) Exactly. If there's one thing I expect from all this, it's to make the human race pay.

Q) You're an idiot. So what else beyond this?

A) Beyond this shitty interview?

Q) No, beyond HvZ. What else are you and the Devil planning?

A) Oh. Well, there's The Preposterous Baron Grill, which was originally intended to be my first novel. It's a family-fun story with a moral: Spay and neuter your pets.

Q) And this about essays? Music reviews? Where is this blog going?

A) I will never really make this blog about me. My life is not only boring, but most often in complete shambles. It's really hot here in Hell and I can't seem to hold it together for more than two or three hours in the morning. I have some non-fiction, opinionated ideas I would like to explore, while keeping true to the sort of dark humor Satan has gifted me with. I don't want to spill any beans because some asshole will steal the ideas, and I'm really trying to get through my early career without killing anyone.

As for music, music is what fuels me. I actually like tons of various music, but my heart is in Metal. I think with this I am actually going to review things I don't like. Negativity is what I do best.

Q) So people will be able to come here to read about how something sucks?

A) Yes, and then 90% of them will go buy it anyway.

Q) Well this has been informative, however lacking in entertainment. Anything else you would like to add?

A) No.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

What the hell is going on around here?


Yeah, I know. So as a reminder to everyone who might be joining us in the midst of all this madness, Hippies vs Zombies is just being drafted here on the blog.

I am aware of how sloppy and confusing the last couple of posts have been, but if you think that is bad, you should have seen my fucking brain at the time!

I had to lay out those characters and give them a basic foundation, which i will not say was done successfully... but it is done.

Everything should be back to normal here any day now.

A team of imps is hard at work putting together the new website, under the watchful, slavering eye of one of my very favorite people Mr. Byron Rempel.

I also have some fun new things planned for the blog, such as an essay (believe it) sections, and music/concert reviews, because music and concerts are things I like to talk about.

In the meantime, check out some semi-local music that makes me super-fucking-ultra-happy.

Monday, June 14, 2010


The rest of the hike in went mostly unnoticed, except for the occasional stop so that Tiny could catch his breath. His breath, of course, consisted primarily of marijuana smoke, so the stops were long enough for two joints. In a group of nine, one joint would get to Captain, and he would suck it down to his fingers in fear he may not be passed it again, so they always rolled two and passed them in opposite rotation.

Some good had come of the bus failing, and that was that the group was permitted to skip the line, which consisted entirely of people needing to park. One line for cars and one for RVs, the nine attendees on foot were allowed to walk right in. This nailed them an exceptional camping spot in the back of the designated area, on the border of the woods.

Tiny had forgotten his tent.

"I should have just stayed with the fucking bus. This is bullshit. All of you with your two persons, where the fuck am I supposed to sleep?"

The sight of Tiny alone in a two-person tent conjures images of turtle. Everyone knew Tiny was going to bitch about something at any given moment. Whenever he actually had to contribute to his existence, he was unhappy. They also knew that within an hour he would drink himself into forgetting his problems, said existence becoming not so unlike that of the turtle, were it on its back.

"Wouldn't you rather camp near the music anyway?" Hubble suggested. "We've got the umbrella chair, you could go set it up at the stage now, never have to move the whole weekend."

It was meant to be a joke, but Tiny was sold on the idea and immediately grabbed himself a growler of I.P.A. and the umbrella chair, and gave them all the finger as he headed off in search of the best place for his throne.

"He could've taken some fucking stock with him," Captain said, arming himself with backpacks and pockets full of product to sell. From LSD to Ambien, they had enough drugs between them to put each and every one of them away for life. "I'd like to be rid of this shit by tomorrow night, so that I can enjoy myself the last day."

They all contributed in the sales. Starlips also had her own bag of goods to sell. From hemp bracelets to glass beads the size of golf balls, she had always been crafting something. September to April she hid away in her apartment making assorted trinkets and paraphernalia. Anything she was unable to sell online in the off-season, she brought and sold at festivals on the road. There was a barter system amongst the scene, and most of her shit was traded for someone else's shit. Often she headed back to her apartment at the end of the summer with more bags full of other people's homemade junk than she had left with of her own. She had been the first to leave after Tiny, followed by Captain, Moke, and Curry, all carrying their share.

The others stayed behind and continued to make their campsite home. Koi removed her goldfish from around her neck. The fish's full name was Licorne Rose de la Mer. Were it ever referred to at all, it was simply called fish. She set the fishbowl in the center of a small folding night stand. Removing a small pharmaceutical container from a pocket hidden under her skirt, she used it to sprinkle nutritious flakes into the water, which Licorne Rose de la Mer bobbed and pecked at until the water was again clear.

The food was of Koi's own recipe which, though she would never admit it, made cannibals of her pets. The recipe contained a good amount of fish, as well as various vegetables. She had multiple tanks back at her parents' house, but Licorne Rose de la Mer was the only fish of hundreds that had the privilege of riding passenger. Since Koi was nine years old, Licorne Rose de la Mer was the name given to a dozen identical goldfish. Koi had no idea, and probably still believed in such nonsense as the Tooth Fairy.

Hubble and Robin grilled some tofu and relaxed over a meal, before setting out to search for Cukes and Floorplan. They grilled a chunk of the bean treat once, then Robin found out pegs had cooked a hamburger on the grill at a previous stop. Revolted by the fact that her food would be tainted by the touch of something that had once touched dead flesh, she threw the hot grill at Pegs, which sizzled on one of his prosthetics for a moment as they all laughed. She brought out an unused grill rack from her pack and cooked another slab of the tofu.

Pegs had been set up with his wheelchair once everyone had settled in. He strapped his legs in a criss-cross behind his wheelchair, sheathed like the swords of a ninja. Pegs was not beyond using his disability as an advantage. He used their pity to the fullest to get whatever he could out of them. He was off to pray on the sympathetic after the grill incident. He had hoped she wouldn't notice the burnt burger-juices so that he could tell her when she had a mouthful of that curd, and watch her wretch. Robin however, always at the height of awareness, had avoided humiliation as she always did.

With the campsite all set up and everyone out kicking off the weekend as they did any other festival, the event was almost in full swing. Crowds were forming in front of the stages and filling various event tents. The booths were peddling wares. The line of homegrown craftsman behind the rented booths were selling twice as many wares.

Tiny had gotten him self all set up in the middle of a standing area in front of the main stage. He sat in a chair looking ridiculous as his fat rolls hung over the sides almost completely hiding it. He looked as though he was hovering, seated like Buddha, with an obnoxious rainbow umbrella hanging over his head. He had a drum circle around him, banging out off-tempo noise while they waited for a band to play.

Moke and Tiny were, in fact, twins. Somewhere in the mysterious magic that is genetics, Moke ended up with all the looks, smarts, and everything else beneficial to mankind. Tiny was born an enormous infant, and rather than grow he sort of blew up like a balloon. He seemed to grow horizontally rather than vertically. Sure, Tiny was over six feet tall, but a measure of his width would drop your jaw in awe.

Moke had failed out of college almost as soon as he had moved in. He was to be a lawyer, like his father. When his mother passed (fucking cancer), he ended up skipping all of his classes to make sure his brother had what he needed. Moke had always felt guilty for being the extreme norm of the two, and though Tiny was not technically handicapped in any way, he always let Moke make up for it in whatever way possible.

Eventually the school sent Moke a letter that he was being withdrawn from all his classes, and that they had seen him too irresponsible to further attend their school. Moke laughed out loud in the kitchen as he read it. He had been quite high when brought a lighter to the corner. After shaking the flame from it as it almost burned away in his hand, he put the charred remainder on a sandwich he had been preparing. Slapping some extra mayonnaise on the bread, he closed it up and fed it to his brother.

There had always been little jabs like this. Small, mostly harmless pranks Moke would pull on Tiny, who never had a clue. The list was a long one, for sure, but usually involved feeding him some inedible or disgusting morsel.

"Anything we can get you Tiny, you seem pretty comfortable."

Tiny dug deep in considering whether or not he 'needed' anything. In much to the same respect that Moke trie to get even in his secret little ways, Tiny could never bring himself to reply that he didn't need anything. It was especially hard in this case, however, for he was at the peak of relaxation. With the mushrooms giving him a slack perspective on his surroundings, and his beer supply plentiful, there wasn't actually much of anything he could want, let alone need.

"How about you find me some chick to sit on my lap, and leave me a joint or two," was the best he could do.

Moke laughed, knowing that soon enough Tiny would have a girl on each leg. He might not have been much to look at, or even stand near, but he was considered high quality company, and made the ladies laugh. Tiny was considered the white, hippie version of Biggie Smalls. A half-ass king of the free spirits.

Captain pulled a loose baggie from his pocket, along with a book of papers and handed it to Tiny. "Here you go, pimp," he said, "but you gotta sell this, too." He dropped a duffel-sack next to Tiny. None of them could say specifically what was in the duffel, other than drugs, but Tiny knew the drill and would unload as much of it as possible, partaking in more than his share all the while.


The rest of the day went like any music festival should. Intoxication levels raging from head to head, dancing and smoking and drumming. There was a small area with a sprinkler system for running through as well as multiple swing-sets. Starlips had been lost on a swing when her she attempted to pass by, and was still there long into the night. Moke joined her later, after exhausting his ability to mingle and push his stock. One of them talked all night about various stuff she had accumulated, while the other rocked gently, slumped in a swing, listening through ears nearly as closed as his eyelids.

There was no sign of Cukes or Floorplan, and though they had given up any kind of search, everyone still expected them to just show up at any point with some incredible story.

In the evening they were all out seeing this band or that. The lot of them were all looking forward most to Bubba Scorch and the Black Grass Jug Band, scheduled to play the final night. These festivals always saved the best for last through these weekends. It made no sense to anyone, since you always wanted to be at your peak of intoxication or psychadelic experience or whatever when the best band came on. This prevented the hard-core goers from leaving on Sunday, in which case they were always in the way of cleanup on Monday.

Everyone had met up for a meal just before sunset that evening, save Tiny. Moke had visited him shortly only to learn that he was dead on with his prediction about the girls, and that Tiny was having the time of his life. He was being treated like royalty, and there was nothing Moke could offer him that he couldn't have easily had fetched by someone far more sexy. Moke did relieve him of the duffel bag, its weight considerably less than when it had been dropped off.

Typically at weekend music festivals, more people tend to not sleep than otherwise. Starlips and Koi were the only ones of this group to partake in any sort of resting before the sun came up. The group had been visited in the night by some kid named Mark, who was clearly out of place. He came from somewhere out of the woods, a shady approach that often discouraged interaction. Hubble had recognized him from the escort on the road earlier on their way in.

There had been five of them, he remembered specifically the obnoxious music blaring from the Escort and was then able to recall the faces of those in the car. To Hubble, listening to that type of music was only for people who actually had no musical taste. They wanted a show from their aural media, and harnessed its speed and volume into negative energy. Despite his proclaimed love for everyone and everything, he thought very poorly of the 'metalheads' and just assumed this kid was an idiot.

Robin had taken a liking to him and claimed him for her own. Since her boyfriend left society to join some society of stoned gypsies called the Prism of Light Family, she had obviously been longing for masculine attention. No matter how hard he tried, Robin saw right through Hubble. He was like a brother to her, and every passing day made this more and more apparent. He was so in love with her though, that he never gave up, and completely dismissed any flirtatious advances from other women.

When just about everyone had retreated to their tents, whether sleeping or not, Captain staggered into the campsite. He was so absolutely fucking drunk, he nearly fell into the fire, knocking over a couple chairs and nearly spilling Licorne Rose de la Mer into the air.

"Holy fuck, fish! Don't go!"

Hubble sat alone for some time before Captain arrived, staring through his telescope into the morning sky for glimpses of things that would go unseen for the remainder of the day.

"We have a back-up at the bus."

"What? What the fuck did you just say?" Captain had no idea what Hubble could be getting at.

"The fish. Her parents always give Robin a back-up fish, should something happen to the current sad motherfucker to be stuck in that bowl. They've done it for years. Silly girl thinks that fish is over twelve-years-old."

Captain looked down at the fishbowl and stumbled backwards. He rubbed his chin on his chest fighting back serious indigestion, and shook his head like a wet dog, any recollection of recent conversation erased.

"How'd we do with the shit today? All back in my tent?"

Hubble didn't sell a thing, but he knew that everyone else, especially Tiny, had done well. "The duffel you gave Tiny is almost empty. I think Starlips got rid of at least a backpack."

Captain unzipped his tent to find various forms of luggage piled up inside, his merchanise returned. "Fucking sweet." He drug out the 'sweet' so long he almost fell unconscious in the middle of the word. "Which duffel-bag did Tiny have, this one?" He pulled out a red bag and fumbled at its zipper.

"No man," Hubble said reaching down beside him. "It was this one. The black one. I don't know what the fuck you've got in here."

He tossed the bag to Captain, who managed to catch it. It knocked him on his ass, despite only weighing a few pounds. The fall knocked the wind out of him and cracked him up laughing at the same time.

When he opened the bag, he agreed with Hubble. "Fuck, I don't know what this is either."

He pulled out a bag with unlabeled prescription bottles inside. Each bottle-cap was marked with a '6'. Inside the bottles were six blood red pills, each also inscribed with a '6'. Captain tried hard to think through the fog of alcohol clouding his brain. "What the fuck is '6'?"

Hubble pulled his head from the telescope and turned to Captain. "I don't know what it is. It could be anything, and your boy has sold god knows how many to these people."

Hubble took a pill in his hand and they both studied it from all angles.

Hubble sighed, "Well, I guess all we can do is wait and find out," forcing a chuckle at the end.

Captain dumped the bottles all back into the duffel and lay on his back, staring up at the sky, his consciousness fading fast. "I sure as hell ain't gonna try it."

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

"Contest" Extended

You now have until 11:59 next Tuesday, June 15th, as I will not be needing band names for this weeks episode.

Hippies vs Zombies Part 2: Dripping the Blood Fantastic

Part 2:
Dripping the Blood Fantastic

"Where were we?"

"No, no, no... start over."
The school bus coasted down the old highway, never accelerating beyond fifty miles per hour. For six straight years the bus was home to an array of vagabonds as it putted across the country from music festival to music festival. However, this year would be its last.

It had been a sight, covered with a mural that riders had contributed over the years. Some of them simply painted flowers on it, while others depicted scenes of memories during its travels. Now, it had all been spray painted over and was a disgusting, solid black.

The previous year, while at a three-day stop in Florida, one of its passengers was lost. Though most of them carried nicknames, it was not the case for Colin Gayman. After his passing his nickname was forfeit, and he was to be remembered by his real name.

Its hard to say just what he overdosed on, since no one could think of a single drug he hadn't consumed that night, but when he hadn't met up with the crew for the Almond Mothers show, Robin went back to the camping area, expecting to wake him. When she found him, his mouth was agape and his eyes rolled into the corners of his head, as if watching a plane out the window. When she stepped on the bus she new. She could feel the negative energy of his death looming inside the bus.

They had all agreed that this year would be the last. They would retire the bus after this year's tour, and had painted it black like it was attending a funeral.

So here they were, only nine of them instead of the usual thirteen. Hubble, the driver, was in the middle of a story about where two of the others had gone.

"I'm not going all the way back to the beginning."

"Just start when we parked, then."

"There really isn't much to tell. We stopped at the rest area, and were almost immediately approached by the van. They seemed to remember us from last year, but you know how it is; we meet so many. I didn't recognize them, and I was pretty sure no one else did either, but Cukes claimed to know them from last year. Floorplan went over with him."

Cukes got his name because he claimed to be a sort of Johnny Appleseed, who could start a garden in the middle of a paved highway if given the tools. He told stories of tomato plants fifty-feet tall, but it was no secret that the only thing he ever grew successfully were cucumbers, somehow.

If you have ever known someone who obsessively knows all the exits, emergency or otherwise, to any given area, that was Floorplan. He seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of duct systems and the like, an architectural savant.

"Cukes came back to the bus and grabbed one of the backpacks, the pills I think, and said they were off to some party to make a killing. That was it."

Cukes was known to run off at any given moment, but was always there in the morning, brewing coffee. Neither of them returned from wherever they had gone, but Hubble had been sure they convinced some of the other party goers to join at the festival and they would be waiting there when the bus arrived.

Robin confirmed. "So I'm sure they'll be there. Cukes will probably already have some fucking pickles whipped up by the time this bus gets there."

The current attendance call included these nine: Hubble and Robin. Pegs, called so because of his two prosthetic legs from a car accident at a very young age. Starlips and her glitter. Moke and Tiny, the twins. Captain, who used to do all the driving until his D.U.I. last year. There was Koi with her tiny goldfish jar (complete with goldfish) around her neck. Curry, a girl from Sri Lanka they had picked up just this year, who cooked a nightly pot of curried chicken to earn her share. And lastly, Norma. Although not a clever nickname, it was not her actual name, and no one really knew what it might be.

The final stop on this year's tour was the Grassy Folk Music Festival. Held in the dark recesses of the northern New England woods, the festival was much smaller than any of the others they attended, and was almost solely bluegrass or folk music. It was only an hour or so from where Robin called home, and she would be the first one off the bus as it began its ride to drop off its passengers, one by one. The final destination this year, since Captain could not drive, would be Virginia. Hubble would park it in his backyard, where it would become a landmark.

So onward the bus chugged, Captain sitting in the back repeatedly filling and emptying his wineskin flask, beating on a drum with absolutely no rhythm whatsoever, though Curry sat listening, entranced, as if he had invented the thing.

When finally they reached the gate-house, the ranger stuffed inside of it almost wouldn't let them through.

"This bus exceeds all limits we have placed on these roads. I doubt you will even make it all the way into the park."

Captain was yelling from the back, "Punch it Hub! Break that fucking gate down!"

The ranger lifted herself to tiptoes, peering in the windows of the bus to investigate its inhabitants.

Hubble shook his head, "Ignore him Miss, he's been on the sauce all morning."

The ranger suddenly took her 'badge' too seriously. "And you, sir, have you been drinking? You know that open containers in a vehicle are illegal in this fine state? Maybe you should step out."

Hubble had dealt with these people plenty of times. Though last year it was Captain behind the wheel, Hubble was sure this had been the same ranger. She had given them a hard time then, as well, eventually they sold her some drugs and drove through. The bus was different then, a lot less black, so naturally she wouldn't remember.

"No Mam, I never partake in the drink while driving. Especially not while driving a monster such as this. But I can assure you, we pulled through here last year for the fest, and we made it all the way to the campground. Took us a few hours, of course, but we made it none-the-less."

"You came through here with this particular bus?" She studied it, then caught glimpse of a missed paint spot. "Oh shit, is that the Cap back there runnin' at the mouth?"

Relief spread throughout the ride.

"Yeah, that's him," Hubble laughed.

She remembered now. Very much so. Hubble considered for a moment the possibility that the Captain had snuck away from the festival and romanticized the ranger in her little hut. That was just like something the Captain would do. The thought made him laugh again.

"I don't suppose he's got any of that purple sticky y'all brought through here last time?"

And that was that, much to the same tune of last year's trip, they unloaded an ounce of some seriously stinky shit to her, and drove on.

As the bus pulled away, the Captain said, "That ranger sucks a mean dick."


An hour or so into the ride, the front of the bus started smoking. Because the interior of the bus itself was so full of smoke, they didn't notice at first. When the thumping started, like the chugging of a train slowing to a stop, they all knew.

Hubble pulled off to the side of the road. "Fuck!"

The nine of them spilled out of the bus, and looked it over. It wasn't going anywhere. It was Captain who was the most angry, but this may have also been due to the alcohol. They all cursed the bus, and Pegs gave it a solid kick with his metal leg, which while doing no damage, rang a satisfactory noise to assure him that it had been punished.

Robin was the only one who remained calm. She was also the only one who embraced technology enough to carry a cell phone. Of course, there wasn't any service, so she placed a text message to her Dad, giving him the location of the bus. This way, whenever the phone did get some reception it would send the message, and her father would send someone. She instructed Hubble to leave the keys in it, and assured them all that by the end of the weekend, the bus would be running again.

"So we hike in then?" Asked Moke.

Tiny, not tiny at all in any sense of the word, was not happy with this. He hated walking. He hated moving. He liked getting high and sitting on his enormous ass, watching the clouds go by.

"Fuck that shit, I'm staying here."

They all laughed at him, as they often did. Tiny embraced his gigantic physique, and was the first to crack jokes about it.

"I have that wheelchair in the back, Tiny," Pegs pointed out, "but I think walking would probably be easier."

Tiny considered the wheelchair for a moment. The thought of using his arms, something he almost never lifted except to torch a bong, did indeed seem like a hell of a lot more work. Since it could be a day or two before anyone came to fix it, and they were taking all the drugs with them, he agreed to give his best attempt at hiking, but wasn't carrying shit.

It took them a good while to get all of the gear out of the bus and strapped on. They stood in a circle and puffed down a blunt. Captain ate some mescaline, convinced it would reduce his stumbling a bit. Curry, fascinated with every move Captain made, also took part. Everyone else agreed with Robin that they should wait and spend their psychedelic allowance on music.

A half mile or so into their hike, a Ford Escort rolled past them blasting heavy metal music. Most of them shook their head in disappointment, annoyed by lesser beings, except Captain who saw custies. He shouted out, "Headies!" and the car screeched to a stop and backed up, nearly running them over with reckless reverse driving.

The unloaded a good amount of drugs to the kids in that car, then resumed their hike into the woods towards the festival grounds.

Too late after the car had pulled away, Hubble realized something he wished he had the chance to ask them about:

"That kid in the back that was all fucked up... I'm pretty sure he was in the van that picked up Cukes and Floorplan last night."

Monday, June 7, 2010

A contest, where only I win. (The best kind)

What're you up to tomorrow? Bubba Scorch and the Black Grass Jug Band will be headed out to the Grassy Folk Music Festival, in the N.E. United States. While headlining the event, they have no idea who else is playing with them.

This is where YOU come in. You can create a bluegrass or folk music band name, and send it to me at I will then choose the best of the worst and put them on the bill. This means your fictional band name will be in HvZ as a band that played what will soon be a legendary music festival tragedy.

There are just a few rules: Be original. Parodies are ok, though I am more likely to use completely original ideas. Don't use names of anyone you know. Some of them sue, some of them just annoy you with "omg is that about me" til ears bleed out.

If your band also has a story behind its name, I'd love to hear it, maybe its something I can use. Bubba Scorch and the Black Grass Jug Band most definitely have a story involving a fat guy in a hammock and a can of gasoline.

Also, you are welcome to name each and every member of the band, but the same rules apply.

I will stop taking entries at 11:59pm EST June 8th, for on June 9th, these bands have got to hit the road. Of course, I will not be giving you anything for this stuff, and you must relinquish it to me completely. But the cool part is, I'll send you a half-ass email saying thanks, your band name will go down in a flaming, bloody history.

Yeah, I know its only one day...
Well, get to it!.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

The Future of HvZ

I am pleased to (finally) announce that Severed Press will be publishing HvZ upon its completion. The project will remain free on the blog, and will continue to be written spontaneously and such, but the final project will be completely edited and published.

This means that now, rather than just a project, I am sort of "drafting" HvZ directly to the blog.

I would like to take this week to revise part one, touch up on some scenes and characters, as well as add some stuff I thought would be fun after the fact.

Next week we roll into HvZ Part 2. Be ready.

Also for anyone who lives in a cave, Severed Press is holding a contest. Create a book trailer for any Severed Press publication, current or future. This also includes Hippies vs Zombies! Submit your book trailer to during the month of June and you can win the entire Severed Press catalog, with some autographed copies of Tim Curran's work. I will even make sure you get a signed copy of HvZ when that time comes.

Book Trailers can be any format, live action, animation, etc, and will be judged on content and creativity, things like that.

Special thanks to Rob Condon for the new banner. Yay art!