Err… Yes, Master? Him Downstairs Lets One Out…
September 8th, 2008
There’s nothing more tiresome than horror authors.
They’re just so damned aspirational: always wanting the world dancing around and clapping its hands just because they’ve conjured up a little splattering of blood and the occasional gruesome dismemberment. I mean, really…how feeble.
How so very pedestrian.
They never stop going on about how they’ve got some kind of hotline through to me here down below, when in fact the little darlings would run a mile if I so much as rammed a scimitar up their bottoms. They’ve no stamina, they’re 100-metre egg and spoon men, all froth and no bottle. Me and all the other book publishers down here, we could eat the little bastards for breakfast. Actually, sometimes we do. That Wheatley, he was bloody stringy.
Anyway, D’Lacey and Hussey – don’t they just sound so pretty? – think they’re hardcore. They think they know what horror really is. But, let me tell you – once I’ve sold their souls to Waterstone’s, I’ll eat their livers alive…
Get on with it chaps.
Entry Filed under: The Infection Spreads
Leave a Comment
Some HTML allowed:
<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>
Trackback this post | Subscribe to the comments via RSS Feed