Darkly Dreaming Demographic.

Where weird shit hits bizarre fans.

Review for “The Kings Game” by Remini UDA

It’s pretty interesting.

The start is well written, grabs your attention,, gets some set up and then goes straight into the plot very confidently. Got lots of Harry Potter, also weirdly got some John Carpenter vibes, maybe some anime sneaking in there. It’s a strong start but then the first chapter does get a little bogged down towards the end, lots and lots of talking and then it ends with talking. Don’t get me wrong, nothing wrong with talking but to have such a strong start and then sort of trail off towards the end of the chapter is a bit of a let down. It would have been much better if it had built to some sort of crescendo. First chapters almost need to be complete stories in themselves. But other than that I have no real criticisms., it’s well written, confident voice comes through, the story seems solid, the world building isn’t cringeworthy at all which you get with a lot of fantasy type stories. I don’t see many massive grammar/spelling mistakes. All in all it’s pretty solid stuff.

The kings game

DDD Chapter 2 ‘Do you see what I see?’


Been kind of in a funk recently shouting at my tv, losing at Gwent haha. I wish after all the money I sunk into it I wasn’t so shitty at it haha. But I can’t stop playing it, what an abusive relation it is haha.

Talking about abusive relationships, nah, no more of that nonsense. All business now.

Pretty much been business as usual, keeping up my usual pace, can burn out about 8k a week as long as my day job doesn’t get in the way and we’re entering that busy season and the weather isn’t helping. I’ve got two fans on me as we speak and I already bought a third. And not pussy fans either, one is a big tower fan for about sixty quid the other is a powerful little clip on one attached to my desk.

This heat is insane man. I mean shit if people can use a snowball as proof that global warming isn’t real I can show the stains on my couch to prove the opposite, let’s not fight. It was joke. It’s just so freaking hot, this is England not fucking Zimbabwe, jesus.

Its going pretty well, pretty much the only thing in my life that is. I’m really enjoying how it’s turning out, it’s fun even for me and the response so far from beta readers is great.

So keep on keeping on.

See you…


Paul drove his dad’s car when he was out in the field doing what I could only dream about, literally. But in an all together less neat and ritualistic way. That’s a level of trust you can’t kill for. His dad was obviously very confident in the offspring he’d carefully chiselled out of clay. That or he was indelibly stupid.

It was an older model olive drab hummer with leather interiors that smelled like discipline and spearmint gum. The thing ran like it was brand new, the old man kept it in peak condition and his son took it just as seriously. I opened a bag of chips in her once on the way to an Ariana Grande concert and he made me get out and finish them on the side of the freeway.

Did I mention another thing I love about Paul Alan Jnr? He rarely talks, sure there’s strong silent types. And then there’s types who are conditioned to levels of ‘being seen and not heard’ that teeter on ‘culty’, is that a word?

They taught him well, sometimes I wondered if he wasn’t as damaged as I was. But instead of breaking the mould he’d been hammered perfectly into it. A living Ken Doll with no visible cracks or creases.

I am a big fan of comfortable silence but sadly in Orange County, near the coast, it’s in short supply. But inside the sealed air conditioned mobile command centre that was Paul’s dad’s car, it was preserved. Like some kind of orchid, hermetically sealed for freshness. I could almost taste it.

Just watching the anemic palm trees go by. Baking and cracking in the sun while I felt like a lizard on a cool shaded rock, bliss.

And with a full stomach it was even better. He took me to this little taco place we like near the beach because it’s quiet and he knows that’s why I like it. I had the vegan taco, I’m not vegan but I like their food and for some strange reason I like animals. Not really people or kids, although I don’t hate them. I just feel a callous indifference for everything that doesn’t walk on four legs. There’s something about them I like, their raw natures, their lack of pretense, lack of filter. Their natural instincts just accepted, not sanded away by school or television.

Although sadly the feeling is not mutual. Every cat or dog my aunt brought back would rather jump under a semi than let me pet them. I won a gold fish at a fair once, got it a bowl and a little castle, the whole bit. As soon as we put it in the bowl it climbed those castle steps and was never seen again. It chose a life of solitude like some hunchback. It starved to death rather than see me for all of the five seconds it would take for me to sprinkle food on the surface of the water.

He paid for the food, of course, perfect gentleman, did I mention that? Feminism what’s that?

“Are you mad at me?” He asked as he kept his eyes straight, hands at ten and two.

I looked at him and sighed, smiling with the corners of my mouth like a snake. “No.”

“Is that a real ‘no’ or a woman’s ‘no’” He asked still refusing to look at me.

“No as in no”. I just couldn’t get those dreams out of my head. Picturing the city under the blanket of night and me stalking it’s street like some carrion bird picking off the weak and the strong alike. It was a mix of horror and sheer splendour mixing in my chest. A feel so unexplainable, to try would be blasphemy.

“You just seem-“ A sound of leather shifting, from the seat. “-Different”.

Should I tell him about my dream, maybe just to shut him up. I don’t have to tell him about the good bits, I can keep those to myself, locked away in Dear Diana’s vault of diabolical deeds.

I make a bit of a show of it, lick my lips so he can hear, maybe not over the air-conditioning. “I had this weird dream is all” I shrug and smile.

“What kind of dream?”

Two questions in one day, my aren’t we the inquisitive type today?

“I was walking- walking at night”. I said tapping my front teeth together anxiously.

“Like a vampire?”

I scoffed.

“You really shouldn’t be walking alone at night” He said sounding like the father I never had.

“Oh really?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“Apparently not” I say losing a sliver of patience,

“You didn’t watch the news?”

“Not if I don’t have to, boring show.” There goes another one.

“They found bodies washed up on Huntington beach.”

“Bodies?” Happens every other day here. Some fat tourist from pittsburg pennsylvania goes belly up in a rubber dingy and we have to pretend to care.

“Headless bodies” He said making a chopping motion at his neck like I didn’t know what headless meant. “They think it’s a serial killer.”

A shock of something, a cold laughter in the dark, a tiny voice speaking a language only I could understand. Those words setting my teeth on edge, my skin to a cool burn.

“Really” I said trying to sound like I wasn’t chomping at the bit to google this on my phone right in front of him. I swallowed, trying to pretend like it didn’t phase me at all like it wasn’t the most rapturous news I’d heard in my life. Like there weren’t alarm bells ringing all through Diana’s dark deep depths. Like a light didn’t go off in my head telling me somewhere somehow this is what I’d been waiting for.

But what else? Of course I need to feign some sort of fear, some kind of concern, for the victims for their families maybe. I realised then that it had been a minute since I last spoke. I just threw out a stock “That’s horrible – those poor people” I added for effect. No tears, no screams? Too much.

“Don’t worry – I’ll protect you” He smiled into the rearview mirror.

“Did they find them?”

“Did they find what?”

“The heads” I asked quietly, trying to restrain myself, biting my lip.

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think they mentioned that.”

“Oh, terrible, I’m so scared” I said almost shaking with excitement. What could it mean, why take the heads? Was it just a gang thing? Maybe it was the cartel. They love murdering random people and scattering them all over the place. But what happened to the heads? Maybe they just washed away to become a house for a family of California Dungeness crabs. But not to find one, it could have just been Paul forgot but it seemed to strike a chord with Diana’s dark double. A shrill laughter, a tingle, a shiver up my spine, electricity on my finger tips. Every hair on the back of my neck standing up, I had to check my lip to make sure I wasn’t drooling. Something seemed so right about it, something I had no idea I was waiting for.

I had to find out.

The moment he stopped the car I bounded out the door like a dog seeing another passing car full of burning cats.

Tossing back a feeble kissing noise and something like “Bye babe, see you tomorrow”

He tossed something equally as vapid back and drove off down the street.

I quickstepped to the door of our ’reasonably’ priced Orange county that looked like a little beach hut. Complete with beach towels drying on a spinner in the tiny front yard.

I was trying not to break into a full scale sprint. Trying to keep my hand loose enough so I didn’t break the key off in the lock. All so as to avoid any unnecessary time wasting conversations with my aunt. So I’d be free to sit down at my computer as quick as humanly possible.

The keys on my chain rattled and it took me too long to find the right one and get it to keep still enough to go in the lock.

I turned the key closing the door behind me and striding through the halls passed the living room which I followed with my eyes. The tv was on, the news, something about the killings. What a coincidence but something in me told me this had to be a private moment, shared with no one. Not even my own flesh and blood and I also didn’t want any spoilers, no fluff, or padding. Just raw stark reality, no artists impression for Diana of the Dark.

I hurried past slurring my words “Hey, I’m home, had a great day, no hungry, kinda tired, going to my room kthxbai!”

Bustling past what felt like a crowd in a trainstation. Fighting a wooden hatrack I thought was cute on amazon but had yet to buy a hat for. I barged into my own room and shut the door.

I know what you’re thinking, possible psychopath girl. Her room must be silence of the lambs, American psycho levels of neat freakery, well you’d be wrong. My room is for lack of a better word, a hovel.

Clothes, clean and dirty in piles throughout the room and on my bed. Posters of bands I don’t listen to anymore if I ever did in the first place peeling off the walls. Containers of soft drinks and burgers, I never said I was vegetarian, I said I liked animals, big difference. They could be vegie burgers, I don’t remember.

The curtains were drawn and the room was dark and humid. I put on the fan and it started to cough and move warm air around my small room.

My laptop sat atop a throne of dirty clothes on my bed, half open like a clamshell.

I snatched it up and almost tossed it onto my dressing table slash desk slash landfill.

I turned it on and found a swizel chair with a sock wrapped tightly around one of the wheels. It’s swivelling days were over it seemed. I sat down and waited for my laptop to boot up which seemed to be taking much longer than usual.

Punching it wouldn’t make it go any faster. So I didn’t do that.

It finally booted up and I quickly logged in. My fingers almost tripping over themselves to type in my password ‘Dahmer7’.


Driftwood Tales By Ambrose Grimm – Savage review

Just far too slow and dithering, the pacing isn’t great and the hints at the start are kind of cheesy.. The story takes itself far too seriously and it’s just kind of derivative. I feel like I’ve seen this story a million times before. This is something you’d get from a seventies portmanteau movie and it wasn’t really scary then and it isn’t now. I just didn’t find it very interesting, even if it was a dream, the part with the ghosts had zero bite to it. There’s no setup, he’s just talking to this old woman about nothing in particular, then boom ghosts, feel sorry for these dead kids for reasons. It just couldn’t hold my interest long enough to finish it, you really need to have some hook right at the start or people’s eyes just glaze over. The characters are also just place holder characters, they have no real depth so it’s hard to care about them. I can see you’ve tried to make it somewhat descriptive and I like some of the Lovecraft words, gibbous. But this is no Lovecraft. Lovecraft isn’t the best writer but he captures the atmosphere and the attention from the word go and leaves a lasting sense of foreboding. I mean there could be a great story here but I’m not going to read it because it’s weighed down with the poor pacing. It;s by no means bad and trust me, I’ve seen bad, it’s just ok.

I actually can’t link to this story because this was review was so savage they took it down haha (I’m not proud of this). I actually wrote back and gave them some more constructive feedback and they thanked me for being so honest so it’s not that bad. I did write back and gave them some ideas I thought might improve the pacing so I’m not a monster, well… ah.

GS 2 Chapter 5 ‘Graveyard Chamber’

Hey der, girls and boys.

Err not much to speak of this week, been really busy as you can expect for someone who is a professional waistrel. Mainly been out of commission due to life getting in the way or this fucking chipper whether. If only I lived in a damp drafty castle I wouldn’t have to worry about getting dehydration headaches, maybe just gout or scurvy or something.

Been hard at work with the old serial killer book, lots of fun. Doing some savage ass reviews. My fucks have well and truly given out when it comes to inkitt stories. I’m just so fucking sick of reading romance and erotica novels, jesus christ!

Anyway, the new book is going great, having a lot of fun with, like a kid in a freaking candy store, still zucced so no facebook but hey they just buffed my favourite deck in Gwent so now I’m unstoppable haha. Which is good cos I still suck at friday the 13th despite paying full price for a game with only one mode that’s full of noisey twelve year olds who are ten times better than you.

So, you know, the usual, I’d complain but who would listen haha?

Also I went on another really cool zombie podcast called Zombie Anonymous and honestly, not shitting on the other podcasts I went on but this was the most laid back and fun I thought. Don’t get me wrong, those other podcasts were great but I really got to verbally shit post in this one and had some fun talking about the second book and it seemed to go down well. Eh maybe it was just me.

Anywho, without further waffling here is the next chapter for your eyeballing pleasure.

Hyperlink below to the full thing as per.

Graveyard Chamber 

“I think we should be heading back to the convention centre now Mr Fuzzles, it’s getting dark, the streets aren’t safe.” Sparkles said in her sweet high pitch Saturday morning cartoon character voice.


“Ok sparkles, let’s walk back together, it’s not too far and it’s a shaping up to be a beautiful night.” He smiled with his voice and cocked his arm for her to loop her hoof in the crook of it.


The sun was on it’s last legs now. Only a tinge of orange left in the dark blue sky drawn over the winter wonderland. Bovarian style houses and storefronts dusted with pure white snow. The cars passing petering out as everyone sought shelter in their homes or strip clubs. The wind was picking up and it was bone bitingly cold.


“Freaks!” “Stay in the circus!” A guy in a trucker cap said as he sped past in a red pickup.


“Do you think they were talking to us?” Sparkles said coyly.


“No, I don’t think so” Mr Fuzzles said as he shrugged cartoonishly. “Let’s head back to the convention centre before it gets too dark.” He said tugging at her white hoof. Out of nowhere a big gulp cup tossed from a passing car hit him in the stomach spreading an almost luminous blue slush over the white part of his costume.


Mr Fuzzles padded the growing blue stain on his purple costume and looked up at the car speeding away and said “Eh hey sorry, you spilt your drink, I guess”.


“Come on Mr Fuzzles we’ll get you cleaned up back at the centre” Sparkle said tugging at his fuzzy purple arm.


“Ok” He said.


They started walking back. A little bounce in their step as they retraced their route which was pretty much a straight line from the centre along the main road out of town. The main high street was lined with touristy shops and diners. They hadn’t strayed too far so before they knew it they were in front of the familiar centre again. Oddly though it seemed a lot quieter and there didn’t seem to be that many lights on.


Mr Fuzzles tried the front entrance of the convention hall tugging at it, it rattled but wouldn’t open. “That’s weird” He said.


“Is it locked?”


“I guess”.


“What’s that smell?” Sparkles said swiping the air theatrically.


Mr Fuzzles cupped his hands and tried to look through the glass doors but couldn’t see much, it was dark inside.


“What can you see?” Sparkles brushing up against him.


“Erm, everyone’s lying down I think?” He said blushing.


“They all went to sleep on the floor?” She rose up in a cartoony shocked gesture.


“I dunno”. He shrugged.


“Well wake them up, I’m not sleeping out here, it’s too cold for a unicorn.” She said shaking Fuzzles shoulders.


“Hey let us in! Wake up!” The giant purple cat said as he batted the glass door with his soft paw. He pressed up against the door and started to shake it to see if he could force it open, straining. It started to give way with some effort and he breathed a sigh of relief wiping his furry brow. He hadn’t budged the door much, it was still really dark inside and there was no movement. The space in the door was maybe a couple of inches wide and that smell was even stronger leaking out.


He looked over at Sparkles and she seemed to be upset, her hooves up on her hips.


“Well?” She said.


He went back to the door, and started to push it more “It’s stuck on something” He strained. With great effort, huffing and puffing and probably a gallon of sweat soaking into his costume. He opened up a gap large enough for them to squeeze through


He took a step back to pant and put his paws on his hips waiting for a round of applause or a kiss or something. Turning triumphantly to Sparkles who was looking inside cautiously.


“Well?” She said standing over him.


“Uhh?” He said catching his breathe bent over with his hands on his knees.


“Are you going in?” She said in her little voice.


“I dunno Sparkles, it’s kind of dark, what if I fall, I don’t know where the light switches are, I might get lost. I think we should just go.” Sparkles was hoofing around in her little sparkly purse as Fuzzles rambled to himself.


“Here” She said as she hoofed him a small pen torch. “I’m not sleeping in my car in this weather.”


“Err thanks.” Fuzzles said.


“Always be prepared” She said as she posed cockily.


“Errr” He said stalling.


“So, go on, I’ll be right behind you, you’ll be my shining kitty in furry armor” She said getting a little excited. “If we stay out here we’ll freeze to death for sure.”


“O-k” He said confidently, his chest swelling with bravado.


He clicked the torch on and started probing the dank heavy dark of the convention centre.


The small torch poked at the darkness, showing them little more than a peepshow of nothing much but an empty room with eggshell white walls.


“Lets go, I’m cold” Sparkles whined and bounced up and down behind the back of her Kitty in shining armour.


“Ok” He swallowed loudly as he started to push through the small gap in the door of the convention centre.


He forced his way through, popping out on the other side a slight ripping noise cutting the silence of the musty room.


“Oh crap” Mr Fuzzles said.


“What is it?” Sparkles said as she followed gracefully behind popping through the door with a practiced wiggle.


“I ripped my costume” Fuzzles said as he looked down the torch clutched in his fuzzy mitt. He probed the cut with the light and tutted. “I need to get to the sewing kit in my room” He said dejected.


“Err Mr Fuzzles?”


“Yeah, what is it?”


“Are you touching me right now?”




“Oh ok, erm…”



Lights in the Night By Greg Alldredge – Review

I liked it, I’m a pretty big fan of alien stories, X-files all that junk, conspiracy shows, ancient aliens, can’t get enough of it, so this is right up my alley. That being said my only real criticisms are structural. I guess you felt the need for a prologue because it starts a little slow but honestly, I don’t think it really needs one and it kind of robs the reader of the mystery of the old man. I think you could have held out and been a little more coy with the old man’s story. It would have garnered a little more intrigue, a little more mystery rather than just lying it right on the table. There’s a lot of telling, not a lot of showing, it’s very spoonfed, lots of backstory, lots of character bios right off the bat that kind of weight down a first chapter and are better kind of left maybe for the second chapter. I mean the only people that really get away with that are the old epics. These days it’s better to start with the inciting incident, which is exactly what you did but in a way that sucked all the mystery out of it, so it’s kind of a catch 22 you’re in here. You need something interesting to happen in the first chapter that grabs people and makes them want to read on but you also could do with a little more mystery, a little more showing, less telling. But those are my only little criticisms, other than that the writing is good and confident, couldn’t see any mistakes really. You have a good grasp for the area since it says you actually lived there, so that helps haha. I wish you the best of luck with it.

Wanna check it out for yourself, head over to inkitt;

Lights in the Night

Diana Dreams Darkly Chapter one ‘Darkly Dreaming’

Well, what can I say? here it is, at long last and honestly, part of me didn’t think I was ready, I had doubts, part of me still thinks I’m not ready and another part of me says my whole life, my whole writing career has been building to this moment. Not to peak but to create something not too hot, not too cold, but just right.

And I think I’ve done it, as far the first chapter goes anyway. Had a few bumps in the road dayjob/personal life wise but I think it’s coming together really nicely. I feel almost like its above me, like it’s not even me writing it. Its strange, like I feel as if I’m the reader and someone else is writing it. So it’s a lot of fun to write, it’s like I have a rough idea of whats coming next but it’s taking a shape of it’s own each time I put fingers to key and I really like the shape and the characters coming out of it so far.

I started it almost like a Dexter fanfic but reading Dexter again it’s grown into it’s own thing entirely, similar but distinct. It has a similar feel but she’s a different animal, the tone is slightly different, some things I feel I do better, some things worse. But whatever it is, it feels right, for the time being.

There it is, as always link below and a short excerpt about a quarter of the full chapter below. You can see the full unedited chapter in the hyperlink.

See you…

Darkly Dreaming


My highheels tap on the wet concrete like anxious teeth clacking together as I walk. I’m walking, it’s dark, I’m alone and I’m scared. But not for me, it’s a good kind of scared. A fear of coming waves of something unexplainable, something inevitable. I’ve felt it building for so long and now as I walk the street alone in the dark I can feel it like it’s all around me.

I’m swimming through it’s want, wading through it’s need. It calls to me, it’s hunger passed down through what feel like eons. An insatiable hunger. Teeth straining against teeth, I taste blood and it feels good.

I hear a splash and it’s my feet hitting a puddle, I can feel it, feel it watching, feel it waiting, it’s hunger growing.

The moon reflected in the puddle, it’s smile so wide and manic. Those white teeth, sharp and ready, it’s just right, I can feel it on my back, filling me with that white pure light. Filling every corner, carrying me like I was on strings. My steps feel weightless and without agency, like I’m being carried by a wave of lustful righteous anger.

I feel his eyes on me before I hear his silent voice.

I hear a fluttering of dark angel wings. A leathery tightening inside as it whispers and laughs and tells me to keep going. Keep walking, keep making those sounds, keep licking those lips. Telling me to be patient when I know that’s not a word it understands at all.

He calls to me and I’m out of it for a second.

A man, I can’t see his face reflected in the dark store window.

I see myself, dressed in my best impression of a hooker from a nineties cop movie. The fishnets might have been a little too on the nose but it seemed to have worked.

I caught a big fish after all.

Just the one I wanted.

He calls to me again but I can’t respond now. My tongue is somewhere far removed and words seem pointless frail things.

Walking on and folding my arms like I’m cold, when I feel nothing but cool clear clarity and vicious joy. Walking faster now, I see in the puddles and the car windows he’s following. Looking around and following, how far will he go?

The shadow inside shifts and wriggles like a kid in a bean bag chair. So excited, hissing and tossing, just where it wants to be, laughing and waiting, so close.

He calls to me, something crude in Spanish but I can’t react, not yet, a little further.

My heels clicking louder and faster, I’m almost running now and what do dogs do when you run?

They chase of course, and predictably he’s caught the scent of something he likes.

I know him, his name escapes me for some reason and his face seems familiar but unimportant right now. No eyes, no nose, no mouth, just a blank pale face not unlike the face of the moon. Maybe I’m giving him too much credit. Who’s hunting whom after all?

I can feel his need, I’ve watched him for awhile. A small petty monster, a dog chasing cars, not sure what he wants until he gets his hands on them. A bottom feeder, a wanton monster with no attempt to hide it, no need. How free he must feel, not like me at all.

Something inside me calls out to him but he can’t hear it, he’s just along for the ride after all.

I’m walking faster but I’m not out of breath, it’s cold night and I feel brisk and tight. A quick check in another car window and I see he’s still following. Good, almost there now. One more block, follow me little rat.

The thing inside shifts like an eel in a glass vial. Happy and tensing and releasing like a balled fist, electric with terse excitement. An unfolding falling feeling of impending release on the horizon.

He’s still following, muttering to himself, looking around, he puts his hood up, he’s commited now. The streets are dark and damp and desolate, that’s why he picked this place, that’s why I picked it too. A perfect playground for Diana the dark dabbler.

I turn the corner fast down the alley I marked, breaking line of sight.

He makes some sort of noise in his throat that somehow I can hear.

I’ve kicked off my heels already and tossed them in the open dumpster.

The sound they make is all I want for now, that dull ringing sound to send the rats circling. I duck behind the spot I prepared. A pile of cardboard boxes is all I need, I’m a slim girl. The smell sends shivers up my spine. Old shell fish, the smell of the ocean, the spray, maggots, refreshing, like smelling salts.

He rounds the corner fast and confused, like he’s the only kid that doesn’t get the magic act at the birthday party.

I feel my lips parting, a curious smile, my heart beating, can he hear it? Can he hear the wings beating, can he hear the moons teeth clacking, feel it’s beaming maniac smile? I hope so. He will.

He looks around, pulls his hood down angered. All those chemicals rushing, he was feeling it too, the chase, the thing inside of him feeding on my fear. Getting high off that night air, stumbling into my trap.

I take my cellphone out of my purse and I phone the number of the burner I put in the dumpster. It rings with mocking eight-bit mariachi band music. He hears it straight away taking offence at everything.

Something about it stirs up that voice, that love of conflict, that hot rage against the cold canvas of the night. Dancing in that ambivalent moonlight.

It carries me, gives me a light feeling, goosebumps, goosebumps. Teeth chattering but I’m not cold, not even close, I feel nothing but pure icey potential.

He pokes open the dumpster with the barrel of a glock and he looks inside, I wait until he reaches in for the phone, he does.

I slip out of my hiding spot, feeling lithe and ready in a sliver of moonlight. I’m invisible, invincible, the stun gun in my hand as I move low and slow and sleek towards his back.


I got zucced on facebook again.

This time it wasn’t for naughty words I said to little pussies or an argument that got out of control. I kind of got out of the habit of arguing with people on the internet. It’s just a time sink and its completely unproductive. I just sort of got addicted to the high of offending people. It was stupid and I’ve kicked it.

But recently I was outraged, not only by the attacks from the world’s favourite religion of peace but also by the attitude of my fellow britons in response to said atrocities.

There’s something to be said about the stiff upper lip of british people but it reaches a point where doing nothing and keeping a stiff upper lip is going to get you wiped off the face of the earth by a group of fucking savages who are killing you at alarming rates and are out breeding you ten to one to a point where in twenty years you won’t even exist and your memory will be torn down like all those monuments isis destroys. Because those that control the present control the past, and those that control the past control the future and we see now who controls the present and who you can’t criticise because of why I’m making this ranty blog post.

I literally got banned, not for saying anything racist or saying all muslims should be murdered actually fuck it, I’ll just post it. Saying this got me reported and post blocked or ‘zucced’ as it’s affectionately known for its frequent occurrence for anyone with opinions right of Marx for 30 days.

“What you guys don’t get is it isn’t even about the refugees. It’s also just the muslims who are already here. Stopping immigration wont change a thing, they all need to go, the entire ideology needs to be plucked out by the root.”

Yes this right here is the truth, we can’t co-exist with these people, not now or within a hundred years. coexistence is a fantasy because either way in the future we’ll either kick them out or be forced to do a full Hitler on them or they’ll just continue to do what they’re doing which is supplanting us and killing us. They’re replacing us and murdering us with impunity and we can’t even call out for help or ask for change without being labelled a racist or a bigot.

To stand up against islamic violence and the defence of which is hatespeech. To stand up for the mere existence of our people is a thought crime. The british people can’t even define what it means to be british anymore. Because a ‘british muslim’ who likes fish and chips and goes for a few bevvies down the pub can the next day detonate a nail bomb killing children.

They’re conquering us slowly but surely and all british people want to do is stick their head in the sands and thank Christopher Hitchens it isn’t them getting on the wrong end of a careening truck or nail bomb.

I saw so many tweets where people were virtue signalling the fact they were fine and happy and the terror attack hadn’t affected their spirits, they were proud to have held their stiff upper lip. But when does a stubborn unwillingness to allow a groups of people to harm your way of life just become nihilism and solipsism? And you’re just this pathetic insect who thinks he can hide in a pub or his own home as the circle of his freedom physical and thought is ever shrinking and more and more you just say ‘Please not me, let me just have this small tiny cube of existence’. We’re the frog in the pot and we can’t hop out.

The idea that getting angry and getting scared of terror attacks is letting them win is ludicrous. Letting them win is responding to these attacks by doing nothing. If we do nothing and we allow people to go on tv and apologise for these monsters and of course throw up the hashtags #notallmuslims we just give them the breathing room to do it again. And instead of just removing these people we crack down on everyone for fear of being called racist. Ninety year old british women getting strip searched by muslim men at the airport, this is your future britain, as farcical as it seems.

And we need to do away with this bullshit that there’s a ‘moderate islam’, it’s a fantasy there are only two types of muslims; Muslims who blow shit up and muslims who are too afraid to blow shit up but tacitly consent to blowing things up and make hashtags and media to defend islam from the valid criticism and scrutiny it requires. And one can’t exist without the other. It’s a serial killer with a really good pr team/lawyer that blames the victims for their own death. The attacks could not continue if there weren’t these thousands of people saying #notallmuslims and defending islam and shouting people down with ‘racist’ or ‘islamophobe’ their goal is to stop the scrutiny and any action taking place against islam. It’s a never-ending cycle, one blows things up, the other makes excuses that makes liberals too afraid to do or say anything about it which leads to another attack. And anyone that does take action against islam, like some idiot putting bacon on a mosque door handle, they get thrown in prison to be shanked by the mostly muslims population in the british prison system and then their ‘hatecrime’ gets reported around the world stirring up more tensions, whereas their murder is never mentioned.

Only a week later I saw a video where this ‘muslim comedian’ was talking about the Manchester bombing trying to be conciliatory while making really bad nineties jokes about where’s wally. I mean it was bad enough he wasn’t funny but he was trying to do apologia for islam as well as makes jokes in a video where he was talking about dead children. I mean I can’t comprehend the levels of detachment it could take from his ‘fellow britons’ to make such a video and not feel complete disgust for what he was doing, literally walking on the corpses of innocent children for the sake of a laugh and to make excuses for the action of a group that will continue to do this. But what makes it worse were all the people who found it hilarious, just seeing that makes me think we don’t deserve to exist as a species.

To have something so horrific and so vile happen and then on top of that not even be outraged that these people can’t stop from making excuses and jokes while the bodies are still cooling. We’re like an occupied country at this point laughing at jokes nazis make about gassing jews. ‘Oh but not all nazis gas jews, so you can’t blame them all’. Oh I’m not, Im just saying if we had zero nazis in our country there would be zero gassings.

You’re like a battered spouse making excuses for an abusive lover, it’s sad, it’s pathetic and it makes me angry and it should make you angry, but it doesn’t because you’re a coward. Even reading this you’re getting angry at me for being angry and suggesting you should do anything more than change your facebook filter to the latest town that’s been ravaged. Your idea of helping is just praying and posting hashtags and then continuing on as if nothing happened. But that hasn’t worked and it will never work and you and everyone like you will die a pointless death heaped in the irrelevance you carried with you in life.

I hate to say it, but it’s us or them and it always has been and it always will be and if you can’t see that, England and maybe every ‘tolerant’ western country is too.

Back to reviewing stuff, savage as ever haha. Julia Dream – Review

It’s not great, but it’s ok. Honestly it was a little dull. I guess that’s sort of what you’re trying to go for with the 1984 themes but my eyes just glazed over. I have a really short attention span for sci-fi as soon as I hear made up words or world building garbage my mind just goes to the hunger games and I lose interest.
The writing style is good, very polished, couldn’t see any mistakes, but it takes itself a little too seriously and it’s not very fun honestly. Very rigid, probably what you’re going for, it just doesn’t appeal to me personally.
Story, well there isn’t one, at least not in the first chapter, it’s just she’s an anti-terror expert who for some reason has to duel someone over a sci-fi/steampunk brexit. That’s not really story, it’s just stuff happening, very surface level and the duel happens in the same chapter so there isn’t any build up and the fight is sort of underwhelming.
I think if you’re going to have the chapter surrounding a duel you should probably start with the duel and then keep going back, just to make the rest of the chapter more interesting than just a bunch of people discussing politics in a world that doesn’t exist. The pace is just too slow and then the chapter ends with the duel and you still haven’t really been brought into the story.

Sorry if this review is sort of blackpilled, I was just promised mutants in a post apocalyptic world and I basically got ugly Betty in space.
It’s well written, it’s just not my thing.

Read it for yourself, here or don’t

Julia Dream

GS2 Chapter 4 ‘Any given Sunday’

Holy shit, I don’t know what to say really. I’ve spent the last four days writing the first book in my new series and I’m sort of ‘shook’. I got in front of it and I sort of felt dread at first. Like it’s easy to just shit this silly zombie stuff, it’s so tongue in cheek and loose and clearly just for fun and monies. But this was different, this was the real deal, real blood sweat and tears and soul pouring and all that stuff. Real effortposting. It was serious and life affirming, this could be my greatest work to date. Perfectly bringing together the humour I’m sort of known for now but with this dark and bitter bite to it that keeps people coming back for more.

Needless to say I really enjoyed writing it, I felt a little overwhelmed but I think it sounds almost perfect, like Dexter reborn anew. I’m not going to say it’s the same or as good but I feel small in comparison, like I know the basic plot points but I’m the most anxious of all to see where it takes me. It’s unknown territory and I think it’s going really well, I would die for some feedback but it’s a bit too soon for that. I’ve been taking my time with it but I’ve sort of conditioned myself to keep up the 2k word limit, it’s just about giving yourself ample time and breaks to let it come out as naturally as possible in any given amount of time.

I’ll put up the first chapter next week probably and fuck it, I’ll probably put it on inkitt just to beta the first chapter because I’m so excited about it. It’s the dawn of a new era.

Oh yeah back to GS2 and does Sunday make an appearance? Find out for yourself why don’t you in chapter 4. 

Any Given Sunday

You know the drill, excerpt below, full chapter over on inkitt for free, for now haha.

See you.


TJ stumbled back through the cluttered store, taking in heady gulps of musty leather smell and dusty blued metals from the old helmets and gear. He delicately probed the bump on the back of his neck, a confused babe in the woods look on his face as he got closer to the counter.

The old man hadn’t moved and he looked like a waxwork in a some morbid museum of people not doing much. His feet up on his desk taking wheezing laboured breathes as he stared at a dog eared issue of guns and bullets.

TJ felt a little light headed, out of breath, he felt in a lot of ways like he just woke up. Which is closer to the truth than he’d like. So much ‘stuff’ had been going on he just got swept a long and didn’t think about food or sleep or any basic processes like that. Where had he been, how long had he been asleep? The mugginess was catching up to him, a ringing in his head, a dry pain behind the eyes, the coming nausea of a pressure headache.

He reached the counter and through a series of short pained breathes he said “Hey old man.” He squeezed his eyes shut and put his palm flat over one eye and breathed out.

The old man responded with a rustling of laminated paper and TJ took that as a sign to go on.

“You seen any girls around erm?” He said trailing off, not sure how that sounded.

The old man peeled down a corner of his of magazine and stared glassy eyed at TJ with an eyebrow raised. He put the corner back and went back to pretending TJ was an elaborate effort of taxidermy.

TJ cleared his throat and leaned in a little closer. “I’m looking for a girl with green hair, has she come through here?”

“Green hair?” The old man said without moving, a rye rise of an octave in his voice. “Hmm.” He russled his magazine again and said “She came in just after you, she’s over by the archery surplies and hunting gear, can’t miss her.” He laughed and went back to being a waxwork,

TJ instantly felt hot, she was here the whole time, he swallowed and felt it burn going down. He was cold and he could feel it on his arms inside his coat and on the back of his neck. He froze and then like a mechanical toy started to turn his head. Failing to look subtle he turned his whole torso over towards the right side of the store. Rebel and American flags lined the walls. Racked up were various bows and cheap looking crossbows. Life size deer targets hanging from the ceiling like polystyrene trophies looking at nothing.

Standing there was a person in a large puffy pink winter coat, a bob of short green hair poked over the top of a high collar. She looked like she was shouldering a crossbow, trying to feel the weight. The store was pretty much empty. TJ couldn’t see Jimmy anymore and it seemed like there were a few stragglers milling around browsing memorabilia.

His legs shook as they probed the floor. The felt and moved like they were connected by puppet strings, floating shakily above the ground. Pulling TJ along like he was magnetized.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her back and as he got closer it was if his eyes got tunnel vision, shrinking back into his skull. The closer he got the further his eyes reeled back in his skull. Until finally like they were on elastic they snapped back and he was a too close, depth perception completely out the window he almost fell on her. He shifted a little too much weight and bumped into her gently. He could smell a sickly sweet smell and then and he got a mouth full of goose down elbow hitting him in the mouth as she turned around suddenly. The winter fabric scraping against his teeth. Hitting him with a dull thud flat in the centre of his face knocking him off balance and filling his eyes with tears.

She didn’t react right away, until he said “Oh, err, sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Didn’t mean to what?” A nasaly voice said. The girl in the large coat turned around and TJ caught his breath, readying his mind and heart to see a ghost in the flesh.

…There was a lot of flesh, a lot more flesh than he remembered, in fact.

“Are you, Sunday?”


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