Archive for May, 2011

Pseudopod 231: Tippler’s Bane (Alternate Audio)

Show Notes

This is the alternate audio take of Tippler’s Bane. Content is exactly the same as the version with audio production.


Tippler’s Bane

by Evelyn Wang


Creatures of dusk, creatures of dank and dark and dregs of mealy meaty toxins, we sit here in the dust and the damp, in the many shadowy shadows that lurk like pockets. Creeping, slithering, longer and lengthier the shadows grow, into our kingdom of shit and mildew. Nighttime, yes, and we stumble, tumble, unmoving, into the moonlight. Moon, moon. Renders us ghostly little babies, and that we are, nothing but stupid putrid babies, only living, always dying unmentionable deaths, drowning constantly in our own little babies.

We grow, we grow, crop up, pop down, we, we, creatures of grandmamma-secrets and impish delights. A carpet of heads, unfurling to tasty death and hasty birth. Food between our toes and drink from the cracked pipes, bloody rusty nourishment and filthy sustenance, our constant diet, our home.

 

Pseudopod 231: Tippler’s Bane


Tippler’s Bane

by Evelyn Wang


Creatures of dusk, creatures of dank and dark and dregs of mealy meaty toxins, we sit here in the dust and the damp, in the many shadowy shadows that lurk like pockets. Creeping, slithering, longer and lengthier the shadows grow, into our kingdom of shit and mildew. Nighttime, yes, and we stumble, tumble, unmoving, into the moonlight. Moon, moon. Renders us ghostly little babies, and that we are, nothing but stupid putrid babies, only living, always dying unmentionable deaths, drowning constantly in our own little babies.

We grow, we grow, crop up, pop down, we, we, creatures of grandmamma-secrets and impish delights. A carpet of heads, unfurling to tasty death and hasty birth. Food between our toes and drink from the cracked pipes, bloody rusty nourishment and filthy sustenance, our constant diet, our home.

 

Pseudopod 230: Girls Gone Insane


Girls Gone Insane

by John Jasper Owens


It came in the mail, a little package like Netflix uses, but white cardboard. Grass stain on the back along with a deep scratch, the address handwritten and smudged, like it had been handed off in the rain. No return address, postmarked Maine.

A DVD. No note, no explanation. A hand-written label read “Girls Gone Insane 16” in blocky felt-tip writing.

Pseudopod 229: On Being Mandy


On Being Mandy

by Sandra M. Odell


Mandy Adams noticed her face peeling off while coloring her hair Monday evening. She leaned over the sink for a closer look at the small flap of skin on the upper right corner of her forehead. She slipped off one of the plastic gloves and gingerly touched it with the tip of a finger; it was thicker than she expected, almost rubbery. Surprisingly, touching it didn’t hurt; in fact, there was no sensation at all.

Mandy carefully took hold of the errant skin between her thumb and index finger and gave a slight tug. It pulled away enough to reveal a hard off-white surface below the edge of her hairline, smooth and cool to the touch like plastic. No blood, no viscera; the revealed underside was the fresh pink of new skin. “What the hell. . .?”