Fiction

BLAST OFF AND SO LONG, SUCKERS!!!

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Eulogy :

By The Dark Lord, Richard Godwin –

“Jason Michel is a visionary, make no mistake, just riffle through the pages of PMM and see.

He is also a heretic and for good reasons.

This is the age of entropy.

This magazine has existed for a reason and it also fades for another event.

Read on, write one.”

PULP METAL IS DEAD, LONG LIVE PULP METAL!

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAILSATANHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAAHAHA…. !

Fiction

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN 1… CHINA WHITE IN MASHPEE by Richard Godwin

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1.

WORK.

Elixirs come in many forms, I have found, but there are none as good as a well-executed job. Work: I am tired of all the Murphy Artists, con men lining up on the puke stained sidewalks, all the traders, all the fucking dealers. One thing, just let me make one thing clear. I don’t to scut work. My line is a little different.

Shot my first one aged fifteen, some fat fuck who’d pissed some guys off and they asked me for a dare. Right I’m a button man.   Continue reading THE FINAL COUNTDOWN 1… CHINA WHITE IN MASHPEE by Richard Godwin →

Fiction

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN 2… Because The Night by Paul D. Brazill

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Mark Finney’s footsteps echoed as he walked across the rusty, metal railway bridge. A steely fog was spreading itself across the town and he could no longer see the trains creeping slowly below him. He walked carefully down the steps and paused at the bottom. Smudges of streetlamps trailed off into the distance down Lothian Road. Finney headed off along the cobbled street, past the rows of partially demolished terraced houses that looked like broken teeth.   Continue reading THE FINAL COUNTDOWN 2… Because The Night by Paul D. Brazill →

Fiction

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN 3… HUNTERS By Jeff Dosser

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The only truly positive thing you can say about zombies is they’re terrible at hiding, particularly in the woods, constantly thrashing through the underbrush, stomping through leaves. Then, of course, there’s the continual moaning, especially when they smell living flesh. Continue reading THE FINAL COUNTDOWN 3… HUNTERS By Jeff Dosser →

Fiction

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN… 4… I’ve Told Ev’ry Little Star by Graham Wynd

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‘Every vibration that ever moved through this place is still resonating,’ Karl told me. I was in awe of him then. We stood in Monty’s which had been the Marquee. Sometimes we even had a pint if we had busked in the tube along the way, but they were so strict about it now. You had to have a license and all. They moved us along quick like. Continue reading THE FINAL COUNTDOWN… 4… I’ve Told Ev’ry Little Star by Graham Wynd →

Fiction

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN… 5… The Master by Dr. Mel Waldman

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In an unfathomable moment of murderous unreality, I shoot the Master. He laughs uproariously. I shoot him again and again and after an interminable fusillade, he falls to the ground. But when I gaze at his crimson body, he disappears. Continue reading THE FINAL COUNTDOWN… 5… The Master by Dr. Mel Waldman →

Fiction

And Now, The End Is Near….

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Ladies & Germs,

PMM will be on an extended hiatus until… who knows when, who knows where, but I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.

I shall be putting some select pieces up over the next few weeks.

That is all…

The Dictator.

Fiction

Necro-Dandies By Alex S. Johnson

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Some say a gentleman’s crimes, no matter how well-intended, are permanent. That they affix themselves to his brow, or shine from the skin of his neglected soup, or find some other way to creep about his person and stamp themselves into the mold of his legacy. Continue reading Necro-Dandies By Alex S. Johnson →

Fiction

Blood and Botany by Simon Maltman

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“Pass us the rake Brian, would ya?”

“Two seconds mate… there you go.” Continue reading Blood and Botany by Simon Maltman →

Fiction

Games the Wealthy Play By Walt Giersbach

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Lorraine was a game that Nathan played with great relish.  Not a childish game, but a sport called life.  

First, there were odds.  Odds that her husband, Dexter, wouldn’t discover their affair.  The husband was a tedious vice president at some import company, but he had been a Marine.  Nathan had visions of Dexter walking in at the height of their ecstasy and maiming him in some strange military way. Continue reading Games the Wealthy Play By Walt Giersbach →

"Write What Thou Wilt"

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