Long-time followers of this here quality magazine for the finer afficinado of PULP will know the name Richard Godwin & know that his writing holds a special place in PMM’sblack little heart. So, when Richard told me that he was releasing yet another dangerous little gem, I offered him an interview & a chance to say his piece …
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Continue reading Writer’s Interviews – Jason Michel chats to Mr Glamour, Richard Godwin
Ladies & Gentlemen …
Welcome to the foggy, cobble streets & blood splattered clockwork world of the sublime Steampunktress Katy O’Dowd.
I had a little chat …
Continue reading Writer’s Interviews – Katy O’Dowd speaks to Jason Michel
Lord Wilton – Wiltie to his many friends, though whether they are fair-weather or not is up for discussion, but not perhaps during this story – lifts his head and looks at his tormentor. He cannot see very well, as one of his eyes is fully closed and blood runs from a wound at his scalp into the other. His face is a mess, and the blood has dripped onto his smart evening wear, Continue reading Whiff of Poe by Katy O’Dowd
“Yeah, but my point is that no one is the person they were at four am.”
“I still don’t know what you mean.”
“Listen, Peter Cook used to say that you could have any woman in the world if you kept her up talking past three am.”
Come Monday morning Steve Kowalski doubted he’d have a job to go back to. Before his meeting with Lola and Dom today he went down town and wandered about for a little while. He went in the coffee shop, the one near the flea market where the repulsively ugly head-barista had bug eyes and a receding chin that disappeared into his neck, devolving into rolls of fleshy, pink fat. The ugly swine was enough to put you off your coffee. Disappointingly, the pretty waitress wasn’t on duty as an antidote. Kowalski found a table over in the corner and Continue reading Something Wonderful by U.V. Ray
Renaldo Sandoval sat alone in his room and went over everything again.
Do not look straight ahead. Look at the numbers on the doors as you walk by each of them.
The smell of the solvent he used to clean his pistol had almost dissipated. He unloaded, counted, and reloaded thirteen 9mm, Federal Hydra-shok hollow-point cartridges into the magazine, inspecting each one for possible flaws that could lead to a misfire.
Do not ignore the men in the hall – but do not stare at them either. Look at them once, briefly make eye contact, and then go back to looking at the numbers on the doors.
The suppressor on the muzzle of his pistol fit perfectly. He considered cleaning and lubricating the gun one more time, but decided against it.
Ghost hunting would save their relationship. It would bring back that old spark, that old tickle of anticipation Jeff and Mary had when they first met. They found an old house in the woods off Highway 2, widely assumed to be involved somehow in a string of disappearances. Jeff didn’t speak as he drove, his hands followed the road.
Cat piss corridors. Dank half lit porches. Wallpaper not changed since 1985. Window frames rotting and letting in the rain. You know the place. Bedsit dementia: wanking in front of the one-bar electric fire to thoughts of the fat slut who lives on the next floor. You don’t even fancy her but something in your perverse nature makes you want to have her. You finish your Continue reading Night Music by A J Savage
The tyre chewed up the curb. Sedan. Alabaster silver. Driver control central locking. Do enough jobs and you’re looking for an exit strategy. If he’s some pervert who likes cutting up a Continue reading The Powder Trail by Craig Wallwork
Senator Swine shuts the door to the hotel room and latches it and then turns around to look at me.
He is still holding a glass of scotch and is wiping his forehead with a soggy green napkin that still has the words Iowa NRA. He stirs his drink and smiles at me. He coughs.
PULP METAL MAGAZINE 