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Anton Cancre

Anton Cancre is one of those rotting, pus-filled thingies on the underside of humanity that your mother always warned you about. He has oozed symbolic word-farms onto the pages of DEAD SOULS, THE GHOST IS THE MACHINE and D.O.A. II as well as continuing to vomit his oh-so-astute literary opinions, random thoughts and nonsense at antoncancre.blogspot.com and evisceratingpen.wordpress.com. No, he will most definitely not watch your pet shoggoth this weekend, but he is interested in taking that new brain case for a spin through the cosmos.
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Book Review: Hiram Grange and the 12 Little Hitlers – Author Scott Christian Carr


Scott Christian Carr has balls. Big, hairy, hyper-inflated balls that he doesn't mind showing off at every opportunity. Anyone who is willing to throw the attack on the Twin Towers and baby tentacle-rape at the reader in the friggin prologue has to. He doesn't hold back anything and the effect is tremendous. By 7 pages in, you know that nothing and noone is safe from this man and his horrific dreams where laughter is mixed with blood-tainted vomit.

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Book Review: Feast – Author Scott McCoy


FEAST (PAPERBACK) Written by R. Scott McCoy Published by Shroud Publishing Publication Date: 2009 Format: Black & White – 155 pages Price: $7.99 I know what you thought when you saw the cover: Shriveled, dried up guy with empty, white eyes= yet another gawdamn zombie novel (or, if you are still excited about them: “Yay! Another Zombie Novel!”). However you ...

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Book Review: Everyone Hates a Hero – Author Gregory L Hall


You probably know Greg Hall. He’s the Friday night piggy-petter and grand poobah of the no-pants zone who gives out 80’s headshots with the, ahem, personalized inscription stating that you are indeed his favorite writer. He gets some of the biggest names in horror on his podcast, the Funky Werepig, but never forgets to leave room for those writers struggling ...

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Book Review: Perky’s Books and Gifts – Author Evelyn Rainey


I’ll never forget what I saw. Blood splattered the books and dripped from the shelves. Chunks of –something- globbed the carpet. “What is that?” I whispered. “Looks like an ears,” the Colonel replied, staring at the globby thing by his foot. “No, not specifically, Colonel.” I swallowed and swayed. “What is that, in general?” “A dead body.” The Colonel snorted. ...

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