Weekly Column About Monsters – Feb 17th, 2018

Come On Down

 

Byline: A political prisoner

Dateline: February 17th, 2018

 

Hi, kids. This Barry Usmellin just reminding everybody that Gary Llewellyn will be appearing at the Laugh House in Des Moines on February 17th and 18th. Tickets are still on sale for the second show. You can get them at the box office, online, through Ticketron or through the mail via Kenbro (allow six to eight weeks for delivery).

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Straight From The Fridge February 2018

Happy New Year! Or should I say Happy Hugh year? I think I should say Happy Hugh Year and I think I will. Happy Hugh Year to Hugh (you). There, it has been said.

Because the proprietors of this so-called “publication” chose to be lazy and take a month off instead of doing their jobs during January, you were denied my wisdom, my words, and the calming influence of my photo, which I now provide in order to soothe your frazzled nerves:

I have returned.

Now that you have been soothed, I can continue with my column. Because you are in a state of anxiety and stress as a result of being denied access to my word-medicine, I suggest you read it at least three times this month. In between readings relax yourself in the soul spa that is my blog.

I was going to write about New Year’s resolutions and how they are folly, then I decided to write about another topic since the time for New Year’s Resolutions has passed. Then, as I was meditating, I realized something. What I realized was personal and I am not going to share it with you, but it led me to a series of realizations, some of which I am going to share with you.

The Realizations That I have Recently Made Regarding New Year’s Resolutions that Are Fit To Share With You Even Though It Is Seemingly Too Late To Do So In A Manner That Benefits You.

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Weekly Column About Monsters – Feb 10th, 2018

The Miserable Life and Completely Deserved Death of Uncle Mort

By

Barry Usmellin

Uncle Mort woke that morning to the sounds of the birds chirping, having no idea it was to be the worst day of his life. Gary Llewellyn had marked him for death. It was only a matter of time. Mort went to his office like he did everyday at the same time; eight sharp. He went through the paychecks for the week, signing them with glee. He especially found joy in overpaying his obsequious toady, Hugo. His euphoria shifted into a smoldering malice when he came to the checks of Gary Llewellyn and Stephanie Morgan. He ripped them up and tossed them in his basketball hoop wastebasket, cackling all the while with unbridled glee. The was the 43rd week in a row he had done this. He didn’t know it would be his last.

Mort made a habit of strolling through the park on his lunch breaks. He took delight in the terror of the children as they ran screaming from the Rittenhouse Square skin thief, the malevolent Uncle Mort. For the braver ones, he would unsheath a serrated buck knife just enough to get the blade to glint sunlight in their eyes, promising to eat their mothers alive if he ever saw them again. Then he made of point of strolling to the shops while humming a baleful dirge, spending the money he otherwise would have used to pay his long suffering employees; GARY LLEWELLYN AND STEPHANIE MORGAN, on needlessly ostentatious bric-a-brac to hang on the walls of his dark oak office.

That day however, Mort didn’t realize he was walking into the trap of a one-man killing machine. A man after the only thing that matters to him in this cruel world; 43 weeks of back pay. Mort swung open the door to Some Asshole’s Gallery of Expensive Trash for Rich Douchbags. The bell dingled in the wind. The shopkeeper flashed a solid gold smile and chirped out an ass kissing salutation to her latest patron. Mort browsed the shop selecting items what’s prices would add up to precisely what he would have paid Gary Llewellyn and Stephanie Morgan. As he admired the curves of an antique French Provincial wardrobe, he pulled the doors open to ogle the inside. Out popped Gary Llewellyn, naked and crusted in mud. Gary drew his compound bow and unleashed a primal scream, letting his arrow fly. The arrow flew straight into Mort’s eye socket and pinned his empty skull against the back wall. The shopkeep died of horror. The End.

There you go, Mort. That’s my contribution to the contract negotiations. -G

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Page Five Ghouls – Feb 3rd, 2018

Past is Prologue

Byline: Gary Llewellyn

Dateline: February 3rd, 2018

What? You want to look at another Bigfoot or melonhead kid? How about a Dracula? Wolfman? A weird Malaysian fuck that butt rapes dudes in their sleep? We gave you about 50 monsters last year and an ‘epic’ battle against a lich, who happened to be my protege’s grandfather. I spent a couple centuries in Everywhen for this shit. Though if I had just stayed put it would have been instantaneous. That one’s on me. My point is, are we just going back to the old beat. Spotlighting weirdos for your entertainment. How about we investigate the ‘coincidence’ of why I was assigned to the monster beat with the granddaughter of the guy Uncle Mort was so worried about?

The guy has secrets. That’s a no-brainer, he’s undead, of course he keeps secrets. You think he’s going to run around telling everybody he’s been to the otherside and guess what there is no otherside. So stop wearing spiritual hairshirts and flogging yourself for the hope of some great reward after you eat it. Especially, stop forcing others into hairshirts because they do something that freaks out your fragile sensibilities and saying it’s some kind of mandate from an invisible man that a creepy fuck in a collar told you about when you were young and gullible. If you want to do that shit to yourself, it’s a free country, but just be aware nobody else is interested in sharing your uptight delusions. Well, it would be a free country if the Christian Right wasn’t fucking everything up on one side and PC shenanigans on the other, treating the savior of humanity like something they found on their shoes. Oh, I didn’t show proper deference to your sky daddy? I’m sorry did I use the wrong word to describe your niche existence I had no idea about until two minutes ago? You ingrates wouldn’t be here to complain about it if it wasn’t for old Gary.

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Stellar Forecast With Stella February 2018

Dear Ones,

Here we are all fresh furred and well rested from our winter break. In case you didn’t notice, you didn’t get any horoscopes last month, but it shouldn’t have mattered too much since astrology is kinda bullshit anyway. I mean it’s not total bullshit, but it’s not like if you sued me because you claimed that because there was no column last month that you suffered from bankruptcy and confusion and ruined your life people would accept that as a legitimate reason for the pathetic way your life is going. Sorry Peter from Trenton NJ, but I’m not buying it and neither is the court. I’ll see you on the 28th and I have a real lawyer. I’m not representing myself like some sort of lunatic serial killer. Anyway.

On another note, do you know what else is kinda bullshit? Rehab. It only works if you let it, and I’m not letting it. I’m a mess and that’s fine. That’s how goddess made me and goddess don’t make no junk. So whatever.

We have one more note, a pertinent note. This month’s message from the stars:

Aries- “New year, new you” is something you might be saying. You shouldn’t be. No one is buying it. Not after all your talk last New Year’s about becoming an astronaut. You didn’t go to space id you? But you did end up a Stuber driver. 1099! Gig economy! The Future! WOOOOO!

Taurus- Nobody likes eating more than you guys. Chances are you’re eating something right now, aren’t you? Typical. Try to remember to throw up in between courses so you can fit more food inside your disgusting body.

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