Love Like Blood
Byline: Gary Llewellyn
Dateline: October 14th, 2017
Folks, people like to stop me on the street and ask, ‘Gary? How can a column like the Page Five Ghouls go so long without even taking a look at vampires?’ First of all, stop doing that. I got shit to do and I don’t have time to answer the same question fifty times a day. Second, 95% of pop culture has you covered there, from Nosferatu all the way to glitter boys. No need for me to waste my time rehashing the lame antics of Monsterdom’s most punchable emo kids.
However, due to recent events I’ve been forced to rethink my position on nature’s original Bauhaus fans. You see, recently, Malawi has become host to a fairly ornery clot of vampires who seem to have given away their last fuck, forming hunting retinues in broad daylight. Things have gotten so hairy the UN bugged out. And I know how hairy it must be for the UN not to want to have its nose firmly wedged into the situation. As typically happens, the locals have begun turning on each other, often with lethal outcomes. Statistics show that 93% percent of deaths during vampire wildings are actually caused by bumpkins going ham on each other. What invariably happens is that they start making a laundry list of bullshit signs they pull out of their asses to tell if someone is a vampire. Pretty soon after, wearing plaid on a Tuesday becomes a slayable offense. This is the sorry state of monster awareness in the 21st century. Nobody teaches anybody about this, so they learn a bunch of folksy bullshit from their grandmothers. Vampires often never kill their victims. Why finish it when you can send it back for a refill? Most vampires don’t even go after humans. Too much hassle. Many would rather stand around in a dark room with a strobe light, doing a dumb goth dance where they only move their arms, listening to Siouxsie and the Banshees. Plus, these things reek of patchouli and cloves. If you can’t smell these fucks coming from a block away, you may be one of the weak ones on the edge of the herd. Some have reported faintly hearing a chorus-drenched Simon Gallup bass-line drifting somewhere in distance, preceding a vampire incident. Others claim it was Peter Hook, but that’s losing sight of the key point here. Chorus-drenched and played with a pick is what you want to be listening for. Straight eighths, always on the root. You get the idea.
Continue reading “Page Five Ghoul – October, 14th 2017”
Wolpertinger? It damn near killed ‘er!
Byline: Gary Llewellyn
Dateline: October 7th, 2017
Are you religious? If you’re reading this in Europe maybe not. If you’re reading this from America, particularly in the South or Colorado Springs, you probably are or will say you are for the sake of self-preservation. Well, worry about your unfortunate condition no longer. There are beasts roaming the forests of Bavaria that will convince you, once and for all, that there either is no God or he/she/it just does not give a fuck; the Wolpertinger. These genetic potlucks look like someone animated one of those children’s books with the ring bound cards where you can mix and match the animal parts by flipping the different segments. Like a spiral bound manifesto of Doctor Moreau. It’s when genes cross the line between random chance and just fucking with you. All the woodland creatures gathered one day and had a key party and today their mutant spawn roam the countryside of Bavaria and generally make annoying little shits of themselves.
For instance, I present a duck with antlers, a sparrow’s wings, and rabbit’s ass. How is any of this shit supposed to work together? There’s not enough mass here to make use of the antlers and too much to make use of the wings. And that rabbit ass is just gonna sink. Here one would expect natural selection to perform its merciful duty and nip this shit in the bud. But thanks to the tourism industry, modern man can once again give a knobby, rigid middle finger to natural selection and provide a support system to Mother Nature’s little burdens of the state. Tens of thousands of cooing nitwits flock from middle-class abodes around the world to gawk, take pictures and throw their Cheetos at these cruel parodies of the Almighty’s craft. This arrangement is fine (depends on how loose you’re willing to get with the word ‘fine’), if you fall somewhere on the Kawaii scale between ‘Adorable to the point of eliciting the urge to consume it’ and ‘At least it doesn’t stink’. But what about the others that couldn’t even chart as ‘so ugly it’s cute’? Others like the flying tarantula-faced rattlesnake. Or as the locals call him, ‘Meingottinhimmel’.
Meingottinhimmel and his friends Lamprey Toad and The Squid Face Kid have taken to a life of petty crime. However, since none of their bits work right together, they are pretty awful at it and often go to bed hungry. It doesn’t have to be like this.
Continue reading “Page Five Ghoul – October 7th, 2017”
Dead Man’s Party
Byline: Gary Llewellyn
Dateline: September 30, 201
Guldur’s Law states, “As an online discussion about magick grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving necromancers approaches one.” They’ll tell you necromancy isn’t about hatred of the living, but about communion with the dead, which sounds great until they start dragging wights out the ground, then I have to bail on my weekend in Tahoe (I’m banned in Vegas AND Reno) and shove a bunch of screaming corpses back in their graves. What happens when one gets too big for his britches and raises a sentient undead? Do you let that slide just because the worst you can say about the talking skeleton is that he’s a cheapskate. A skinflint. A tightwad. A Johnny Nopaycheck. Sure he’s been jerking me off for the last year, but he’s okay. What about the next one? And the next ten? And the next legion? All under his command. Or even worse, he can’t control them. How about the not dead types who throw in with him? Out of maybe, greed? If Oberon thinks Alwyn is going to cut him out a little piece of earth to play I’m-the-king in, he’s an idiot. Which brings me to the second possible motivation, stupidity. Check. The third, cowardice. None of these are mutually exclusive, in fact, more often than not, all three are present. I’m just not sure what Oberon’s exact calibrations would have to be to throw in with a necromancer, but then again nature is entropy.
Most necromancers are easily identifiable, as they tend to look like people who have heard the word ‘necromancer’ and know what it means. Their habit is wherever you find decay, naturally occurring or otherwise. They are not limited to raising humans from the dead. Any animal or plant will do, as long as it’s dead. Mostly what comes back is a mindless thrall. Kind of like that popular prime time soap where people fuck with each other against the backdrop of undead being more or less carnivorous squirrels, except under someone’s control. What Alwyn went and done, is gave one agency. That’s a problem. You get a hundred thousand of these things, even if they tell Alwyn to fuck himself, you’re still looking at a destabilizing force the world has never seen. Where are you going to put them? How long do they live? Do they reproduce? Is this something that will grow out of hand in a decade? It has to stop before it starts. Consider yourselves #blessed it hasn’t yet, because I couldn’t tell you why.
Continue reading “Page Five Ghouls – September 30th, 2017”
Spirits in the Material World
Byline: Gary Llewellyn
Dateline: September 23rd, 2017
Wizards. I assume they exist. I know plenty of people who say they are. But when you need some wizard shit done, they’re an endangered species who screen their calls. Talking to fortune telling cats is suddenly more interesting than a 73% chance of the Apocalypse. Fine. You think old Gary can’t whip some hedge shit up when he needs to? Think he’s a stranger to applying a little hoodoo elbow grease? Yes folks, old Gary is peeved enough to refer to himself in third person and argue with a straw man.
So what do we have for you today? We’re making extra cash on the side as house exorcists, so some kind of fucking ghost most likely. If people knew how easy haunt breaking was they wouldn’t pay us to do it. Hauntings aren’t really something people think they need to prepare for, but that’s where they’re wrong. Haunting can happen anywhere, anytime. You think because you’re the first occupant of your plywood, wrapped in Tyvek, American eclectic dream home, you’re safe? Let me tell you something, ghosts are dumb as shit and half the time they have no clue where they are. Ever wonder why pagodas have the curly corner roofs? Because ghosts are too fucking stupid to change direction, they hit the roof and go shooting off the little ramps back into ghost space. In ghost space they can hear you scream, because ghost space actually amplifies screams.
Continue reading “Page Five Ghoul, September 23rd, 2017”
The True and Accurate Accounts
Goodman Llewellyn and Goody Morgan,
The Last Son and Daughter
The final leaf is torn from its billowy hammock by the first chilling gust of another grim Plymouth winter. It lilts on gentle currents to its doom; the final tree is bare. Winter is the time of wolves. Wolves and demons. The unholy, resurrected children of Beelzebub stalk the woods and raid the settlements, converting even the most righteous into a blood crazed soldier in Lucifer’s army. The Goody Morgan and I have dedicated our lives to keeping safe the very same who persecute us as heretics. With keen ears one can hear the first footsteps of the coming hell, falling into the dried undergrowth of the impenetrable forests. And here we are just hanging around.
Continue reading “Page Five Ghouls, September 16th, 2017”