The Last Dog On Earth by Adrian J. Walker.


Let’s get one thing straight, right off the bat.

This is not simply a book. It’s a journey, and a terrifying one at that.

When the credits had finished, and the story had truly ended, i drove in silence for 25 minutes contemplating the experience Adrian J. Walker has created.

I really needed to understand.

The Last Dog On Earth, a tale told by Reginald Hardy (Human), and Lineker (Dog) may seem like an odd concept, but it works. It works so absolutely beautifully.

It is magnificent tapestry, woven with humour, grief, and terror

Reg, the straight laced, agoraphobic, wannabe writer, hiding in his London flat, as the country collapses, is accompanied by his loyal, cockney, foul mouthed canine companion, Lineker.

Circumstances which Reg is desperate to avoid take him on a unavoidable, perilous, and hellish journey.

His transition through the book is heartbreaking, yet heroic.

The story would be classed as a dystopian nightmare, with the country controlled by an ultra right wing party, bent on eliminating undesirables.
The hint of Nazi Germany felt strong, but i saw subtle references to the potential of modern instances of culture hate.

The horrifying acts, simple people will carry out in the name of a ideal, is so frightening.

Some of the scenes made me feel very uncomfortable, and terrified at the thought that this is a scenario that has occurred before, and could again.
I’m not talking about graphic violence in the slightest, because Adrian J. Walker is far too clever to need to resort to extreme descriptions.

Immense and epic doesn’t even come close.

Adrian J. Walker is a literary genius.

The characters are mind blowing, in there complexity, and depth.
The dialogue is incredible, and Lineker’s bad language is about as colourful as a million rainbows.

But this is an author who has respect for his readers, and every fuck, and every cunt is perfected justified. Without these, the story would end up among the utter shite that those good ole Christian folk from the US, insist on shitting out.

Much credit also needs to be shown to the narrators Jonathan Aris & David John.

What a wonderful collaboration this whole project is.


So Jessica Meigs and The Becoming………


Zombie Apocalypse is my kinda book.

I’ve read so many, that I’ve reached a point where i’m very picky about what i read.

When you’ve been thrilled by the genius of authors such as Joe McKinney, Jonathon Maberry, D. J. Molles, Dirk Patton, John O’ Brien, Timothy W. Long, James Cook, J. L. Bourne, Bobby Adair, Adam Baker, Wayne Simmons, Anthony J. Melchiorri, Keith C. Blackmore, Peter Meredith, Jake Bible, Craig DiLouie, Scott Sigler, Sean Schubert, Iain McKinnon, A. R. Wise and a few others, the expectations are massive.

Unfortunately with the ease it is to get a book published, the ZA market is drowning in the vomit from bored soccer moms, wannabe preachers, and other fans of the Hallmark brand. Shockingly bad garbage from the most clueless, and uninspiring clowns ever to learn how to use a keyboard. But it’s the reader that suffers. Incredibly well designed book covers, shrouding total crap! It’s frustrating, and prevents credible, and talented authors from getting the exposure they deserve.

So how did Jessica Meigs, The Becoming series end up in my reading list?

Jessica had to pass my simple test to determine whether a book joins my ‘to be read’ list, or tossed into the bin.

I’m currently auditing over 6000 post apocalypse books in the same way.

The test is very simple. I perform a word search within each book for one word. And that word is Fuck.

If a book describing the horror of human annihilation, whether it be from Zombies, EMP’s, Economic collapse, nuclear war or comet collision, cannot provoke any character to use what is a very common swear word, then its not worth reading.

Too many books claim to deliver the terror, fear, and desperation, that human extinction would clearly provoke, but instead offer up a tale as harrowing as an episode of Little House On The Prairie.

Characters as wooden as Pinocchios dick, with dialogue so pitifully weak, it wouldn’t be out of place in a Mills & Boon novel.

So Jessica Meigs!

She takes the ZA, and rips it a new one. I’m fairly convinced that not only is Jessica the best female ZA writer in the world, she may well be one of the best of any gender.

Characters brilliantly structured, dialogue of solid gold, and superbly original story.

What does Jessica give that many do not? Swearing! By the bucket load!

But lets get one thing crystal clear. Every single curse is justified to the situations, and the admiration i feel is immense. An author that has the courage to give a perfect, and in my opinion, accurate reflection of a horrifying world filled with flesh hungry infected, and desperate survivors.

The books really emphasized just how lacking other books are when it comes authentic characterization, and gritty dialogue.

How the hell this series isn’t topping the all time ZA charts is absolutely beyond me.

Is it because post apocalyptic writing, and readership is primarily a male orientated arena, and female authors don’t seem to be afforded the respect they deserve?


But if you are serious about your post apocalyptic stories, and demand quality, then you must give this series a look.

In fact i’d go as far to say, that this series should be a compulsory read to anyone seriously considering writing within this genre. If, as a writer you find the language in this series too strong, may i suggest you fuck off to the romance section, and stop polluting the apocalypse with your wishy washy horse crap.

Timothy W. Long – I bow down to your genius.

If an authors book is post apocalyptic, with the inevitable decimation of humanity, physically, and emotionally, then for the love of extinction, give me realistic characters.

Is it too much to ask that you pop your self righteous morals on a shelf while you are narrating the fall of mankind?

Swearing!! Lots of people do it.

I do it if i drop something on the floor.

I  do it if i knock my elbow.

Hell, i do it during most conversations.

So if the world is collapsing around my feet, and most people that ever lived will die horribly, you can bet your bottom dollar, i’ll be throwing fucks around like no-ones business.

Having every character in your book acting as a moral smart arse, happy to blow anyone’s head off with an automatic rifle, but too perfect to cuss, makes your book, in my opinion, a bucket full of shit.

So where does Timothy W. Long figure into this?

On the copyright page of Z-RISEN: OUTBREAK you’ll find this.






Could The End of the World Running Club be the greatest Post Apocalyptic book ever written?

Could The End of the World Running Club be the greatest Post Apocalyptic book ever written?

I think so. And I’ve read a lot of them.
This should be the Haynes manual for all potential Apocalypse writers to consult and learn from.



Adrian J. Walker confirms something i been noticing for a few years. British writers are simply better at Post Apocalyptic fiction than their US counterparts.

Quite a seemingly harsh and sweeping statement, but a honest assessment.

I’d like to quickly add that Jonathan Maberry, Joe McKinney, Dirk Patton, DJ Molles, Rashad Freeman, CT Phipps, JL Bourne, Peter Clines, and a few others stand high above the deluge of wet blanket, weak, and tedious garbage that the majority of US authors churn out on a daily basis.

Having a To Be Read list a mile long, i am resorting to handpicking my next read by filtering them in one specific way. Swearing!

A simple search for the word ‘Fuck’ is all i need to know about that book.

If my primary interest were children’s fables, catalogs for woolly hats, or telephone directories, then i’d be delighted not to encounter the F-Bomb in my search.

However my interest is far, far darker. It’s apocalyptic, extinction, the decimation of the human race, death, disease, starvation, zombies, death, death, murder, and death.
If an entire book doesn’t contain a single ‘Fuck” it’s thrown over into the bin i like to call Crap!

Adrian J. Walker never need worry about being consigned to the Crap! bin, because here’s a chap that understands the apocalypse. More than that, he understands people, and the human emotions that dictate their behaviors. The characters in this book are the most developed i have ever encountered. They are in no way complex, but they feel authentic.

I’ve read so many books where the characters are clones of every stereo type you could imagine with all the emotions of a Thunderbird’s puppet.

The End Of The World Running Club is about the end of the world!

Millions of people die!

The few that survive are literally fighting to survive.

The book literally overflows with the anger, terror, and the desperation that the extinction of the human race would provoke. The main characters Edgar, Bryce, Harvey, Richard, and Grimes are superbly developed. Different people, with different personalities, with a similar goal. To survive.

The story is brutal in places, and the language so colourful it makes me feel proud to be British.

You see, when i read a book about the annihilation of the human race, i want to feel what it might be like to be one of those starving, desperate survivors.
I’m not interested in the fluffy, artificial trash that other authors offer.
Morally self important Christian folk, who use the platform of writing as an excuse to drown the reader in their own sappy views.

This book, thankfully, is free from religious suffocation.

Is Adrian J. Walker a religious guy?

Who knows, and that’s the way it should be.

There is no larger than life, chest beating hero here. No Navy Seals packing enough heat to bring down a small South American Country. No Hooah’s at all! Awesome.

Just ordinary, normal people!


Indeed. None of the group just happen to be a doctor, or a scientist, or a member of some secret government group.

None own a cache of military grade weapons. Not a bug out location in sight.

So what happens when ordinary people, with actual weaknesses, encounter a life altering event of cataclysmic proportions?
They swear. A lot! Well who’d have figured that a human could react in such a way?

This is a journey of survival from one side of the country to the other. A country that has been completely obliterated.

They encounter bad people, doing very bad things, on the way.
These villains are themselves nothing more than ordinary people, but damn if the author doesn’t make them utterly terrifying.
There are horrifying situations that in other books, would have the characters steaming in, ready to save the day. Not in this book.

The End Of The World Running Club truly is a work of absolute genius.

It’s beautiful, horrifying, and heart wrenchingly genuine to the core.

Another British author, Rich Hawkins is the only other writer I’ve read that can truly conjure up that feeling of empty, desolate, hopelessness, that i think is essential if a reader is seeking a superb apocalyptic book.


I really am so excited for more of Adrian J. Walker material. Any writer that includes Adam & The Ants, The A-Team, and BMX bikes on the same page will always be a winner in my book. It about summed up my early 1980’s on a council estate in the south of England.

I was fortunate to listen to the audio-book version of The End Of The World Running Club. Immense doesn’t even come close.

Brilliantly narrated by the absolutely superb Jot Davies. Easily the finest British narrator i have ever listened to. His vast array of character voices was stunning.


The audio-book can be purchased from Audible at this link

Tales Of Blood And Sulphur – J. G. Clay


The phrase Jack of all trade, master of none, is clearly a phrase which means little to J.G Clay (Pardip S. Basra)

He literally swoops in and grabs all my favourite genres; Horror, Post Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse & Dystopian, and just creates monster stories.

If Colonel Sanders had the secret recipe for great tasting chicken, then Pardip possesses the 11 essential herbs and spices that spawned the mind blowing tales in his collection of stories, entitled Tales Of Blood And Sulphur.


It’s jammed packed with stories so wildly original and sometimes horrifying, yet with a gentle trickle of his wonderful humour.

There’s no filler in this book, and the author successfully seeks to use every sentence to achieve something.

Pick a favourite? Almost impossible. My weakness is Zombie Apocalypse so ‘God Bless George A. Romero’ narrowly edges it. L.L.T.C (Lucifer Love The Clash) is just inspired. It’s clever and witty.

But there isn’t a story in this book which ranks less than spectacular.

This a collection of stories that a very talented writer has pained over, to bring a master-class of fiction so varied, you begin to wonder if maybe he’s just showing off.

Worlds and characters are created, so tangible, you could almost have stepped into another dimension. And what he offers is a glimpse into further stories from those same worlds. If you read this book, you’ll understand just how exciting a prospect that is.


Wade H. Garrett – The Angel Of Vengeance


There is ‘Extreme Horror’, there’s ‘Really Extreme Horror’, and there’s probably ‘Off The Chart Extreme Horror’, but Wade H. Garrett’s ‘The Angel of Vengeance’, book 1 from his ‘A Glimpse Into Hell’ series, leaves those in the dust like pancaked roadkill.

This book isn’t an excuse to list the most grotesque ways to torture a person, like many similar books on the market. The author is damned meticulous, and frightening enthusiastic about his methods on introducing pain to a person.

One point should me made very clear at the start. This is a great story. A really good story. There is a point to it. As i mentioned, it isn’t a ‘101 ways to hurt.’

Wade has created an entertaining tale, which just happens to be bound together with some of the most imaginative, and mind blowing, sadistic horror, I’ve ever read.

Seth is the hero\anti-hero\psycho and he is out to punish the bad eggs of society, who have escaped, what he feels is sufficient punishment. Punish them he does. Severely!

Forget forgiveness, and empathy. Seth possesses none.

Wade H. Garrett is clearly a man who truly believes in justice, and this is evident from the book, and he reflects on what he obviously sees, as much injustice in the world. He uses his platform as a writer to deal out his retribution in his own brutal way, and to balance the scales.

This is vengeance at it’s most twisted, so be prepared to encounter methods of torture, you could never even conceive in your wildest nightmares.


Iain McKinnon – Domain Of The Dead Trilogy


Zombie Apocalyptic fiction is a genre that these days, seems to be more saturated than Robert Maxwell’s swimming trunks. Finding exciting, well written ZA books really can be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

The importance of reader reviews cannot be emphasized enough, aiding others to separate the wheat from the chaff.

It was from Amazon’s reviews, and of course the awesome covers, that i lucked upon this trilogy, and i find it no surprise that it was the first ZA books that came to my mind when deciding to blog about it. If you like your ZA books with a gory, dark, and frenzied feel, then this would be a trilogy i highly recommend. Such is the high regard i hold this trilogy in, that i have spent the last few years hounding the author to write more ZA material.

Iain McKinnon’s stunning Domain Of The Dead trilogy, not only boasts fantastic reader reviews, but has praise from multiple horror legends including David Moody, Joe McKinney, and Peter Clines.

“Believable characters trapped in a nightmare scenario—REMAINS OF THE DEAD is a breathless, high-octane zombie thriller. [McKinnon has] written another great book here…”
—David Moody, author of HATER and DOG BLOOD

“Absolutely superb.”
—Joe McKinney, author of DEAD CITY and QUARANTINED

“Sure to please fans of The Walking Dead.”
—Walter Greatshell, author of the XOMBIES series

“Iain McKinnon’s Demise of the Living is the book other zombie books aspire to be when they grow up”
—Peter Clines, author of 14 and The EX-HEROES Series

The world is dead, devoured by a plague of reanimated corpses.

Domain Of The Dead Book 1

In a crumbling city Sarah, Nathan, and a band of survivors barricade themselves inside a warehouse surrounded by a sea of shambling putrefaction. Days in seclusion blur by, and their food is nearly gone. The group is faced with two possible deaths: creeping starvation, or the undead outside the warehouse.

As Sarah stands on the edge of the warehouse roof preparing to step out into oblivion she spots a glimmer of hope. In the distance a helicopter approaches the city … but is it the salvation the survivors have been waiting for? And do they dare attempt to fight their way through the mass of infected dead to reach it?


RemainsOfThe Dead - Domain Of The Dead Book2

Cahz and his squad of veteran soldiers are tasked with flying into abandoned cities and retrieving zombies for scientific study. Deep in infected territory, hundreds of miles from their support vessel, the ever present dangers weigh heavily on Cahz’s mind as he shepherds his team to make quick, clean extractions.

Then the unbelievable happens. After years of encountering nothing but the undead, the team discovers a handful of dishevelled survivors in a fortified warehouse with dwindling supplies.

Surrounded by hordes of ravenous corpses, Cahz is faced with the terrible responsibility of determining the five passengers who will escape in the helicopter. While those left stranded must continue to fight off the infected and starvation long enough to be rescued.



The world is infected. The dead are reanimating and attacking the living. In a city being overrun with ravenous corpses people find safety where they can. A disparate group of strangers drawn together by chance seek sanctuary from the carnage outside in an empty office block.

Besieged by an army of walking dead and with little hope of rescue the group must learn to work together if they are going to survive. But for how long can the barricades hold back the ever increasing hordes of undead? How long before the food runs out? How long before those who were bitten succumb to the infection? And how long before they realise that the dead outside are the least of their fears?

About The Author

Iain McKinnon was born in Scotland in the early seventies and lived a happy well balanced childhood, with the exception of being forced to wear flares and the 1978 World Cup. Iain is a Sci-Fi geek with a macabre streak currently writing for Permuted Press. He lives and writes from his home just outside Edinburgh.

Iain’s author page.

Iain’s Webpage

Catch Iain On Facebook.






Rich Hawkins -Cheesy Rider


Rich Hawkins hails from deep in the West Country, where a childhood of science fiction and horror films set him on the path to writing his own stories. He credits his love of horror and all things weird to his first viewing of John Carpenter’s THE THING. His debut novel THE LAST PLAGUE was nominated for a British Fantasy Award for Best Horror Novel in 2015. The sequel, THE LAST OUTPOST, was released in the autumn of 2015. The final novel in the trilogy, THE LAST SOLDIER, was released in March 2016.
He currently lives in Wiltshire, with his wife, their daughter and their pet dog Molly. They keep him sane. Mostly.



What is your name, and age?


35 years old, although I look 42. I feel 73.



How many books have you written or have been involved with?


 I’ve written three novels, THE LAST PLAGUE, THE LAST OUTPOST and THE LAST SOLDIER, and two novellas – BLACK STAR, BLACK SUN and THE PLAGUE WINTER. I’ve also had short stories published in several anthologies in the last few years.



What is your main genre of story?


Horror, usually, with some sci-fi thrown in. I love to write apocalyptic horror. The end of the world fascinates me.



What are you writing at the moment?


I’m editing a novella called RUIN, which will be published by Dark Minds Press later this year. Also working on a short story for an anthology. In my spare time I’ve been making notes for my first self-published novella, MANIACS, which I’m hoping to release this year.



Given a choice between being given a blood transfusion from Pete Doherty, or CPR from Keith Richard. Which would arouse you most?


 CPR from Keith Richards, obviously.  It’s that wrinkly mouth…




 Which famous person’s toilet seat would you like to sniff?






Whether you are an atheist or religious, God appears to you while you are sat on the toilet. He tells you he will answer one question as he has other toilets to visit. What would that question be?


Why are you in my bathroom, you old perv?




 While perusing your favourite website, ‘’, you inadvertently cause the opening of the Necronomicon, spinning your already demented mind, to a sandy beach between the spaces of time. You find Yog-Sothoth dozing in a deckchair with the latest edition of Readers Digest rested across his eyes. The portal that will return you to your home glows maniacally within a Dora the Explorer safety ring that Yog-Sothoth has his feet rested on. What is your next course of action?


Well, there’s only really one course of action available to me, isn’t there? I’d have to man-wrestle him.



Which fellow author do you believe would look hot in BDSM gear?


H.P. Lovecraft. And I want him to say ‘Oh, what a lovely tea party’ again and again.



Being such a major celebrity, the inevitable occurs. You encounter a lull in popularity. Having already been on Celebrity Big Brother, Celebrity Come Dancing, and starred in adverts for Iceland’s, you become desperate. You’ll have to perform a diabolical sex act with the East Sussex Cock Carpark, Katie Price, unless you can conjure up another plan to become a household name again. What do you do?


Can’t I just choose death instead…?



What topic would you never consider writing about?


Child abuse. And the Kardashians.



Which celebrity would you keep in your basement, and what entertainment would they provide?


Keith Chegwin. We’ll talk about his glory days. Then I’ll smack him around with a dead haddock.



What is your favourite swearword or phrase?


Wanker. It’s functional and covers a lot of bases.



Which conspiracy theory do you think has some validity?


None, really. But if I had to wish that one was real, it’d be that the Royal Family are lizard-people. Let’s face it: it’s still preferable to them being just a bunch of bone idle, inbred parasites.



Which fellow authors would you love to impale on a huge shish kebab skewer and nibble during old re-runs of The Beverly Hillbillies??


The Sinister Horror Company guys, including Kit Power. I imagine they’d taste of pickled onion Monster Munch with a hint of sauerkraut.



You are playing a boisterous game of ‘Hungry Hungry Hippos’ with some chums, when you realise all your marble’s have been consumed. How would you punish the greedy opponent?


Play Peter Andre’s 90s smash hit ‘Mysterious Girl’ on repeat until they’re gibbering wrecks.



You are spending a relaxing “Find Yourself” week in a caravan in Rhyl. You flick on the TV, and find Bargain Hunt is on. A sudden flash comparable to colliding neutron stars, from David Dickinson’s tanned forehead renders you temporarily blinded? The inevitable occurs. Zombies over run the north east coast of Wales, and a hoard of thousands of the hungry undead are headed your way. Hindered by blindness, how do you fortify your 2004 Compass Raylle 524 4 berth caravan complete with awning?


I’d just lock the door and hide in the bathroom. That’ll work, right…?


I feel disillusioned now. You’re a dead man walking Rich. Clearly you are unable to work with the tools at hand.

Your TV is your weapon. With the neutron blast of David Dickinson’s tan, you could have incinerated zombies from all angles. With the benefit of the Compass Raylle 524 abundance of windows your range would have been huge. You could have saved the world, but chose to cower.



In Vietnamese Dong’s how much do you estimate the meaning of life would cost to purchase in the Kon Tum branch of Argos?


Well, when I was last in Kon Tum Argos, a watch from Elizabeth Duke cost me two goats and half a chicken. The meaning of life? Three goats and the buttocks of a village elder.



Apart from Michael Barrymore’s swimming pool, where’s the most dangerous place you have ever been?



Fred West’s back garden.



Which celebrity would you like to make a semtex toothbrush for?


Ted Nugent. What an absolute wanker.



Given a choice of the authors you have only in your Facebook friends list, who would you like to write a story with?



David Moody. He’s awesome.



Along with your esteemed peers you are present at undoubtedly the most prestigious horror fiction event in the world. ‘The Tipton Book Club Awards’

Having won several awards, you are forced to sit through the final award, “Most Popular Fiction Book in Swaziland” which you haven’t been nominated for. Which of your fellow authors is most likely to give a vomit inducing Sally Field, “You really love me” acceptance speech, and who is most likely to give an ultra-offensive and controversial speech?


I can see Kit Power giving a vomit-inducing speech, with his theatrical background and glorious mane of hair. As for the offensive speech, probably David Owain Hughes. Then he’d expose his genitals to the audience, especially if he’s been drinking…



When you were a child, which children’s TV personality caused twitches and mysterious inner feelings to arise?



Philippa Forrester. 



What song annoys you to the point of wanting to hammer a rusty six inch nail into a baby seals eye?


Any song that features Chris Brown. But I’d happily hammer the nail into his face instead.


Thank You Rich.

Have a piece of cheese.






Duncan Bradshaw – “Meow” means “woof” in cat.”


Part-Time Author/Full-Time Loon.

One day upon waking, as if from some frightful nightmare, I sat at my laptop and typed out letters, which formed words, slowly they created sentences. People read it and said, that’s okay that is, have a biscuit. And I said yes.
Duncan P. Bradshaw spends a vast proportion of his time, staring the wrong way, through one-way glass, pondering the futility of existence
As he gazes longingly at his own reflection, he dictates his internal monologue, or ‘stories’, to a cadre of highly evolved tortoises. As his words are pored over by two people, living in a small sleeping bag at the end of the second runway at Heathrow, Duncan imagines a better world for everyone.
Except for you.
I live in Wiltshire, in Southern England with my wife Debbie and our two cats, Rafa and Pepe, they just meowed a hello at you.
Between bouts of prolonged washing up and bungie cord knitting, I type out the weird and wonderful things that run around my head.


Go look at his website or over on Facebook to glimpse at his stupid face.



What is your name, and age?


I go by many names, the most common one used, which your human tongue can pronounce, is Duncan, or Dunk. I am 39 years old, or 5 and a bit in cat years. That doesn’t mean I’m a cat, it’s just a term of reference for the cat loving readers out there.
MIAOW. That’s a little bonus for them.



How many books have you written or have been part of?


I’ve written three to date, which have seen the light of day, and been a part of a couple of anthologies. I have two more written, ready for release, and a couple more in the first draft phase.


What is your main genre of story?


It’s horror…but with slices of comedy in. I have a delusion that I’m quite funny, so try and squeeze some laughs into my writing, from my teat of joy. I find it easier to be sillier than serious if I’m being honest. As that other sentence probably testifies to.


What are you writing at the moment?


At this moment, aside from this questionnaire, I’m writing a book provisionally called Summoned. It’s about a monster that gets summoned (see what I did there) accidentally. It’s a multi-narrative book, so it’ll have around eight or nine different endings, part of which will be a choose-your-own adventure kind of deal. But…as above, it’s silly, intentionally so. Given the work needed, I’m hoping it’ll be out for Christmas, but it’ll be a push. Plus, I’m not entirely sure people are going to like it very much.


Given a choice between being tasering George Osbourne until his eyes catch fire, or feeding Katie Hopkins into a cardboard baler, which would arouse you most?


This is like asking which testicle I’d like to kick Cliff Richard in.
I’d have to say, that I would quite happily taser Osbourne till his true demonic form is revealed. When that is achieved, I’d thoroughly enjoy watching him as he burned to death. If I could, I’d use voodoo to reform him, and repeat daily, for free.



Which famous person’s bike seat would you like to sniff?


Without a doubt, Anthea Turner.
I’ve become convinced over the years, that her foo-foo, is made from the finest buttercream and chocolate combination. So would like to finally find out, without the rigmarole of another court case.
Why else would she pimp a chocolate bar on her wedding day, huh? She’s got to be part of a worldwide consortium, which deals in the eradication of single ply toilet rolls.
I for one, back this initiative.



Whether you are an atheist or religious, God appears to you while you are sat on the toilet. He tells you he will answer one question as he has other toilets to visit. What would that question be?


A nice and simple one, ‘Oi god dude, explain dinosaurs’. Then watch as his brain explodes. Or my ass. Depends on how much I’ve had to drink the night before.



While perusing your favourite website, ‘’, you inadvertently cause everyone called Duncan to transform into murdering psychopaths. What is your next course of action?


I’d go onto Facebook and set up an event called ‘Hug-A-Duncan’ day, inviting everyone high and low. At the same time, I’d send a group message to all my fellow Duncan’s, telling them where and when I’ll be luring the poor unsuspecting fools to, so we can slice them up with a meat cleaver and our razor sharp wit.



Which fellow author do you believe will end up in a mental institution?


Nice, well, not wishing to give the game away entirely, there is one author, who I have been psychologically messing with for some time now. Moving cutlery around, so that spoons are where the knives should be, making sure their favourite jumper is splattered with semen, and their work colleagues all know about his masturbation technique, when he sings Barbie Girl and wears his flatmates clothes.
As I mentioned, I don’t want to reveal who it is…suffice to say that it is an anagram of Jusnit Prak.


Sorry Duncan, but im afraid your desire to protect the identity of your friend is outweighed by my need to protect the public from what is clearly a very dangerous man. Using every resource available to me, I was able to break your cleverly encrypted phrase.



What topic in your books would you never consider writing about?


Honestly? I have to say that there is something that goes against my core, the tiny fragment of light and wire, which burns at the heart of my existence.
Coastal erosion!
I just cannot comprehend, in this day and age, where we have things on our phone which can order fast food for us, that we have yet to invent something which stops those poor buildings falling off clifftops and into the sea. Breaks my heart.



During a celebrity charity game of dominoes, raising money for endangered scampi, you see the opportunity to ram a double six tile into the eye of a famous celebrity. Who would that be?


Stevie Wonder…just to see if it’s for real, you know? He seems to know his way around a telephone, and a piano, just something doesn’t add up about it all.



What song will be played at your funeral?


Fire Water Burn, by The Bloodhound Gang, just for the refrain, ‘we don’t need no water, let the motherfucker burn. Burn, motherfucker, burn.’ I would expect everyone to join in, and if possible, bring their own petrol, speed the cremation up a bit.


Which celebrity would you keep in your basement, and what entertainment would you provide?


Noel Edmonds, and I’d entertain the shit out of him with a wide variety of bland quiz shows, phone calls from my dealer, with the latest cocktail of drugs to get him off his tits. Then, I’d knit him some messed up jumpers and make him parade around in them.





What is your favourite swearword or phrase?


I like to treat my swear words like a pick ‘n’ mix, so fuckflaps is a good one. Or cuntmangler. I would love to have a catchphrase, which I’d say whenever I say a pithy comeback, I dunno, something like, ‘…and that’s why you got dropped on your head as a baby’. Something like that.


You’ve just purchased 12 pigs for the traditional purpose of disposing of bodies. Your uncle Brian Bricktop, constantly reminds you that “they’ll go through bone like butter.” How do you prepare the body first?


I stick to the ole tried and trusted when it comes to cadaver preparation. Whilst naked, I would teabag them until the teeth become loose and malleable. Affixing them to my special brush handle, I gently pummel the body, so it looks like the person has been trying to nibble their own flesh. Just in case the pigs don’t like the taste of ‘em. Then, and only then, would I daub their eyelids with a stylised D, and record the whole feast on my Super 8.



What would your serial killer name be, and what would be your modus operandi?


The Tickler…mainly for the double entendre, and inevitable sniggering.
‘Who did this?’
*sniggering* ‘Of course it was…’
Needless to say, my modus operandi would be to tickle my victim to death, using a variety of techniques and tools. Some by feather, others by my little pinkie (see, I can’t stop with the double entendres), maybe even throw in a turkey’s giblet. It’s the perfect crime…


Which conspiracy theory do you think has some validity?


That we’re all in the Matrix. I don’t know if you know this at all, but I’m gonna blow this shit wide open for all of y’all. Okay. Brace yourself. Close your eyes. Right now. Oh…you can’t read this, or if you can, then you’re not doing it right. Okay, read this bit, then close your eyes again, okay? So, with your eyes closed, I want you to think of Keanu Reeves in the Matrix. Okay? Got it? Cool. So, now with the image in your head, you’re now in the Matrix. Mind. Blown.
You’re all welcome btw.



If you could be a member of any band, past or present who would you be?


I’m going to break with tradition of my other answers, and be serious for a moment. Have to be Billy Corgan in the Smashing Pumpkins. A, the dude is a genius. B, he’s freakishly tall, I’d be able to look over the bushy walls of mazes and find my way out quicker.



You are playing a particularly tense game of Buckaroo with a friend, when suddenly the mule kicks out sending the frying pan into your opponent’s throat severing the carotid artery. After a few minutes your friend is dead, and you’ve won. What do you do with the body?


Who cares? I finally beat the wanker at Buckaroo. For years, I knew they’d been cheating, I’m kinda glad I messed around with the spring now. Serves them right. I suppose it would be a bit of a downer, seeing them there like that. I guess I’d use them as a coffee table.
And that’s why they got dropped on their head as a baby.
See? Genius.



Blue Pill or Red Pill?


Pill? I thought they were suppositories…well I ain’t getting them out, be my guest if you wanna delve into the hairy hinterland of death.
I’m waiting…don’t bother with the gloves, I like the feeling of fingernails scraping my colon.



What’s the meaning of life?


I’m five and a bit in cat years, I know as much about the meaning of life as I do about periods. My only advice is, don’t be a dick to people. Do that, and you’ll be alright I reckon.



Which topic is more important to you? Child poverty, Esther Rantzen’s toothpaste costs, Spit The Dog’s stretched anus, or The Panamanian Petting Zoo?


Gotta be the Petting Zoo, but only to aid my demographic that says I’m fixated solely on cats. It’s bullshit, I love all of the furry faced bastards, especially if you can go up to them and pat the little fellows on their bonce. Awww. Their ickle faces. Etc.



As the new advisor to Wiley Coyote, you need to come up with a plan to stop the roadrunner. Have you got any?


Yes. Through a mind numbing week of PowerPoint presentations and team building exercises, which admittedly, considering it’s just me and him, might be a bit crap, he would be built anew. Much like my training course for Villains, ‘Don’t be a dick, just shoot the spy in the face with a gun’, by the time I’m done with Wiley Coyote, he’d be the new owner of a whole suite of roadrunner catching techniques. These include, but are not limited to; TNT 101: Why I Learned to Love the Bomb, Caltrops Are Your Friend, Flamethrowers and Their Effect On Feathers, and my personal favourite, Strategically Placed Cheese-wire Maims and Slices.



Given a choice of the authors you have only in your Facebook friends list, who would you like to write a story with?


That’s like giving me a loaded gun and saying, ‘there you go buddy, blaze away!’ Aside from my author chums who I’ve met and would gladly give a spare kidney to, I’m friends with Danny King, who is one of the reasons why I write. He’s a bloody genius, and annoyingly funny to boot. Writing something with him would be unbelievable. In reality…I’m not sure I could co-write a book with someone, they’d have to be a bit messed up to even consider it.


What is the crappiest movie you have ever seen?


I want to take another moment and be sensible now, Airforce One. Biggest load of tub-thumping, patriotic bullshit I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen more convincing Russian accents come out of my vulva.



Which of the ungrateful shits would you have been in the original Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, and what lengths would you go to get that factory?


Veruca Salt, mainly cos then, I would go up to the band who spawned, using my name, and get free tickets to all of their gigs ever. Not that I’m a huge fan or anything, but being a giant purple ball, before being drained, it would be a good distraction for the crowd at poorly attended gigs.



What goes in your coffin with you?


Any of my family who are still living, I don’t want to be alone.


What song annoys you to the point of wanting to impale a hedgehog on a garden fork?


Too many to list…I’m not a big pop fan, so although most of them pass me by, there are a few that really get on my ballbags. Though I am a firm believer in never disclosing pet peeves, as if it were me, I’d then post that video on their feed once every few days until I started to receive death threats. Then, even when I was murdered by that person, I would already have set up daily automatic postings to all of their social media, email addresses and phone numbers (present and future), just to be on the safe side.
Yes, I am annoying.


Due to your lack of commitment to this question, you have forced my hand. I will choose a song for you. And it will be…………


Thank you Duncan for taking the time to indulge in my stupidity by adding lashings of your own strangeness.
As a token of my appreciation I have included a photo of a man with his head in a crate of eggs.