Archive for Darrell Vickers

DARRELL VICKERS – CHAPTER TWELVE: RETURN TO SENDER

Posted in Fiction, Serialized Book with tags , , , , , , , on April 16, 2019 by segarini

CULT MANSION:

You could now tell both the Bouchard beauties by the hairs on their chinny-chin chins. Totally fetching in their womanly whiskers, A. & L. closely resembled the two-thirds of ZZ Top that didn’t play the drums. The tender twins continually bussed and lingually thrust as the flap, flap, flap from a Kolibri money-counting machine filled the basement.

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DARRELL VICKERS – CHAPTER ELEVEN: MIDNIGHT CONFESSION

Posted in Fiction, Serialized Book with tags , , , , , , , on April 9, 2019 by segarini

 CULT MANSION:

The traumatized trio stood in stunned silence as they stared down at the carpet’s recently diseased nougaty center.

“Is it a dead genie?” David asked, bringing an end to the horrified hush.

“No, it’s a dead Little Theater director with a finely hand-crafted golf club stuffed up his ass,” Alison Jessica Fletcher-ed.

“He’s lucky he didn’t play tennis,” Leslie bright-sided.

“Are we going to spend the rest of our lives in jail?”

“Not if we dispose of the corpus delicti before anyone’s the wiser,” Alison reassured him.

“You mean, like, dump him in the ocean?”

“Not a chance. No matter how far out to sea you go, bodies released to the tide tend to wash back up on shore.”

Leslie nodded in agreement. “They did the last two times, anyway.”

“What????”

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Peter Shares A Lois Update

Posted in Opinion with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 4, 2019 by segarini

This week’s column is going to be a little unusual, in that I will not be sharing any music. I suggest that you go through some older columns of mine or Pat Blythe’s or Frank Gutch Jr, for example, and you will find great music to listen to. There is a lot of amazing music being made all the time, and it’s not on mainstream radio. That doesn’t mean that it’s not worth seeking out and listening to! Check out “Ivory Hours” or “James Blonde” or “Vajra” or “Hotel Mira” or “Jailbirds”, to name just a few!(Your ears will thank you.)

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DARRELL VICKERS – CHAPTER TEN: EVERYONE’S GONE TO THE MOVIES

Posted in Fiction, Serialized Book with tags , , , , , , , on April 2, 2019 by segarini

OSHAWA:

The night was still as cold as Walt Disney’s mustache. A paralyzing frigidity inexorably chewed its way through layer after layer of protective clothing like the Creature from Alien breaching security locks in its hunt for human flesh. The life-affirming warmth radiating down from the sun felt as far away as Pee-wee Herman’s next hit film.

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DARRELL VICKERS – CHAPTER NINE: A HORSE WITH NO NAME

Posted in Fiction, Serialized Book with tags , , , , , , , on March 26, 2019 by segarini

BU HOUSE:

Carnality in its most ferocious iteration was transpiring on the stained and tattered sheets of bedroom number two (and the resemblance to “number two” didn’t stop there). David, pinned and perniciously pumped upon by the mercilessly naked and monstrously pregnant Rita, was in the process of having his foreskin caramelized. The bedsprings shrieked in pain. The headboard beat out time, as if it were the coxswain on an Assyrian slave ship. Randy Rita was riding him like Phar Lap in the Melbourne Cup, her bulbous belly bouncing around like a beach ball at an Ozzy Osbourne concert.

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DARRELL VICKERS – CHAPTER EIGHT: MY WOMAN, MY WOMAN, MY WIFE

Posted in Fiction, Serialized Book with tags , , , , , , , on March 19, 2019 by segarini

 

 

  

THE OSHAWA CENTRE:

At last and with much strain, Llew divined a topic of conversation that wasn’t about hockey or the nifty goal Scott Hollis had just scored. “So, I heard from Spanky, eh? Well, Marybeth Visneski did.”

“Is she the one who gave Boden the hummer at Beano’s?” Mother asked.

“Yeah, she was. Super nice girl, though.”

“Oh, super nice,” Dad nodded. “David thought the world of her.”

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DARRELL VICKERS – ‘BU HOUSE VOL. 2: CHAPTER SEVEN – MAGIC CARPET RIDE

Posted in Fiction, Serialized Book with tags , , , , , , , on March 12, 2019 by segarini

A BRIEF EDITORIAL:

Crap. It’s everywhere. The entire continent is sinking under the overwhelming avoirdupois of magna excreta. It’s the one thing that the ever-diverging peoples of North America have in common. Way, way too much crap. We maniacally amass it until our houses are positively bursting with unwanted junk of the junkiest variety. And just to prove how unwanted that junk really is – when there’s no more room for it in our home sweet homes (Throw it away? Are you mad?!), we put it in rented concrete boxes across town. Then, the only time we see this collection of depressing domestic detritus is when we’re dropping off more unwanted depressing domestic detritus to add to the unwanted crap we already have in there. It’s basically what all of us will do with our elderly relatives when we want to sell their houses so we can go on vacation.

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