Review of THE CHURCH OF LATTER-DAY EUGENICS by Chris Kelso & Tom Bradley


I’ve read and enjoyed both Kelso and Bradley before, so I came to this collaborative effort with high expectations and a few doubts. Well, the expectations have been met, and the doubts stomped down the drain like an accidental bowel movement had whilst showering… sorry, sorry, please blame that crude imagery on the fact that the protagonist of this story, an unsavoury gutter-journalist called Fulton, has left a little of his grubbiness upon me.

Where was I? Right, expectations and doubts.

My expectations were high because I’ve encountered the works of both authors before, though as singular entities, and they both more than deliver the goods every time. The doubts I had came from the manner of the goods they are able to deliver; Kelso I know from the ultra-hip and highly speculative end of independent lit, whereas Bradly is the veriest avatar of anarchic erudition. Both scare me to the point of pooping in the shower, where one is so young and yet so bloody talented, and the other wields a sledgehammer intellect in a literary scene where most carry ping-pong paddles… which is all my ham-fisted way of saying, how could two very different yet brilliant writers possibly produce a cohesive joint venture? I don’t know, but they did because THE CHURCH OF LATTER-DAY EUGENICS is a riotous romp.

(Oh, and special mention to the awesome illustrations by Nick Patterson throughout, which bear just a hint of James Gillray about them.)



Wow, haven’t updated in a while… so I started off the New Year by appearing as an extra in the upcoming horror movie MONSTER.


Also slated for release this year is GENOCIDE ON THE INFINITE EXPRESS, A CLOCKWORK AUBERGINE, and I’m currently finishing up OPPOSITE DAY.

So yeah, lots coming down the pipe.



Armageddon was not what anybody imagined. Instead of a world nuked to ashes, something a lot weirder happened… Om-nom-nomageddon.
The entire world turned into food.
Meatloaf mountains with peaks of white mayonnaise. Deserts of instant coffee granules. Lollipop rainforests. Cola oceans. Even the animals have been transformed; gummi polar bears roaming the ice-cream Arctic, whilst jello elephants and candy cane zebras graze the African veldt.
For the few remaining humans who live in this smorgasbord Eden, life is a nightmare. Hunted for their skin to make fashionable clothing, Homo Sapiens are a resource being exploited towards extinction by the new dominant species… Gingerbread Men.
A bizarro B-movie, MONSTER COOKIES is an R-rated CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF MEATBALLS served with a MAD MAX sauce.

I love the cover, and Doug Taylor who penned the wonderful introduction has written movies starring the likes of Jason Statham and William Shatner. The whole Cinema of Awesomeness series really lives up to the name.



Stuffed full of Xmas magic and stomach churning ultra-violence, it’s THE HUNGER GAMES garroted with fairy lights and force fed to THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS! The devil only wants to be adored, and thinks that remaking himself as “Satan Claus” will win the hearts of the world’s children. From dictator of Hell to beloved myth of childhood, it’s certainly an ambitious career change. He totally fucks it up. Trying to set things right, he invites children from every country in the world to the North Pole to take part in a contest, a scavenger hunt, with the winners becoming his little helpers on Xmas Eve. With Adolf the Red-Nosed Reichdeer and his army of dwarf Elvis Presley clones helping, it’s bound to be a success… Except for one problem. All the kids are armed to the teeth. And all the kids want to kill him.

How I Got Into Bizarro

Weird shit has always fascinated me. As far back as I can remember I’ve avidly read books about unexplained phenomena, the occult, aliens, monsters, anything I could get my hands on that was about… well, weird shit. When I went to the library I always went back to the same few shelves dedicated to those subjects, hoping to find something new, but I often had to expand my search to other sections in order to root out anything bizarre that was new to me; I discovered the surrealists this way, as well as Jorge Luis Borges through a watered down, illustrated for children version of his Book of Imaginary Beings. If I knew there was going to be something on TV about UFOs or Loch Ness, nothing would stop me watching it.

(A side note; I married the love of my life on Loch Ness. Most of our wedding photographs have a photoshopped Nessie in them.)

Then I discovered a brilliant magazine that was dedicated solely to the weird shit I loved; The Fortean Times. It came out bi-monthly, wasn’t always easy to find, and apart from the cover it was entirely in black and white. It didn’t just feature all the broad topics, like hauntings and cryptozoology, but touched upon pretty much any kind of weirdness that was reported in press anywhere in the world, as well as featuring thoroughly researched essays about the bizarre; there might be an article about the Mad Gasser of Mattoon, and then a piece about why the children’s character Postman Pat was frowned upon in Japan (having only four fingers, it was assumed that he must be a yakuza, whose allegiance ceremony involved the initiate cutting off their pinky.) I loved it; I still do.

In one issue back in 1995 they had an interview with a writer. Up until this point I hadn’t really cared for fiction, because apart from the odd horror novel -I have always had a taste for DARK weird shit- it never really sparked my imagination. Then I read the interview with Robert Rankin, and it changed my life.

Cliché? Perhaps.

The interview focused on the fact that Rankin drew inspiration for his work from Fortean source material; for example, he said he got the idea for one novel after reading the story about how the Russians had accidentally drilled to Hell. His novel was about how humans were really living inside the Earth, and that all the stuff in the sky -clouds and stars and the sun and the moon- was an elaborate hoax to keep us docile whilst secret alien masters farmed us as a delicacy.

This was a revelation; here was a man who wrote books -novels!- based on the kind of weird shit I loved. The very first time I saw his name on a bookshop shelf, on a copy of The Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived, I grabbed it. And then I read everything he ever wrote, buying every single new book as soon as it came out. Armageddon: The Musical, The Hallow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse, Nostradamus Ate My Hamster… the titles alone hooked me every time.

Rankin was the one who made me want to write. Yes, the cliché is true; that interview changed my life.

After discovering Rankin I looked for more weird shit fiction. Rankin is primarily a humorist, and the only other person writing anything like his material was Tom Holt. That’s not a great deal of work to keep an obsessive like myself satisfied. So I got into horror fiction in a big way, largely because there wasn’t enough of the truly bizarre stuff to go around…  or so it seemed; this was still in the early years of the Internet when finding stuff you connected with was still constrained by geography. Sometimes I got lucky, and a bookshop employee with no clue what to do with something truly strange that had come in would shelf it under Horror because… well, Horror was weird shit, right? This was how I discovered the now-defunct Attack! Attack! Attack! imprint of Creation Press -with titles like Vatican Bloodbath, Raiders of the Low Forehead, and Tits Out Teenage Terror Totty– and thus Creation Press itself, and the merest inkling that maybe there were others out there who also had a taste for fiction about the weird shit.

And here we get to the meat of the matter, the matter of geography. Fast forward a few years to where the Internet wasn’t something you had to leave the house and visit a special cafe for. I stumbled across bizarro around 2006-07, whilst surfing for… weird shit. It had only just acquired a name, but when I saw it I recognized it for what it was. After all, I’d been looking for it for a long time.

I mentioned that Rankin made me want to write, and so I did. My first effort was hammered out on an Atari ST, a novel called The Tower of Bagel, a piece of absolute cockwomble spaff about the antichrist seeking to stop time because his birthday was on February 29th and he could only celebrate it every four years. It came with the obligatory Gary-Stu, with other characters including a rip-off of Vyvyan from The Young Ones, as well as a bartender who thought he was a camel (a proto-furry) who ended up cut in half and stitched to the sternum of an elderly alcoholic warlock. I wrote that in 1996-97 and the only remaining copy is amongst the possessions of a dead friend. I wrote a few more novels with the same characters, always trying to come up with weirder and weirder ideas; for instance, there was one called A Clockwork Aubergine about the tooth fairy building a doomsday device, and one of the central characters was a sentient pot belly stove called Mandolin.

I hadn’t a clue what to do with any of this crap though; I checked writer’s magazines and lists of publishers and no-one seemed to publish the kind of stuff I was writing.

I gave up trying to write weird shit. I figured Rankin was pretty much unique, a one-off never to be repeated. I wrote horror. Almost everything I wrote up until 2006-07 ended up in the bin, including a novel about a haunted golliwog doll called Mr Marmalade, and roughly half a million words of piss-poor Lovecraft imitations. The only survival from those years was my attempt at a kid’s book, Try Before You Die, a book which was too strange to fit into any of the usual genres, but of which I felt proud. I just accepted that its strangeness meant it would never be read, and settled myself to accept that if I wanted to write, I’d have to tow the line and write conventional stuff.

Then I found bizarro. I found out there were others, a LOT of others, who liked the weird shit like I did.

Rankin made me want to write, but it was finding bizarro that made me believe there was a point to it because after all, why write if not to be read? The Internet made the connections possible, and things snowballed from there. I met an American bloke on MySpace called Nathaniel Lambert, a genuine class act with whom I had sod all in common apart from a love of the weird shit and an itch to write it, and based on an idea he had we collaborated and wrote a book. That was Sideshow P.I. – The Devil’s Garden, our bizarro detective story that came out through Graveside Tales, a horror press that took a chance on us when it was still only quite a small core of outfits publishing bizarro. Other books have followed as markets for weird shit have grown –Damnation 101, The Whorehouse That Jack Built, right up to my latest, Exquisite Corpse Orgy– and I’m planning on upping my output; Black Rainbows Press will be putting out a new book by me every few months from now on.

This turned out to be a lot longer and more autobiographical then I expected, but this was how I got into bizarro.




I finally watched The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror XXV, which contained “School is Hell”, an episode I’ve been eager to see every since I first heard of it. Brief synopsis; Bart ends up attending a school in Hell where the lessons are  about the theory and methods of torturing the damned. Rang a few bells, did that, a veritable tintinnabulation in fact. So I watched it to see how it stacked up against my own exploration of the same idea; it was -to use a neologism from The Simpsons– “meh”, and the father/son torture scene couldn’t hold a candle to my own, but now at least I am one of the few living people in the world who can say, “Simpsons did it, but I did it FIRST.” Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to block out the sun.

(And if you didn’t know, that’s the comic book character Hot Stuff; I needed an image to jazz this post up, but figured I’d get my arse sued off if I used anything from The Simpsons itself; Hot Stuff made a cameo in the segment mentioned… and having said that, if the owner of the intellectual property of Hot Stuff should read this, I have NO MONEY, so please don’t sue!)



From the author of DAMNATION 101 and THE WHOREHOUSE THAT JACK BUILT COMES a bizarro novel about insane evolution, in four parts. Victorian robots wager on death-matches between mutant children… on the island of super villain Dr Tomorrow, furry morons are put on trial for their lives… glory holes are not the only source of bathroom love… and in the future, monsters wage holy war over the last resource on Earth; frozen celebrities.

Click that cover to buy your copy.