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The Paperback of the Bloodsucker Blues by Trevor R. Fairbanks, Michael Shrum | at Barnes & Noble. Nine stories with teeth! Publication date: 10/14/
Table of contents
That night the food was spiced lamb with garlic mashed potatoes. A side order of something called tzatziki, not sure if the spelling is correct. There was toasted French bread, which was to be dipped in a yogurt sauce that was mixed with finely sliced or grated cucumber, a hint of mild onions, lemon The way old Sam described it made my mouth water I say, nearly.
About ten pm I near stumbled out of her place and headed home to my small motel-like pad across town. Not too far, as the crow flies The story goes that Harold Barker left his wife and disappeared into the forest near his home and was never seen or heard of again. I believe he just went into a permanent hiding from his woman. At this point Sam excused himself. He needed to go After some time he returned looking mighty satisfied. I ordered two more cold brews. Oh yes, the short cut through them woods.
Nor am I a believer in the un-dead and skin transformer. I, with some rum under my belt, proceeded to follow that moonlit path. I believe most fear comes from within and from the unknown I heard there are some who drop dead just from fear alone. Yep, fear and stress are mighty grim reapers, or at least his sidekicks. The moon was one quarter shy. So, the other three parts were bright 'nough, as clouds played hide and go seek in the sky between spooked shaking trees. Old Sam stopped to focus on some distant thought..
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While he did this, I took the opportunity to look around this club. And the few clientele, mostly men, were not ragged looking like my new friend here. The jukebox played songs from the eighties. Personally, I preferred classic rock or hard blues, but for a change this was alright I guess. Sam wiped his mustache on his sleeve and took off again where he stopped before. Well, my first instinct was to either whistle a happy tune, or run like hell.
Instead I turned slowly. I wish I could say it was just the wind snapping some decrepit branch Was not to be Sam stopped and stared at me.
I motioned with my head and shoulders, as if to say or ask, 'what'? He then quite politely asked if I would care to buy him a double shot of rum. I obliged, and when the curvatious barmaids set down our drinks, he continued as before Long scraggly raven hair, overcoat down to his knees, and military type of boots. I backed up a bit, but a large tree prevented my retreat.
It was like the ancient myth, the Scylla and Charybdis I was between a rock tree and a hard place this ominous fellow. I did neither of these things. He came closer. Now, when he was a mere six feet from me, I had a better look at his face He was shorter than me, even in his combat boots. Skinny too. Those eyes of his were haunting. They sat on a pale face But those eyes His iris were blood red with a faint glow to them.
Let me point out a fact I, yes, I, Sam Grandville, became a true believer there and then. Yes sir, that I did! Now Sam had me. Had my total attention. I leaned in to listen more intently. Not wanting to miss a syllable. I told him to continue. He did. His teeth were as bright as the whites of his eyes. No teeth missing on this dude from hell. In fact, he seemed to sport extra ones which included four as long as a tiger's. Sharp as a fifth grader. He lunged. I put up my best defense, which was to cover my eyes with my hands. I hate to witness a slaughter And I had a terrible allergy to bleeding.
OK, yes, I was chicken shit. After what seemed like eternity, I braved a peek. The moon shone down on me with a certain snugness All I could see, down the path from where I came, was nothing but a rocky road lined with families of trees. It was a dream Riding us all horsey style this time is Morgan, unholy spawn of McAndrews.
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These blood suckin ladies play harder than you think, you'd better believe it. Join them on their zig zag wonder. The queue to sit on his knee stretches right down the hall as we wait for him to dish out the presents. We're back with a marathon session here. I think we've covered all the chemical emotions. Come on in..
From Tanki-Tanki to Rampi-Rampi, fuelled on the finest bruschetta we jump in the fire of Rio de J'stoke Newington, as our sly family of space cowboys slip through the darkness and discuss their dreams of adoption. Our stripped back crew get dug in for the night to assemble another selection of heart warming jams. Tuneyards are fed dirty kebabs, held hostage in a cheap city hotel, then subjected to aural experimennts, while Fitz 'n Bucko contemplate lottery results. With thanks to our sponsors, It's all buttered spuds tonight. EPISODE 31 - With one final salute to our beloved, original head quarters at Kingsland Road, we go with the good times, leaving a trail of gentrification in our wake.
The furniture has gone, but the spirits are strong. Ciao babe. As the tea trollies are rolling by, our big guy compiles this short, sweet selection, to follow the Croque Monsieur. One last chance to blast the neighbour's walls with killer jams before we root out new digs. DJ Fitz scans his collection for a focus on Mali. The second in an hour long series of serious focused jams.
It might be christmas time, we're not sure. We've got no money, only our faith, and some old guns. Back to blow out the candles lit in his honour.
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Was our Lone Ranger really out finding work..?.. Our reluctant crew of infidels scour horizons of global disco flavours working the crowd in and out of a frenzy. The old men are back again, happy to mislead all who care to listen into thinking its 24 which it isn't , it must be the nerves as these strangers in the city venture North to the producer's palace.
EPISODE 22 - We're on holiday, having strange dreams, looking for long lost lovers, freaking out like funky mules with lasers chasing the devil, in the sun soaked city of Barcelona. It's the Primavera Sound edition. Moving on down the line, a kaleidoscope of jams continue to fall from the sky.
Nothin much is happening eh, we're just hangin out, spinning heads, biding our time between festivals, but it's alright eh. EPISODE 20 - After a long break from the airwaves, as some began to lose their faith, here comes the booster jab in the form of our usuals, this time hosted in the DC Photographic Penthouse suite over looking the junction.
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The lords are out of the cave. Left to the controls, our zig zag wondrin eejit has his demonic way with all of us, as he plays host here, hypnotising the room and breaking the flow. This one hosted by the great mercenary BLT on another fly by.
Coming to you from central London we've got this thing on the move, theres no east side story, just moustache in your face sir. Girls Panic!! Breathe, step into the Sun, and think how it could be.