The Serial Killer Coloring Book Fundraiser

October 26, 2013

I am doing a fundraiser to get the next issue of the Serial Killer Coloring Book – The Richard Ramirez edition #6.66. Exciting, eh? Yes it is.

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Serial Killer Coloring Book fundraiser

http://igg.me/p/559880/x/4082277

For those of you that are not familiar with the Serial Killer Coloring Book I will give a little history. In 1998 I was looking to create an adult themed coloring book. I tried a Porno Star Coloring Book first but it didn’t do it for me. Or anyone else. The thought of doing a Serial Killer Coloring Book intrigued me. It also mad me snicker a bit.  I bought a copy of Harold Schector’s A-Z Encyclopedia of Serial Killers and began reading the drawing. I thought it was fascinating and made it real simple and low quality like as if a serial killer or a mental patient would draw and write. After some bad national criticism of my execution from other Zines of the time I decided to make it an ongoing comic/ fanzine and improve the quality of art even though they were the ones that missed the point. By the time the second issue $1.666 was finished I developed a following and the the Serial Killer Coloring Book found it’s way to international distribution.

I soon discovered an entire underground culture of serial killer enthusiasts (for lack of a better term). Most of us interested in the subject do not “love serial killers” or intend on sensationalizing the subject. We are interested in the intellectual and psychological aspects of serial murderers. I approach it with sarcasm and humor in my art and writings.

Serial Killer Coloring Book fundraiser

The rest is history. I created and sold 5 issues from 1999-2002 and are now available here in one collected volume. 11 years later it’s time to pick up where I left off.  Since Richard Ramirez died this year and I had a unique interest in him I figured an issue dedicated to him would be a good start.  Since I don’t have the “discounted” late night printing at a local copy shop option I am reaching out to gain support to print them and make them available at a reasonable cost.

I am also fortunate enough to have some wonderful artists working on this with me like Matthew Aaron (my artistic partner in crime), Herlaka Rose and Jon F Allen

Serial Killer Coloring Book fundraiser

Please click any of the many links to the fundraiser now and help if you can. Although the killer incentives are worth it to some, I appreciate any support I can get. Thank you in advance for your support.

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Banging Eesha

August 8, 2013

 

Banging Eesha Khare was just the beginning of Hermo’s erotica accomplishments

like his ability to cook a badass vegan quiche that knocked the panties off of many a youngin’. He’s tasted the sweat inside the sour and the sweet off the hog. Heroic whoremonger and all round lady’s man until she came along.

 

He’s experienced everything from the powerful and almighty golden shower power hour to the screeching bandages of stiff loves and rubbery limp limbs.

Her string cheese hair and incensed lips stopped Hermo Condara’s eyes from blinking the first time she smiled a hello.

 

After finishing a Kama Sutra lesson with Jodi Arias with and without KY and no k9, our hero ventured into the Holo Venute room to relax with a pseudo pint of lager and 3 Asian girls to perform a pedicure and nasal spray, Hermo spotted her across the nitro-room.

Quiandra Pamacharatih was a work of art in the nitro-room. She looked, moved and spoke like she belonged hanging in the middle of the most colorful of fine art exhibits. Her Mayan Princess features stood strong on along her entire face. Hermo’s pale gaze fell down her body lightly covered in a tan gauze dress right down to her dark sculpted toes stretching the rubber on her golden sandals as she stood up.

 

Hermo stared at Quiandra as he pulled his hands out of his armpits to give a quick sniff check followed by a short breath check. He extended his stinky fingers to shake her hand as he introduced himself. She could smell him on her fingers and she smiled her sparkling pearls under her thick Mayan lips. He smiled back at her with his twelve yellow tooth smile.

 

As Hermo launched Quiandra into the air and carried her off in the sunset. He could hear his ancestors cheer. Of all of the erotica accomplishments, cooking abilities and hogtying bare naked green cheerleaders of Southern Kitchen Inc, dusting Quiandra’s aftershock into the wind. Our hero smiles as you fade to black.

 

Art_GirlUglyFashion

 

END


Ode to My Hometown

May 3, 2013

 

Fairview Village. Inside of Camden, New Jersey, one of the most crime ridden cities in the country. My hometown. I lived here as a child. I live here once again as an adult child. I cursed the Gods for my own decisions that as if they had something to do with everything that has led me here in a couple of years of indecisive despair. Camden, New Jersey.

 

Fairview. Oh how you lured me back into your grips.  Oh Fairview, I am back and you have changed more than I have. You were once a beautiful Village in a fancy town. As Camden fell, you Fairview, kept your cool and were certainly a town with pride. A Village Square with candy stores, restaurants and a grocery store. Now the stores meet covered in graffiti, trash and a violent dirty smell in the air. A Hispanic grocery next to an old barbershop with a cracked striped pole.

 

Your boarded up houses try to keep smiling as the drug dealers hide in your shadows. Unknown and well-known murders, rapes and muggings try and hide but some of us can smell it through our tired ripped screen windows. I used to hide. Over two years of hiding I finally feel free.

 

Suddenly the County of Camden has sent hundreds of black uniformed storm troopers to “sweep” the town clean as they told me. Dozens standing on every block, friendly yet stern. Confident yet uneasy. To an outsider it may look like a Police State or even a Fascist takeover. To me it looks like freedom to step foot in my own neighborhood with out the fear of being hassled or even mugged. Oh Fairview, I feel something new from you. I feel hope. I see courage. I am not afraid, not because of “protection” but because someone cares about you once again. People are making the difference. The proud hardworking families can be proud once again to live in a community.

 

I hear echoes in your dark alleys and streets whispering complaints and curses directed at the County and the Guardians. The dark lords are in hiding and some are running or locked up. I know in my heart that you, Farview, you are beginning to see the future and it doesn’t hurt. We don’t have to hurt anymore.

 

RHJPFAIRVIEWniagara

Where I lived until 5th grade

0myhousse

Where I live now


Lolita Manuela – A Poem

August 15, 2012

Loneliness

Desolation

Desperation

Confusion as to my favorite mind crime and dirty thoughts of her

Dreams, visions, sexual obsessions convoluted into one smear of a love lust

That haunts me, thrills me, chills me and makes me feel unworthy of her

Fantasies night after night and I wake up in sweats and frustrated that she will never be

Next to me in my bed or hers or anywhere with me

Oh Latina Lolita I worship you secretly

Your eyes, your hair, your body- oh your perfect body I can just stare at you from afar for hours and the fact I can never touch you is alright with me as long as I know you are in the same world as me

You live your life and I’ll try to live mine with my secret love and lust for you

I will keep smiling as I whisper your name

Oh Manuela . . .

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We are Merely Players

July 10, 2012

Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut! Stop there. Ok Rich. You got the part all wrong. You’re supposed to be the guy with positive energy surviving on his art and good looks. Where’s this depressive attitude coming from. You’re not supposed to be dragging through the day barely getting anything done. You lost a good part of yesterday this way and almost all of Sunday. I don’t want to hear that Bipolar starving artist routine. I’m not buying it. I don’t care how late in the day it is. Start over now. The films rolling and we’re not on a huge budget ya know. Deal with your “mommy issues” on your own time. I’m sick of doing re-writes just for you. You know how this should play out.

“Hero has a rough life. Hero goes through struggle after struggle. Hero finds true happiness. Hero loses it to his own self destructiveness. Hero admits complete defeat, seeks help and changes his beliefs and attitudes and lives happily ever after one day at a time.”

So let’s start this day over from where you do something productive and finish your laundry.


Run

June 26, 2012

 

I offer you my chair

My invisible chair

I offer you my pillow

My invisible pillow

I give you my heart

My invisible heart

 

You take it and run, run, run far away

Levitate, meditate and run

Playing checkers and run

Watching TV and run

Run

 

I offer you my sunlight

Moonlight too

Invisible sun and moon

I offer you my organs

Before I even die

Invisible organs

 

You take them and run, run, run far, far away from me

Lactate, eviscerate and run

Playing solitaire and run

Watching Foreign films and run, run, run

Run


Excerpt from The Official History of Tomorrow’s Dream pages 87-89

June 22, 2012

NOTE: This is an excerpt from the book I wrote way back in January  2018 and published in May 2020.

Excerpt from The Official History of Tomorrow’s Dream page 87-89

How Jocko and his teamster pal Buck got over the scrap of indigo blow snort gavel, only a real scientist will tell. Examine them closely and you would never know they were table beef survivors. The tracking devices made them look cool and even lowered their temperatures but they were being watched. Every skip and jump over the sand dunes were known by Kaydick Industries.

“Jocko self serving through production of self right bbbbBuck?” Jocko asked with unquestionable certainty.

“Aww knock it off Jocks. We’ve been through this before. These feelings of inadequacy will pass. Drink this.”

Buck passed the chuckle juice to Jocko knowing it would calm him down and in turn calm them both down. Jocko took several swigs and starred into the several sunned blurry sky wishing he were still a civilian and not a runaway ex table beef. The Agency had no use for them but Kaydick Industries followed their moves for the fun of it more than any business matters at hand.

“Feel better now?” Buck asked.

“Yeah. I feel so inspired. Can I piggy back now?”

“You know you’re too heavy but if you need human contact I can ride you. Just remember last time I rode you. You tore a few stitches.”

“It’s ok. Ride me. Ride me.”

The temperature was rising near 1,046 degrees porfeos. Dry heat that humps your glands like a reptile. If you’ve ever been humped by a reptile then you know. They had no choice in a life situation like this but to keep moving. The other side of desert is the town of Gointhaw. They would be safe for a while there. One would think with a population of 456,890 they could get away and not be seen despite the high tech tracking system.

 

Meanwhile Ralph was helping me with my own problems. The center of my scrotum was unnerved during the last explosion. I needed Ralph’s strong hands to reach inside and “pull the strings” as the motthoppers called it in my day. Not sure of the proper medical procedure’s name. Ralph wasn’t medical. He was physical for sure. He stuck his hands right up in there, you see. And wiggled each finger one at a time until he saw my fantastic grin reaching each ear almost. Chagrin. Ouuuther.

“Thanks. I needed that.” I said.

“Uppers yup. For you I can do fritterpops. Wholesale style. Ya know.” Ralph said.

Now my only agenda was to take photo options for the Agency. They remote wired me for the mission. My brain would freeze as they send a signal telling me when to click the device resembling absolutely nothing like a camera or visual recording device. It was built into my forehead like a third eye yet invisible to the eye. It was under my skin yet the 3 kolopuy length and width lens could actually see from the far away Agency laboratory. The trigger/button was on the side of my nose and only about .006 Kintopuys. It looked like I was scratching my colossal sized honker.

It was a fairly simple routine besides the brain freeze but the Agency was cautious and paranoid so Ralph was by my side in case I ran into any trouble. In some countries and cultures scratching my nose and staring at someone would be considered rude or a primal way of saying “skitter over lipper”. Even an inactive agent like myself could get quite the head banging and artillery action for that. Ralph is there to break up any potential violence like that and multiple other types. He’s a good zoo, ya know, it’s fun to keep him around. He doesn’t need weapons. I told ya what those hands can do with my “problem”.


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