Schlock goes naked. Or rather, theme-free.
Our narrator announces the apocalypse. No, really.
Maybe we understand religion better than ever when we’re kids.
I know your thoughts, Doctor. I could read them in your eyes the moment I walked in. The woman is batshit crazy, you told yourself.
What still amazes me about that fluid hour, to this day, is how little of conversation actually took place.
There was no precise count of how many members of the Church of the Sun were in the ziggurat, but they’d soon be short a van-full.
The holes in the old man’s socks had become so large that a bird, foraging for worms in the soil between his toes, got trapped there.
“I say,” it said, “do forgive me. I must say, this is awfully embarrassing.”
The old man plucked the bird out of the spider network of nylon threads and cotton unravelling, up past the variegated elastic band, and pursed his lips around the bird’s bobbling little head.
by Christian Larsen Burge loved Klugman Hall like he loved an old friend. Smelling of generations of varnish, oil and lead paint, it was one of…
Hello, you there. Come over, have a seat. Welcome to the very first POP CULTURE DESTRUCTION with me, Marco. I’ll be taking on what what was interesting in the entertainment sphere over the past few months. It’s not all new (if at all) and jumps wildly between genres and media, but remember that word there – interesting. That’s key.
Hello readers! Here is a sneak peek at Schlock Magazine’s February 2012 issue, the first non-themed issue in our four year history. First up, here’s some…