- Paperback: 148 pages
- Publisher: Dybbuk Press, LLC (February 15, 2006)
- Language: English
- ISBN-10: 097665461X
- ISBN-13: 978-0976654612
- Product Dimensions: 5.5 x 0.3 x 8.5 inches
- Shipping Weight: 7 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
- Average Customer Review: 14 customer reviews
- Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #4,554,601 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
Enter your mobile number or email address below and we'll send you a link to download the free Kindle App. Then you can start reading Kindle books on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required.
To get the free app, enter your mobile phone number.
Other Sellers on Amazon
+ Free Shipping
BADASS HORROR Paperback – February 15, 2006
|New from||Used from|
If you buy a new print edition of this book (or purchased one in the past), you can buy the Kindle edition for only $0.99 (Save 67%). Print edition purchase must be sold by Amazon. Learn more.
For thousands of qualifying books, your past, present, and future print-edition purchases now lets you buy the Kindle edition for $2.99 or less. (Textbooks available for $9.99 or less.)
Top customer reviews
An intriguing title; the term "badass" is certainly attractive. Most folks in some way or another want to think of themselves as "badass" in some form or fashion. But we would be equally hard pressed to define the term, so it is a stroke of genius to title a book in this way. After reading the book I am no closer to being able to accurately define the term, but the title certainly worked as a means of advertising!
I downloaded this book for free. I love downloading short story collections from the horror, drama, and fiction genres, and there are wide range of collections out there. I certainly understand the frustration of authors in getting their works out in the public, and so these types of short story collections are valuable for that reason alone.
Pool Sharks: 3.5 stars. Don't drink or play pool in strange bars with strange people. Interesting story, likely the most "badass" of the bunch. Intertwines some horror with the mystical. Good descriptions; good character development. A little light on depth.
The Stray: 2 stars. Borderline dumb. I saw the end coming from the beginning, and it wasn't worth the wait.
Hardboiled Stiff: 3.5 stars. Mix film Noir with zombies and you get this story. Not quite sure about the ending, but definitely horrific and odd.
All the Pretty Girls: Christine redux. 4 stars for story development, pacing, and writing. Not a novel idea, but the quality of writing kept the story afloat until the end.
Moving Pictures: 3 stars. Beware of what people offer in exchange for money. An OK story, OK writing, OK concept. The kind of thing you would see in an episode of "Tales from the Crypt" or the like.
The Essences: 4.5 stars. The story answers the question, "Where do emotions come from?" The best story of the bunch. Very well written. The end fell kind of flat, and there were some not so carefully hidden commentaries on society that were ill-disguised.
Bloodbath at Landsdale Towers: 3 stars. Crack dealers and superheroes; I didn't think the two could be mixed in the same story. Now I know otherwise. I really didn't enjoy this story at all. The writing was OK but the story was just not as well developed as it could have been.
It makes sense that lingering in the calming eddies of today’s DIY revolutions, one would come across literature breathing the same kind of fiery, middle finger baring, vivaciousness that punk rock, and garage rock before that - screw it, what every once obscure and now mainstream effort begot when something was ripped from the underground belly of loyalists and whored to twenty-something professionals, who then sell it in club bathrooms to forty year olds wearing rhino short pony tails. A kind of saccharine rebelliousness, lacking literary seriousness permeates the intent. Say, like a contrasting analysis between the Sex Pistols and Robert Johnson. The former is just a punk band, the staging platform for Sid and Nancy, the latter, unaware of his personal Homeric quest, becomes the haunting and resonating icon responsible for the British Invasion II, The Electric Guitar Years. Stop looking buddy, there is no pretense here.
At least that’s how I found Badass Horror. Desperate for a Bukowskian adventure, outside a lonesome bodega after midnight, having just bought a 40oz. of St. Ides High Gravity, the leprechaun, Chaucer, leading me there, convincing me the lightweight, black and white soft cover was worth his gold.
Don’t ever believe them, the small green people, when they offer something in lieu of gold. I could have bought a bunch of copies and offered a nice pay day to the publisher at Dybbuk (look that up, reader) Press. Instead he’ll have to stake his claim like the rest of us, and maybe, the obstinate trawlers of underground chic fright, find the authentic splatterpunk contained within this collection, to reflect the kind of misanthropic universes the disenfranchised dwell in. After their cryptic signals light up the sky, the hordes arrive, to affirm, in mass, a denial of coolness, hoping, but not obviously so, that they will be the new cool dawning.
Don’t trouble yourself with where this line of thinking falls on the pre/present/post irony spectrum, doing so only makes what moments you have left spoil. Its all about being here now, today. You will find no “stay gold” sentiment in these pages, no “does anybody remember laughter?” Only the relentless drive to astound, like a french kissing to the Ramone’s Blitzkrieg Bop, never giving up the leather garbed right to sneer. Does Badass Horror carry the burden, bear our deviance? It does. With spades and freshly dug holes for hiding things. The quick jab violent opening story, all through to the end, this slim macabre rendering of short pieces reveals twisted minds, brains hung up on blunt object punchlines.
The story telling mostly exchanges the slow drama of character development for bump, set, spike, horror environs, crafting a heavily genre oriented read. If that’s your bag, this should be in your collection, and you’ll probably know right away, since the stark cover and Tarentinoed title will be enough. And hey, that’s good, cause you’ll be macking outside the 7-11, while that other guy keeps looking.
On a practical note, it reads young. Not young like, he is forty and she is twenty five (what?!) but more like, young, the phase in HS where Stephen King gets read a lot; and, not to dwell, twenty five is an adult. No, with Badass Horror, you want to wear black concert T’s, maybe a spiked dog collar if you’re gregariously inclined, and dye your hair blue, spit at the corporate world, mostly for not sharing, think in turns of, “will I be a hero when my school is assaulted by jacked up meth freaks” taking hostage your favorite cheerleader (of course nobody knows she is your favorite - you hate cheerleaders. And Jocks. Your cool buds, going retro, calling them Socs, feigning greaser cool without a working knowledge of lug nuts, hate stuff too), your presence unknown to her, until just before the school is destroyed, when you wheel around the French Angel on a gym scooter and race her away.
No, Badass Horror does not bring to mind Christian Slater, and for that, looming success, even if a century later, remains possible.