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The Bride of Trash has been nominated for a 2005 Independent Publisher Book Award (the IPPY) for best fiction in the Horror genre.
“I read The Bride of Trash during my trip to France last week. (Mike Segretto has) a master touch for satire and dialogue. The novel is both entertaining and clever... I salute a bright talent.” (Herschell Gordon Lewis, legendary filmmaker of Two Thousand Maniacs, Blood Feast)
“Extremely funny, utterly sick, and ... gasp!!! ... I even cared about the characters. Great stuff!” (Jeff Strand, author of Mandibles, Graverobbers Wanted [No Experience Necessary])
“Mike Segretto's Bride of Trash continues Jonathan Swift's tradition of brilliant satire." (Fred Rosen, author of Lobster Boy)
“The Bride of Trash is a fast-paced and twisted romp that's lewd, crude, and more fun than a midnight carnival on hallucinogens.” (Horror Library.net)
Some of them hours that come next was kinda fuzzy, but they got less fuzzy as each hour passed on by. When it all got nice and clear, just like a fresh, cool, pool of spring water, it all kinda made sense. I was in love. We both were. She didn’t do no talkin’ back, and she didn’t say nothin’ bad ‘bout Wizzer the way some folks did. She didn’t say nothin’, but she did a lotta lovin’, and it was real sweet-like. We spent the rest of that fuzzy first day in bed together, just Elsa and Wizzer makin’ all sorts of lovin’.
Maybe she wasn’t a regular kinda gal, but she had it in her to love this ol’ hound dog like he was Don Juan and Carey Grant all wrapped up together. She didn’t give two squats that I was old or tubby or that my hair was always a might bit greasy or that I sometimes didn’t change my shorts. She didn’t care that I sold junk or that I sometimes went a whole day without any customers or that I didn’t have too many friends aside from Buggy. She just loved Wizzer, and Wizzer sure loved her.
And loved her, Wizzer did. He loved her all day long, and even my wife Elsa didn’t let me do that much lovin’ to her. She’d usually just give me a coupla minutes to do my sexin’ business or she’d roll over on her back and say she wasn’t in the mood. But my new Elsa was always ready for it, and I didn’t have to ask or give her no beggin’ puppy eyes or tell her it was my birthday or nothin’. I could just go up and grab her and do it like a monkey. And she never fought me off or nothin’. It was love, true love.
You also might think ol’ Wizzer had some trouble doin’ it, since lots of corpses have that riggy-mortis runnin’ through ‘em, and that riggy-mortis makes ‘em stiff and not too easy for the lovin’. I did have some of them problems when we used to do it before the lightnin’ struck. I had to kinda pry her open so I could get my ding-dong into her, and it wasn’t too easy. She was dry as a bone down there, so I’d have to get some mayo from the fridge and lube her up with that so I could slide right proper. It wasn’t what you’d call the ideal lovin’ situation, but sometimes you do whatcha gotta do, know what I mean? But after the lightnin’, she’d get moist just like any ol’ gal, and—just like it was some kinda miracle made special for horny ol’ Wizzer—she was moist all the day long. I could take her in the bedroom first thing in the mornin’, and then do it on the kitchen floor after breakfast, on the livin’ room sofa durin’ the afternoon talk shows, and then back up to the bedroom after dinner and before the goodnight.
With all that lovin’ came a little slide off in my carefulness. As you probably can tell already, I wasn’t just keepin’ Elsa in my room no more. I was lettin’ her roam all over the house, and the more I let her roam, the more comfortable she got with movin’. She wasn’t just lumberin’ ‘round like she did that first day I found her sittin’ up on my bed no more. She could move almost kinda natural, almost kinda like a regular person. But there was still somethin’ strange ‘bout them movements. Even though they got quicker, they was kinda jerky like someone was pullin’ little, invisible strings over her body and makin’ them movements for her. It was like they wasn’t really her own movements, like she was just a puppet bein’ controlled by the good Lord, himself—that very same Lord that tossed down the lightnin’ bolt that brought my Elsa to life in the first place. So, next time you’re thinkin’ that my Elsa is some kinda monster or demon or somethin’, you just remember who really brought her to life and you think twice ‘bout that.
Even though things was goin’ so good with Elsa and the love and all, there was still some troubles a-brewin’. Since I’d been spendin’ so much time with my gal, I was spendin’ less time with Buggy, and I could tell Buggy was feelin’ kinda left in the lurch. Like I said before, Buggy was a good pal, but there was also somethin’ ‘bout him that made me nervous. Maybe it was that smile that he always had through good times and bad times. Anyone who’d smile through some of the rough times I had makes me think that he wasn’t always smilin’ in a comfortin’ way. Sometimes it was kinda like he was laughin’ at me.
Buggy still had that smile on his face even though I knew he was gettin’ hot under his frilly collar ‘bout me and Elsa. He was smilin’ right through that day when Mrs. O’Connor showed up and gave me some big troubles. Buggy didn’t give me no sympathy or nothin’ when Mrs. O’Connor come by and started crabbin’ at me worse than ever, ‘cause, you see, even though that lightnin’ gave Elsa some life, it didn’t do too much to fix that dead smell on her. That smell just kept gettin’ worse, just like Elsa was still rottin’, even though she wasn’t. Mrs. O’Connor come by one night, and things kinda got outta hand.
Here’s what happened.
“Wizzer Whale! Wizzer Whale! You open this door this instant!”
“Hold yer horses. What you want, Mrs. O’Connor?”
“I told you to do something about that odor. It’s been several weeks, and I have been more than understanding. If you still have that deteriorating dog carcass in here, I have a very good reason for calling the police on you. You are using my premises for unsanitary purposes, Wizzer Whale, and I can have you thrown in jail for that.”
“I know, I know. Just gimmie a coupla …”
“No, Mr. Whale. No more extensions, no more biding your time while this place slips deeper and deeper into a disgusting state. I’ve given you plenty of chances, and I am just here to inform you that as soon as I get home, I will be calling the police, and … phew! That smell has gotten worse just as I’ve been standing here! Where are you keeping that animal?”
“I just got him ‘round back. He ain’t hurtin’ no one.”
“It’s worse yet! It’s as though it’s getting worse by the moment, like it’s moving closer!”
“Uhh, I don’t smell nothin’.”
“You filthy liar, how could you not …”
Thump.
“What was that?”
“Uhh. That was just a … that was just that broken shutter on my bedroom window flappin’ upstairs.”
“Hogwash! That sound didn’t come from outside your window; it was coming from … who is that?”
The shadow started growin’ at the top of the stairs and it stretched down the steps, darker and darker as it stretched.
“Who is up there?”
“Uhh, no one. Ain’t no one in here ‘cept you, me, and Buggy.”
“Buggy? Who is Buggy? Who is that? Oh my God! She’s completely naked! For heaven’s sake, have some decorum with your prostit … what’s the matter with her? Her face?”
Mrs. O’Connor started fumblin’ in the pockets of her housecoat, lookin’ for her bifocals. “Oh my God!”
Mrs. O’Connor never even got a chance to get her scream out. Elsa was on her—fast and hard, like a panther. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it. Elsa knocked the old lady down and just reached into her wrinkly skin like she had claws instead of hands. Elsa tore off chunks of flesh and tossed ‘em behind her like she was a bear rootin’ through the trash. There was clumps of blood and old, wrinkly flesh everywhere, and I was just as stunned as if I’d gotten shot right between the eyes. It was more gruesome than anything in The Creature from Monster Lake, let me tell you. I was horrified and terrified, but then I realized somethin’, and this made me feel sorta warm inside, but it also made me feel kinda queasy, ‘cause I realized why Elsa was doin’ this terrible thing she was doin’. She was doin’ it for me. She was doin’ it for love.
Read more reviews from Eternal Night, Horrorwood Babbleon, and Book Fetish.
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