Pop A Cap In A Meerkat

CSIMEERKATHere at Evil UnLtd we have been receiving a lot of emails from people wanting to inflict grievous bodily harm on Meerkats. Apparently their decision, as a species, to head up a long-term advertising campaign on behalf of a comparison website has begun to grate on a few nerves.

While cruelty to meerkats, particularly annoyingly cute ones, is something we can heartily endorse, such activities are a very specific brand of evil and ours is a much broader bailiwick. The clue is in our name.

Evil. UnLtd.

UnLimited.

Simple. (Note. Singular, not plural. We are hard-pressed to think of any circumstance in which the word ‘simple’ would need to be pluralised.)

Meerkat. Sounds like ‘mere’. And there is nothing mere about us.

This, we hope, will go some way towards clearing up any potential confusion.

Those keen to indulge their anti-meerkat appetites further, visit popacapinameerkat.com.

Those interested in a wider spectrum of Evil choose Evil UnLtd.

meerkat01profileEvil UnLtd books, including the latest Vol 4: Tempus Sinister, are available on Amazon.

All royalties go to Cancer Research UK.

SAF 2015

Invasion Of The Vinosaur

ToolboxAllow us to introduce the Wine Diva. A character with a significant role in the latest Evil UnLtd volume.

We can’t say much about her at this point as anything of substance we could say about her would have a high alcohol content and, Evil as we are, we can’t go about distributing alcoholic substances to minors. Suffice to say that she’s a glass half-full sort of person who will always demand a top-up.

VinoDiva

Exclusive Time/Space Snippet:

From her spot at the end of the bar, the Wine Diva saw all. Usually through a misty Merlot haze, the occasional rosé-tinted glass. But on this she had drawn a Sauvignon blank. She hadn’t seen this coming at all.

All she wanted was a quiet, lightly anaesthetised life. Some amicable conversation, a bar to rest her head on.

There she’d been, enjoying her daily helping of all the above. Maintaining a sparkly banter, between sips, with the lovely Tabitha. Despite the constant need to repeat everything. It was one thing to throw pearls of wisdom before swine, another to have to regurgitate them. Of course, Tabitha was no swine – she was a pearl herself. The only element to sour their enabler-customer relationship was that the girl was so much prettier than the Wine Diva. It was nothing personal: she was prettier than everybody, blast her deliciously curved hide. It would have been easy to hate her if she lorded her looks over all and sundry. But if you ordered bitter, Tabitha would always serve you mild. With a slice of humble pie, lightly sugared.

Tabitha was even nice enough to smile every time the Wine Diva made her ‘put it on my Tab’ joke. Which was probably often. She lost count. She kept making mental notes to lay off that one. But she kept misplacing the notes.

Anyway, at some point Brian the big-hearted bruiser had swaggered over, butting in on their girl talk. She watched him swoon and moon over Tabitha, contemplated telling him to grow a pair and ask the girl out. Actually, that may have been one of those contemplations she blurted aloud because she remembered Tabitha blushing a deep shade of Shiraz.

Oops.

Well, that was moot now. She’d seen poor Brian go down just before she’d vaulted over the bar. Vaulting had felt more like slithering like a pregnant snake, but vino didn’t half play with your perceptions. On the plus side, any details that slipped your mind, you could make up. And make them sound a lot better. Hence vaulted. Gracefully. What’d it matter now? Invent what events you liked when death was just the other side of the bar.

She’d caught a quickfire montage as she’d gone head-over-heels-over-bar: a lot of tumbling, upside-down shots of the terrorists. Like one of those movies where the camera can’t keep still, like the cameraman’s on an unsteady diet of speed and caffeine. Tabitha, bless her, dreamed of being a movie starlet. If she ever landed a role in one of those movies, the Wine Diva would never see them. They did her head in. Made her sick. Which obliged her to finish up her popcorn too fast so she’d have a spare receptacle to hand.

She digressed. More than usual. Thoughts whirled. More than usual. Her heart pumped like a machine-gun, outpacing the automatic fire chopping poor Frank’s pub to splinters. Poor Frank? Poor her – it was her home from home. The guns spat softly, shushing madly, as the destruction made all the real noise. It was like listening to a gang of riverdancers doing a number on the place in rubber-soled, scissor-heeled clogs. It rained woodchips and shards and sundry beverages and matter and fluids that should have remained internal to someone. Anyone.

Some of it might have been Bloody Mary mix, but the psychological effect was similar as it sprayed everywhere, gobs of the stuff falling black and crisp like deep-fried tomato peel.

Down on hands and knees, by no means unusual for her, she breathed like a geriatric gazelle who’d just run a marathon steeplechase. Or hippo. Hippo would’ve coloured her point with greater emphasis, but she gave herself gazelle. She had to throw herself these little gifts.

The entire future could be moot. All right, the future might conceivably carry on without her, but she’d be missed. Life could be moot.

Survival depended entirely on whether this was the first Tuesday of the month or the last Tuesday of the previous month. The Wine Diva saw all. But calendars were chronically blurred.

Life could be measured in minutes. And all she could see from her disadvantage point on the floor was a lot of broken glass and a whole lot more booze spilling wastefully away. She was in a puddle of her best friend. Nowhere near deep enough to swim, too shallow to drown her sorrows.

But extensive enough to make her cry.

Gunfire done, the chief terrorist eventually mumbled something about parable universes, turning her grief to confusion. When he corrected his mumble to parallel universes, confusion fermented into horror.

No, she hadn’t seen this coming. But there’d been a few sober times she’d feared this day might arrive.

EvilForkAlternateRead more about the Wine Diva and other characters with bottle in Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

Royalties from all Evil UnLtd books go to Cancer Research UK.

SAF 2015

Proctor Who? Part Four

Toolbox 

Who is the Proctor?

A question central to the latest Evil UnLtd volume.

The Proctor is a conundrum wrapped in an enema and – wait, either we’re getting déjà vu or we’re caught in a chronic hysteresis. We’ve been through all that before.

Today, we’ll be profiling another of the individuals who lays claim to the title of Proctor, in an eternal struggle between order and chaos.

The Fourth (?) Proctor

ProctorWho01

Exclusive Time/Space snippet:

Bibi broke from the path and barged through clumps of ornamental shrubbery. Where the plants resisted, she gave them a blast of her hairspray which doubled as an excellent defoliant.

She burst through and almost teetered into a pond. She veered left, hopscotching around its banks. Just as she reached the stone path, she hit a wall of sound. Or it hit her. Or both.

It was a horrible, grating sound like the braying of an asthmatic iron donkey with rusted lungs.

The sound gave birth to hazy blue light. The light sketched angles and lines in the air, tracing the outline of a box. Intersections glowed sapphire-bright before spilling their colour, flood-filling the surfaces with deep, metallic blue. The accompanying din terminated in a solid thunk, as though the donkey had keeled over and died, leaving only the solid confirmation that the object was indeed a box.

Beyond that, the unseen artist who had deposited this curio might as well have been snickering to himself and gleefully challenging, “Can you tell what it is yet?” Because Bibi still had no idea.

It boasted a chamfered lid like a toolbox. It even sported a carrying handle, although you would’ve had to be something of a giant to lift it given its coffinesque dimensions. Assuming it was as heavy as it looked. The thunk with which it had finally materialised could have been a sound effect, Bibi supposed. But it had sounded heavy as a falling star.

She looked at it, wondering what it would do next. Boxes tended not to do very much. Except contain stuff.

She glanced over her shoulder. On the far side of the pond, Mr Quiggs staggered after her, one hand still clasped over his eyes, the other waving wildly. He splashed blindly into the water, started wading across.

She should run.

But her legs wanted to stay rooted. As if her knees wanted to stick around and stare at the box. Despite her very human lack of eyes in either patella.

From out in the water, Mr Quiggs whined: “Please! Please, come back! I just wanted to talk!”

Bibi stared and stared at the box, willing it to do something. Anything. “Do something!” she urged it.

The box hummed.

A seam parted along its top. The lid opened like an oblong clamshell. Folding back to reveal an impossibly dark interior. And locking into place as a pair of tiered trays on either side.

In one of the trays lay a man.

Well, lay was too leisurely a word. He was squashed up in a cramped foetal position, the tray being nowhere near long enough to accommodate his tall, wiry frame. He wasted no time in leaping up and springing free from the box.

He aimed his head this way and that, his eyes darted everywhere – although hardly ever in the same direction as his head. He whipped out a very phallic silver tool, sized somewhere between pen and truncheon, tipped with a glowing purple knob. He thrust this bulbous end at Bibi.

What the hell? Two attackers now?

EvilFork

 

Watch this space for further profiles of this compelling character.

Alternatively, read Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

Royalties from all Evil UnLtd books go to Cancer Research UK.

SAF

Proctor Who? Part Three

Toolbox

Who is the Proctor?

A question central to the latest Evil UnLtd volume.

The Proctor is a conundrum wrapped in an enema and – wait, either we’re getting déjà vu or we’re caught in a chronic hysteresis. We’ve been through all that before.

Today, we’ll be profiling one of the individuals who lays claim to the title of Proctor, cast in order of the garter.

The Third (?) Proctor

Proctor03

Exclusive Time/Space snippet:

Lisa McShane ran down the drab, gloomy corridor. Or up.

It felt like up, but most running did. She needed to cut down on the vino. On the other hand, she always needed a drink between adventures with the Proctor. And hey, as much as she had a hard time with the running, he had it worse.

He waddled at speed. Mind, he’d kill her with one of his withering glares if he whiffed her feeling sorry for him. He was giving her the hard stare right now, coming up yards behind her like a sore loser in a duck race on dry land. Of course, he was lumbered with luggage.

“I don’t know why you have to cart that thing round with you everywhere!”

The big blue Toolbox bashed against his little legs. In his other hand he wielded the Tool. “Yes you do! I might have to reach something!”

“Ditch it! You can stand on my shoulders.”

“Oh, can I really? How very BIG of you! Like a criminal on a down escalator.”

“You what?”

“Con descending.”

He was always throwing out lame puns just to annoy her. People who used humour as a defence mechanism forgot it wasn’t very effective against a punch.

“Oh, I get it. You’re insecure. Cos you’re short.”

“I’ll have you know I am very secure in my stature. It’s other people’s heights that make me nervous. I mean, they’re all so tall. They scare me.”

The Proctor fake-shuddered. For such a slow-poke, short-ass he always found time for mucking about while on the run from deadly threats.

Deadly threats like the machine of solid shadow and red-scratch eyeslit that trundled around the corner behind him.

“Proctor!”

He raised the Tool high, thumbed the controls. The Evil Robot’s micro-missiles and plasma fire bombarded a wall of hard air, metres aft of the Proctor’s heels. The tracked beast rolled forward, switching to some shrill sonic weapon that warped the force field like a glass wobble board.

Lisa ran on. The Proctor waddled faster.

“Corridors,” he quipped. “Don’t you just hate them.”

Lisa did. She’d lost count of the ones she’d run down. Or up. The up ones were the worst. Hence her huge disappointment at arriving on the rare and strange hyperstitial world of Hyperconda to discover more bloody corridors. “These corridors aren’t actually here. The planet occupies a dimension quite beyond the comprehension of us mere three-dimensional types,” the Proctor had explained. “The Hypercondans constructed a visual interpretation matrix to accommodate visitors in a reality that would make sense to the ordinary visual cortex.” To which Lisa had nodded dumbly and felt sorry for the Proctor: he only occupied a third dimension to about half the extent most people did.

Lisa hurled herself around the end of the passage, glued her back to the wall. The Proctor ducked in beside her. The robot tossed a plasma bolt the size of a caber in their direction. The Proctor swung the Toolbox up like a shield. The box flew from his hand, clattered across the floor. The Proctor blew at lightly cooked fingers.

The box was undamaged. Shame, because it could’ve used a few holes in its sides for extra leg room. And arm room. And bust room.

The Proctor snuck peeks around the corner and twiddled with his Tool. “I think we’ve angered it sufficiently.”

“You think?!”

 EvilFork

Watch this space for further profiles of this compelling character.

Alternatively, read Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

Royalties for all Evil UnLtd books go to Cancer Research UK.

SAF 2015

Proctor Who? Part Two

Toolbox

Who is the Proctor?

A question central to the latest Evil UnLtd volume.

The Proctor is a conundrum wrapped in an enema and – wait, either we’re getting déjà vu or we’re caught in a chronic hysteresis. We’ve been through all that before.

Today, we’ll be profiling one of the individuals who lays claim to the title of Proctor, cast in order of appearance, ugliest first.

 The Second (?) Proctor

Proctor02

(aka Proctor Occam)

Exclusive Time/Space snippet:

 

Talulah Belle’s eyes roamed so far and wide over the walls and ceilings of the Imperial Palace, why, it was a marvel they didn’t just set off on an adventure of their own. Travelling all this décor, they’d need horses to properly explore the splendor. Or a coach, for avoiding the saddle sores.

(Splendour, she belatedly corrected herself. While her mama had told her to mind her ‘P’s and ‘Q’s, her Gentleman was strangely more insistent about her proper inclusion of ‘U’s in all kinds of words that hadn’t previously shown any use for them.)

She’d been working the Dixie Cleopatra when he’d come and whisked her away and she’d thought that queenly old steamboat was pretty palatial, but she was a tramp compared to this space. Mercy, she could have counted the gentlemen who’d wanted to save her – for themselves – on the beads of one abacus. Her Gentleman was different: he’d promised to show her the wonders of the universe. She’d been real close to saying no, on account of his professing to be a proctologist, but then she figured it must be a big old universe out there, with plenty of call for all kinds of professions, and who was she to judge. It was only later when her misunderstanding came to light, in polite company, that he explained that no, he was a Proctor, and went to some pains to stress the differences.

As the Empress Sabella swept forward, Talulah curtsied, safe in the understanding that her Gentleman Proctor was not here to probe the royal derriere. Discovering any means of access under all those regal skirts would have been no easy feat anyhow and her escort of purple-clad guards looked apt to fend off any attentions too personal.

The Proctor settled for a stiff bow. Formality rooted in gentlemanliness as well as a general stiffness of bones and joints and pretty much everywhere in his body apart from where it had mattered most to the bulk of the clientele on the Dixie Cleo. He cranked his old back upright and smiled. Something Talulah Belle recommended he did sparingly, seeing as how his cheeks were so hollow and his nose more befitting a bald eagle, and stretching his wiry lips to any degree often made him appear creepy. His brow was more furrowed than a ploughed field, topped off with a ghostly frosting of hair like fresh-whipped cobwebs and cotton candy.

“Your Majesty,” he said in his voice that scraped like a fiddle that had mouldered in the grave longer than John Brown’s body.

The Empress, bless her heart, showed no signs of being intimidated. She held her head aloof, nose at an angle to guarantee any errant sneezes an uphill journey. “Proctor Occam, I understand you have a gift for me.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty. I hope you will keep it in an extremely safe place.”

He stood aside and gestured like a showman at their captive.

She was like a caged tigress and she was in no mood to perform. She beat against the invisible walls of her containment field. Talulah did not begin to pretend to understand the technology – walls clearer than windows, hard as anything she’d encountered on the Dixie Cleo – but she’d seen the girl go through similar motions in one of her promotional music videos. Her Gentleman showed her one sequence where the girl appeared in paroxysms of orgasm while sealed in a glass tank that would have been better situated in an aquarium. She had thrashed about, steamed the glass with her breath and imprinted the mist with big fuzzy red kisses. The song was called Love My Brain. A marriage of image and lyrics that struck Talulah like a lot of marriages, leaving her to wonder what in tarnation had united the two together in the first place.

The Empress swanned up to the container, almost gliding in those skirts of hers.

“Careful, sugar,” Talulah warned. She sucked at her pinkie. “She bites.”

The Proctor whipped out his Tool.

The royal guards levelled their fancy rifles. Something folks invariably did when her Gentleman produced his Tool all sudden like.

EvilFork

Watch this space for further profiles of this compelling character.

Alternatively, read Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

Royalties for all books in the Evil UnLtd series go to Cancer Research UK.

SAF 2015

Who Is The Proctor?

ProctorWho01

Who is the Proctor?

A question central to the latest volume in the Evil UnLtd series.

The Proctor is a conundrum wrapped in an enigma and possibly wearing a different face every time you meet him. He travels the space-time continuum in a strange blue box, brandishes his Tool and frequently asks young ladies to come with him.

It’s a wonder he’s not been arrested.

But condundrums wrapped in enigmas who pick up young ladies are open to misinterpretation and hopefully Tempus Sinister will shed further light on this mysterious fellow.

One thing is for certain: he is an enemy of Evil UnLtd.

And any resemblance between him and –

Two. Two things are for certain.

One: he is an enemy of Evil UnLtd.

Two: any resemblance between him and any persons, living or fictional, travelling space and time in a blue box is purely coincidental.

Watch this space for further profiles of this compelling character.

Toolbox

Alternatively, read Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

Available now for Amazon Kindle. All royalties for Evil UnLtd books go to Cancer Research UK.

SAF 2015

Towel Day Plus One

E4. Now showing on Towel Day Plus One.

Evil4Cover 

There comes a time in every book’s life when it must fly the nest and venture forth into the world wide web. That time for Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister is now.

Actually, that time was yesterday. But in keeping with its time travel theme, not merely content to be long overdue, it showed up another day late.

We at Galaxy Six would like to blame the global economic crash and Saturn’s retrograde motion through the House of Capricorn and Simon Pegg.

(Ha, if he thinks superhero movies are cultural genocide, wait till he gets a load of Evil UnLtd.)

Also, some stories just take their own sweet time.

Time, appropriately enough, is the enemy in this one. Or the enema, we can’t quite remember. But the enema of my enemy is my friend, so it makes little difference in the end. Although some would argue that the end is exactly where an enema makes the most difference.

But we digress.

Toolbox

This volume concerns itself principally with Time. Capital T.

And especially Professor Doomladen’s long-cherished ambitions of Chronocide.

And if that’s not enough to whet your appetite, we should point out that there’s more to it than that. So much more that this series is in danger of needing a Previously On… Luckily, all three preceding volumes are still available so that’s covered.

At this stage we can’t really tell you much more about Evil 4. We don’t want to spoil it for our army of fans. So – until next time – just like we do for Game Of Thrones, we will confine ourselves to spoiler-free tweets like:

OMG!!!!! #Evil4

And

Oh wow! I can’t believe they did that to [INSERT CHARACTER NAME HERE] #Evil4

Evil UnLtd

They’re back and it’s about bloody Time.

Available now on Kindle at Amazon UK and Amazon US.

Other ebook formats and paperback edition to follow.

(100% of royalties for all books in the Evil UnLtd series continue to go to Cancer Research UK.)

SAF

Watch this space for more Evil news, extras

They’re Back And It’s About Bloody Time!

Ladies, gentlemen and bowls of petunias, synchronise your swatches.

Towel Day (May 25th) is almost upon us again.

In honour of the occasion we will be releasing the latest Evil book. In honour of the book involving an element of time travel, we are releasing it later than originally planned.

Here, to whet your readerly appetites is the cover blurb:

Evil4Cover

The Farce Of The Dark Side.

Villains are the new Heroes in this epic Sci-Fi series.

Chronocide.

A long-cherished ambition for Professor Doomladen. Time is relative and in his estimation she’s a crabby, demanding old aunt, past overdue for bumping off.

Dexter Snide has murderous intentions towards other targets – Six and the PHUX Corporation who have stolen his TV station and his Tree, obliging Evil UnLtd to slum it in a derelict girls’ school in the branches of a mere Sapling attached to the hull of a Myxomatosan Death Warren.

In an imperfect present, one means of getting Evil’s future back on track is to turn back the clock. Dexter’s uber-devious scheme provides a tempting opportunity for Doomladen to achieve his ultimate goal. To kill Time.

But such temporal tampering is a sure way to attract the attentions of new enemies. Like a certain mysterious traveller in a blue box…

Worse, Time is a bitch. Mess with her and she messes back.

Watch this space for further announcements.

(WARNING: Actual book may contain spoilers.)

SAF 2015

Note: 100% of royalties from all Evil UnLtd sales continue to go to Cancer Research UK.

May 24th Be With You!

Welcome to 2013.

50th Anniversary year of some long-running sci-fi show. Ah yes, Doctor Who, that’s the one. One of those infuriating hero-types who’s been around forever and a symptom of some villains not doing their job right.

Anyway, yes, it is late to be welcoming people to the new year, but we at Evil UnLtd do love to be fashionably late and besides, while time waits for no man, it had better wait for us and just count itself lucky that it isn’t waiting on us.

We have special minions for that.

Speaking of dining, it has come to our attention that the world was recently shocked to discover that some of its beefburgers were found to contain 29% horsemeat.

horsedoeuvres

Perhaps the world now understands the horror and disgust we felt when it was discovered that our Evil enterprise was found to contain unacceptable levels of goodness.

Our ‘illustrious’ – and often inebriate – author, Simon A Forward, is entirely to blame.

Over the course of just over a year, Doctor Who fans were hit with the sad news of the passing of three actresses who had portrayed three favourite companions from the series. Lis Sladen (Sarah Jane Smith), Caroline John (Liz Shaw) and Mary Tamm (Romana). All down to cancer.

DWCompanions01

So you can see how a sensitive soul with an affinity for this Doctor Who phenomenon might feel moved to do something in this anniversary year. Especially someone, like Simon A Forward, who lost his own mum to cancer seven years ago this coming May.

Hence, all royalties from Evil UnLtd books will be going to Cancer Research UK until May 24th 2013.

Vol 1: The Root Of All Evil

Paperback

Kindle – Amazon (UK) £2.05

Kindle – Amazon (US) $3.31

Other Ebook – Smashwords $2.99

Paperback (Signed) £9.99 (inc P&P)

Vol 2: From Evil With Love

Evil2Cover

Kindle – Amazon (UK) £2.05

Kindle – Amazon (US) $3.31

Other Ebook – Smashwords $2.99

Paperback (Signed) £9.99 (inc P&P)

EvilFork

Furthermore, with Evil UnLtd Vol 3: Evil UTD due for release that same month (in time for Towel Day, Douglas Adams/Hitchhikers Guide fans take note!) our author was keen to continue with some longer-term contribution beyond that date.

With that in mind, he has decided that a full 50% of royalties on all Evil UnLtd books, including future volumes, will go to Cancer Research UK.

50% goodness is a troubling level of contaminant to find in your own produce and we are far from happy about it, let us tell you. But it’s not in our nature to apologise or withdraw our products from circulation. We’d much rather withdraw circulation from consumers.

Naturally, those same consumers can dispense with book purchases altogether and donate directly to Cancer Research UK.

Jedi and others of a similar lightsaber-wielding hippy-dippy persuasion would caution you to beware of the dark side. We would urge people to embrace it.

Much as it pains us, you will be doing some good.

But ultimately, as we’ve mentioned before, cancer is evil and we could do without the competition. So, please, treat yourself to a book and/or help spread the word by sharing links on your blogs, Facebook, Twitter, by email, whatever your preferred means of communication.

The Farce Of The Dark Side, it proclaims on all our book covers. Although we’re sure that must be some sort of typographical error.

In any case, as the subject header says, May 24th be with you.

Help Evil do some Good.

LIVE UnLtd

“Tom Hiddleston, another actor our author thinks would make a good me. I suppose he almost looks the part in the suit.” Dexter Snide

Fiction is rife with tales of creations – robots, monsters, what have you – turning on their creators. But it’s not so common to find creators attempting to royally shaft their creations. It is a truly despicable thing, a betrayal of the author-character relationship and quite frankly if the author expects his characters to behave as he wishes in his next book he will be in for a surprise of the nastiest kind.

Nasty is one of those things that we here at Evil UnLtd do best.

Still, we are to some degree at the mercy of our author’s whims and he has decided to fritter profits away on (permit me to shudder) charity. That’s right: all his royalties are going to Cancer Research UK for the next six months (until May 24th 2013).

Personally, I see it as a cynical marketing ploy, exploiting a much-vaunted ‘worthwhile cause’ as a promotional tool and in that respect a laudable scheme. But really, either way, it shouldn’t concern me. It’s his money – the author’s share – and Evil UnLtd are not strictly about profits. One can make more money any time, after all – by printing your own, stealing and so on. Whereas spreading misery and despair et cetera, well, that’s priceless.

Indeed, it is exactly this line of thought that ultimately leads me to applaud this move.

Cancer is evil.

It’s remarkably effective in its ability to make people miserable, devastate lives, all that sort of thing. So you could be forgiven for thinking we would be doubly opposed to any charitable agency that sets out to combat it.

But quite frankly, we can do without the competition.

So I would like to see the back of it.

To that end, I would suggest that we, Evil UnLtd, and all you good people out there, if not actually unite in a common cause, at least engage in this temporary uneasy alliance to do what we can against this pervasive enemy.

You can contribute by purchasing a copies of our first two volumes, The Root Of All Evil and From Evil With Love. Links to the paperbacks and ebook formats are readily available on this site, but I’ll see to it that a minion provides them here again for your convenience:

Evil UnLtd Vol 1: The Root Of All Evil

Paperback 

Kindle (Amazon UK) £2.05

Kindle (Amazon US) $3.28

Other Ebook Formats (Smashwords) $2.99

Paperback (Amazon UK) £8.99

Evil UnLtd Vol 2: From Evil With Love

 

Kindle (Amazon UK) £2.05

Kindle (Amazon US) $3.28

Other Ebook Formats (Smashwords) $2.99

Paperback (Amazon UK) £8.99

You can also do your bit by spreading the word, telling your friends and/or enemies. Everybody and anybody.

See, our author was convinced we would disapprove and he would have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for ‘us meddling characters’.

We are far smarter than that.

Long live Evil. Down with cancer.

Dexter Snide

 

Alternatively, please visit Cancer Research UK and make a direct donation.

  • Vol 1 – Kindle (UK)

  • Vol 2 – Kindle (UK)

  • Vol 3 – Kindle (UK)

  • Vol 4 – Kindle (UK)

  • Signed Paperbacks

    Signed Copies Direct From The Author