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

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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

Proctor Who? Part One

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, although not necessarily in that order.

The First(?) Proctor

Proctor01

 

Exclusive Time/Space Snippet:

The earth moved. Not in a sexual way. More in the way you’d expect when two worlds bumped into one another. Actual planetary collisions were probably rare and Zennor Doone suspected there was a simpler explanation behind the seismic seizure.

“Proctor! What did you do?!”

The ground had another go at throwing her on her ass.

The Proctor squatted by the small hole he’d cut in the machinery that all but filled the chamber. His Elven features reddened and sweat glossed his bald head. Heatwaves crashed in through the cavernous entrance as if someone had left a huge oven open.

“Nothing much.” He sprang to his feet and waggled his Tool. “I reversed the polar conditions and the nutrient flow.”

Ice ran briefly to water from pipes the size of tower blocks before hissing away in fits of steam. Something like an apocalyptic convoy of trucks rumbled through on its way to the planet’s core.

“That’s bad, right?”

“Nonsense! Those are happy sounds! The planet’s thermovascular system coming back to life.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means… we should run!”

Zennor ran. Had it been an officially officiated race she would’ve been disqualified for dashing off two tenths of a second ahead of the bang. He frequently fired off that prompt like a starter gun and she’d gotten used to anticipating. And pre-empting.

She raced out onto the causeway with a good head-start.

She’d been in the habit of jogging most mornings around Dartmoor City Park, but that was nothing to the amount of running she’d done in space. Served her right, she guessed, for agreeing to travel the universe with this crazed loon. At least the exercise was a good way of working off the threat of DVT between trips in that ultra-cramped box he called transport.

“Why’d you park so bloody far away?!”

She ran on a jigsaw. Interlocking float discs wobbled underfoot, losing their interlockedness. The causeway started breaking up, piece by piece.

That is an excellent question!”

“And?”

She glanced back. Big mistake. There was the convoy: a tsunami of burning treacle. Lava rolled and thundered after the Proctor, devouring the trembling causeway. Walls fissured, feeding fiery tributaries into the main wave.

“A question far too excellent to be answered glibly while on the run!”

Translation: he didn’t know.

Worse news: sturdy vault doors swung open, all along the tunnel walls. More and more of them, further ahead. Black bulks stirred within. Slits lit up, bloody razor slashes in the black.

They were waking up.

“Proctor! Evil Robots!”

EvilFork

 

Watch this space for further profiles of this compelling character.

Alternatively, read Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

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

SAF 2015

Of Time And Towels

Evil4Cover

Tick tock.

Happy Towel Day! And here’s to the late, great Douglas Adams.

Today struck us as a timely time to unveil the cover of the next volume in our Evil UnLtd series.

Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister will, barring any chronic hystereses, be available in [Edit!] May 2015.

Lord, it’s about Time.

SAF 2014

Note: 100% of royalties from all Evil UnLtd sales will continue to go to Cancer Research UK, at least for one more year.

SEXY EVIL THREESOME!

EvilThreesome

Check out this sexy threesome.

Yes, Evil UnLtd has become The Beast With Three Books!

Evil UnLtd Vol 3: EVIL UTD has been available on Kindle for some while, but in our ongoing efforts to reduce the rainforests we’ve finally rolled it out as a paperback.

Signed copies are available direct from the author, via Paypal (see links in the sidebar). Alternatively you can obtain copies from Amazon.

100% of royalties from all sales (ebook or paperback) will continue to go to Cancer Research UK at least until May 25th 2014.

Watch this space for further information and updates on this and other books in the series.

 

SAF

Once Up In A Statue’s Nostril

The Occasionally Traditional Evil UnLtd Christmas Carol

 

This year, we present a (rough) synopsis of Evil UnLtd Vol 1 in carol form. Enjoy!

Mwahahahahappy Christmas!

Mwahahahahappy Christmas!

 

 

 

Once up in a statue’s nostril

Dexter hatched his latest plot

In walked action hero Stengun

Left him hanging like some snot

Dexter had his brightest notion

As he felt a downward motion

 

*

A band of villains he assembled

The meanest in the universe

They all met up in a restaurant

None of them paid for desserts

Dexter, Ferret, Mr Knucks

What a hardened bunch of – crooks

 

*

Not forgetting Evil Robot

Hatchling and Professor Doom

On a bank job they meet Tanith

Then their best laid plans go BOOM!

They’d gladly return their hostage

If they could afford the postage

 

 

 

Merry Christmas to one and all! 100% Royalties for all Evil UnLtd books go to Cancer Research UK

SAF 2013

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