Bloody Meerkats

PTDC0028Here at Evil UnLtd we appear to be having some trouble getting our message across.

Namely, that we are EVIL and we are UNLIMITED.

It’s hardly rocket science. Albeit we do indulge in that too from time to time. But that’s the point: unlimited is by definition bound to encompass a bit of rocket science on occasion. As it encompasses numerous other activities. Such as being cruel to meerkats, popping caps in them and such like.

But once again it falls on us to repeat what we have been saying all along.

If your own evil interests are confined to narrow specifics like gratuitous violence against meerkats then the website for you is popacapinameerkat dot com.

Just to properly hammer that home we’re escalating the use of graphic images, including a prime example of a favourite Earth pastime of senseless animals posing with the creatures they’ve slaughtered. Just look at this smirking loon pictured below with a recently culled meerkat and if that’s anything like you you’re in the wrong place.

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For broader and more ambitious evils, however, stick with us.

Evil UnLtd.

Check out our latest volume, Tempus Sinister and we’re cofident that, particularly if you’re a Doctor Who fan, rather than inflict harm on some insignificant wildlife you will want to lynch the author.

SAF 2015

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

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

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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

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(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

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:

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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.

Of Time And Towels

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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