An anthology of shadowy, dark, darker, and gravity-well black hole stories. Tales of today, tomorrow, and the end of days. Horror, mystery, gothic, speculative, and utterly strange. Not for grownups of a nervous disposition. There will be crucifixion, corrupted innocence, a talking badger, a nice lawn mower, wicked balloons, beats, demons, a narrating footstool, a giant, and a cornucopia of comeuppance and schadenfreude.

They come from every continent, tripping, hopping, walking, and running. Stumbling on crutches, crawling on bloodied knees. By unicycle, bicycle, and tricycle. Carried by sweating sedan bearers, borne aloft by drones. From the deep in a mini-nautilus. Arcing across the heavens on an ICBM. Their destination, the legendary home of Verbal Discharge, the storied Queens Larder. Hopeful for a fateful encounter with the discerning Verbal Discharge audience, to broadcast their words, their music, their physical contortions. “Weird people doing weird stuff. What’s not to like!” “My mother would not approve, so I bought it.” “They made me buy a copy. I regret nothing.” “The only thing I would criticise is myself for not buying this sooner.”